PREVIOUSLY ON MASTERCHEF AUSTRALIA: We’ve finally whittled the field down to a neat Top 10, excising dear, sweet, Tasmanian Sarah from the group first, which is a clear affront to the Island State; the latest in a long line of slights inflicted upon the humble battlers of Tassie and one that shall be filed away for later use.
AND NOW, LAST NIGHT.
Well here we bloody go. It’s the one episode they’ve been teasing all season long. The one where, for some utterly bizarre reason, old mate Prince Charles shows up to snack on food slap-dashed together by stressed out reality TV contestants.
And because there’s not a chance in hell they’ll ever get a member of the Royal Family to come to them, the 9 remaining contestants have to fly up to bloody Darwin (in APRIL, no less) to cook canapés at a Royal Flying Doctor’s Service Centre function, which basically means whoever booked the event just found a genius way to save shitloads on catering.
The Royal flavour of the event is revealed by Gary in a video message where he introduces Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall in the most British way possible. Khanh loves it.
Given the fact that they’re both British, I’m just assuming Gary and Camilla were friends prior to this.
A brief food-related chat with Camilla ensues: In her fridge? Olive oil and tomatoes. Her loathsome grandchildren are all addicted to ketchup, apparently. Throw them all in jail.
As for Charles’ tastes, the man whose entire life’s purpose is to sit around and wait for his mother to die likes anything to do with cheese, he loves an eggy, and loathes garlic something fierce.
The only logical conclusion to draw here? The Prince’s Royal Anus emits some truly unholy, heaving farts.
The teams are whisked away to Darwin which could not excite George any more. Presumably because the Northern Territory doesn’t have extradition agreements with the other states or something.
That’s the relieved excitement of a man about to get away with crimes, right there.
We’re cooking canapés for tonight’s Royal Reception, and three teams of three are tasked with making a whole mess of them in four different styles: Savoury, vegetarian, gluten-free, and halal.
Given the fact that a) we’re very much in the business end of the competition, and b) it’s food for a fucking Royal, there’s not a chance anything made today winds up being overtly terrible.
In fact, the only notable things about the cook are the fact that they made these poor idiots cook outside in Darwin in April, which is basically like trying to set up a kitchen inside a giant sous vide.
See: Ben.
Bit hot there m8?
The other notable thing is the fact that an apocalyptic storm forms off the coast where filming is taking place, and not only do they not immediately cease filming, they make them all look at the dang thing while they’re working.
See that? If you don’t get that lamb cooked in time, you’re gonna have to dodge lightning strikes while you plate up. Quick bloody sticks, dummies.
The Royal motorcade arrives with a giant police escort, with sirens appearing on the horizon like someone just nosed a car into a stop sign in East Lost Santos and scored a 3-star GTA V wanted level as a result.
*sighs deeply* God damn it someone call Lester.
And thus begins the sequence we’re all clearly here to see: Prince Charles eating ants.
The whole challenge is built around Indigenous and locally foraged ingredients, because it’s one of those formal diplomatic receptions where all sense of normality is thrown out and everyone snaps to bended knee and begins yelling “WELCOME, O IMPERIAL OVERLORD. PLEASE ENJOY ALL THE EXOTIC FRUITS OF THE COLONIES” and he smiles and nods while mentally taking notes on how many of the peasants in the room he’d have killed in exchange for a Yorkshire Pudding.
After an excruciating period of mingling, Charles finally arrives to greet the judges, accompanied by a minder whose job requires two things and two things only: Knowing people’s names, and the ability to fuck off after saying them.
“Matt.” *smoke bombs*
And finally, finally the moment arrives. The judges walk His Royal Oldness through the dishes on offer, and he recoils when confronted with today’s most notable ingredient.
Hell yeah you wrinkly royal bitch, eat the god damned ants.
So after running him through all the dishes the judges then lean back, allowing Prince Charles to… *checks notes* …not eat anything?
Wait.
They built that up all season – ALL SEASON – and then balked at showing Prince Charles eating ants? He just leaves without tasting anything?
What the fuck. What the FUCK.
What kind of absolute simmering horseshit is that.
All that build up and then nada. Nothing. He doesn’t even lick it. Fuck this.
I cannot – I CANNOT – be the only one ready to spike my TV into the dirt about this.
I WANTED TO SEE PRINCE CHARLES EAT ANTS GODDAMMIT. #MasterChefAu
— Andy Thompson (@SweatyJester) July 4, 2018
HE DIDNT EVEN TRY ANY HHHHH #masterchefau
— kel knight (@hyobvious) July 4, 2018
wait… did he actually eat any of the canapés?!? #masterchefau
— guilty tweets (@guiltytweeting) July 4, 2018
We’re all here to see Prince Charles eat ants. Get on with it. #MasterChefAU
— Sir Kumference (@sirkumference) July 4, 2018
i still cant believe charles didnt eat any of the food 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀 “who made the food with the ants (that i didnt eat)?” #masterchefau
— kel knight (@hyobvious) July 4, 2018
THANK YOU.
I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what Royal Protocol calls for. I don’t care how much it fucking costs. If anyone in the MasterChef Australia production team is reading this, you now must – MUST – whisk Prince Charles away from England, bring his malformed Royal ass back to Australia, and force that purebred sonofabitch to eat ants on live TV.
I don’t care that that’s almost literally the plot of a Black Mirror episode. I am owed a Royal eating fucking ants on my godforsaken tele.
Eat the ants, Charles you Royal bitch.
Eat them.
Eat.
Also Reece, Chloe, and Khanh win the challenge and avoid elimination, etc. Whatever. The show isn’t about them anymore.
NEXT TIME: Sashi has to use his second Immunity Pin, bringing balance back to the Force once again.
