MASTERCHEF FINALE: Elena Beats Heston’s Eggy Bullshit To Claim 2016 Crown

This is it, folks. Over the top.

Episode 62. The finale. We’ve bloody well made it. It’s been a long, hard, arduous slog. But holy jeebus we’re finally here. The end. The last stand. La lucha a muerte.

The glorious, shimmering Ceremonial Silver Prop Plate has been hoisted out of storage at the Channel Ten warehouse, where for 11 months of the year it sits among set remnants from Cheez TV, atop a podium from the short-lived but excellent late night dating series Taken Out (shout out to ya boi James Kerley).

Our two grand finalists Matt & Elena – a more deserving final two you’ll struggle to find in any season – arrive to face their final fates in what’s likely going to be by far and away the toughest and most spectacularly over-the-top challenge they’ll ever face in a kitchen. Or, if the budget is huffing fumes, they’ll be heating up beans on toast for Gary and flipping a coin to see who wins.

To the victor tonight goes the spoils: A regular column in a leading food magazine. Countless media engagements over the coming days. And contractual options with Channel Ten that will provide untold amounts of work in the coming years. And to the loser: The freedom to go home and do none of that exhausting shit.

The pair enter the kitchen glorious, resplendent, shimmering in crisp white attire.

*very Will Ferrell shouting voice* THEY ARE TRULY A VISION OF BEAUTY AND RADIANCE; A SIGHT SO PURE GOD HIMSELF WOULD CRAP HIS PANTS.

George lays down the terms of battle: 3 rounds. 3 courses. Entree, main, and dessert. As opposed to the alternative options of “golf,” “TAFE,” and “…of antibiotics.”

The time for talk is over. The battle lines have been drawn. We are underway.

Let’s be real here, as fun as these first round challenges are, no one is here to see this. No one buys a ticket to a UFC card frothing for the bouts that air on Fight Pass. You want the PPV. The main event. The big kahunas. We all saw last night’s episodes and the promos during The Project, and as such we all know that the final round will feature some ungodly creation cooked up by that bald, aquarium-glassed goose whose name rhymes with Shmeston Boo-Man-Doll. But we go along with it, because the journey is half the fun. Or something like that.

Round One is a judge’s choice hero-ingredient challenge, where the hungry rotund boys up front have selected a range of items that reflect each finalist’s MasterChef Journey™. Just be thankful that Harry didn’t make it to the Grand Final, otherwise half the bench would be tiny signs with the word “beautiful” written on them.

Matt immediately hones in on some quail, because in this world quail is a giant humming bug zapper and he is but an enfeebled moth trapped in its hypnotic blue glow, slowly being pulled towards inevitable oblivion. Elena picks marron. It’s a good pick.

As you’d expect in round one of a Grand Final, they both go a little too hard too soon, but it’s Elena and her reduction that really suffer in this particular section. Though you wouldn’t know it listening to George‘s critiques of the dishes.

How was Elena’s? “Delicious. It’s tasty and yummy.”

I see, and what about Matt’s? “Delicious. I love it.“

…

WHAT THE CHRIST ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT, GEORGE? What’s the difference between “tasty and yummy” and “I love it“? What kind of bong ripping marshmallow-dream kinda bullshit scoring system is that?

As it turns out, the difference between the two is “one point,” and Matt manages to skip out to and early three point lead.

There’s no rest period before we barrel straight into round two, which is a lawless, barren, post-apocalyptic wasteland where anything goes. There are no rules. No disqualifications. Everything is in play. You could straight up bash someone if you wanted to and the judges would still score you a solid 8.

Matt’s wheels immediately get set in motion, leaping all over a giant barramundi which he decides to pair with a pancetta and prawn head broth. Gary, however, is thunderously unconvinced and reacts to this combination of flavour in much the same way you would after being hit with a rising fart in a hot shower.

Hot air rises quicker in steamy conditions, kids. There’s probably science to back that up for me. Probably.

Matt, in all his accumulated wisdom, decides to press ahead with the dish, ignoring Gary completely, which he signifies by pulling out his magnificent elastic face; the real MVP of the series.

It’s not just the Grand Final for Matt’s cooking skills. It’s also the Grand Final for his facial expressions, and in that race, my man is draping himself in gold.

For a cook that turns out to be as historic as what it was, this is one of those “EVERYTHING IS GOING RIGHT HOORAY!” segments where nothing terribly interesting actually happens, save for the odd little hiccup here and there.

Take, for example, Elena and her twice cooked lamb, which she was hell-bent on glazing properly, but suddenly realised she only had around four minutes remaining. Now if only the clocks in the MasterChef Kitchen had precise second countdowns as well. Then we could time the exact point in which she had 4:20 left, and she could really glaze that sumbitch like the lamb was a gatorade saxophone and we were all living in Oregon.

Four. Twenty. Glaze. It.

All the former contestants are lined up on the gantry looking down at the chaos unfold, except for Brett who has been curiously absent from these final two tapings. Where the hell could he be? Did he have to go back to flying airplanes *that* quickly? Did he hitch a red-eye to Europe so he can try his hand at MasterChef Estonia? Did the sight of poultry bring up some PTSD-like flashbacks for him?

One you’ve stared straight into the eye of hell, you can’t go back to how you were before. You’re changed.

Into the plating portion of this particular round, Harry offers up some helpful advice from the gantry: “Make it beautiful!” YES THANK U HARRY THAT IS VERY HELPFUL.

As with all things MasterChef-related, it comes down to the broth. The ole’ Broth Whitlam. Some o’ dat David Lee Broth. A little Denzel Brothington. And that’s plainly evidenced by the fact that George straight-up ignores Matt’s dish outright and begins chugging the sauce down like it’s a beer bong and he’s a 17-year-old kid on Spring Break.

“Fkn YIEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!“

It’s all worth it, though. All the broth conundrums and the glazing schisms. Both Matt and Elena deliver knockout dishes. Perfect ones, in fact. They score 10s across the board; the first time two dishes have simultaneously done that ever on this show. This slugfest is going the distance, and it is a doozy.

Finally. The real reason we all came here. The pièce de résistance. The last challenge of MasterChef Australia 2016, which we all know is going to be some kind of utterly fucked up dessert. We just don’t know exactly what that is yet.

But first, a twist: The doors swing open and in waltz Matt & Elena’s loved ones.

And I don’t wanna say that Matt’s explosion of tears was a slight overreaction or anything…

…but, look. It’s just that it’s a facial expression that feels curiously familiar; almost like we’ve seen it before this year.

Ahhh, Jimmy. If only you’d stuck around a few more episodes. We were only just getting started together.

But, really. The MasterChef production schedule requires these people to be away, and largely without contact from their families for about 6 months. It’s a gruelling process. So thank lord their families have been allowed in today, just in time to see that person they love endure the worst five-and-a-half hours of their lives.

It’s a show about giving, at the end of the day. Shared experiences and such.

The doors open and wouldn’t ya know it, in marches old mate Hesteros and his Samwise Gamgee-looking motherfucker of a mate.

Unlike the glittering Heston Week where everyone was jazzed as shit to see that British weirdo who perpetually left his regular glasses at the squash court, this time Matt and Elena are not keen.

Not at all.

They both know they’re about to get absolutely bashed by whatever’s underneath that cloche, which turns out to be this… uh… thing…

That right there? That’s your Final Boss. The Megazord. The Aggro Cragg. Hell, it’s the flippin’ Death Egg.

Officially, it’s called “Verjus in Egg.” And because it’s Heston, it’s not even remotely simple.

That thing? That thing right? That little bastard has a recipe NINETY ONE STEPS LONG. In a five-and-a-half hour challenge, that equates to one step completed roughly every 3 minutes and 40 seconds. You hope to dog almighty that at least one or two of those steps read “for shit’s sake sit down and have a breather for a hot minute, you psycho” or “think very carefully about fucking all of this off and going home, because this is some hospital-grade bullshit.”

Even though its Elena who stumbles first, absolutely borking up some fluid gel and having to bust the calculator out to sort out a half batch for take two, it’s the usually cool, calm, and collected Matt who starts getting the speed wobbles.

First, it’s some under-bloomed gelatine which causes his first round of panna cotta egg filling to be loose AF. It’s a problem that would be pretty fixable, if only those tricky little bastards didn’t take a full hour to set. Uh oh.

And at this point, Matty is staring down the barrel of his lowest point in the competition, at the most critical time. His own dark night of the soul.

But then, unbelievably, in rocks George with a fire-up speech that puts every Rocky film to shame. It’s inspiring! It’s motivating! Hell, it’s actually good, if you can believe that.

And just like that, it’s well and truly back on. Matt steams ahead with renewed energy, closing the gap on Elena with freight train-like momentum.

The final few seconds of the competition for 2016 begin to tick away, but miraculously it looks like Matt’s going to get everything done. He pops out his tempered chocolate egg-shells. He fills it with his panna cotta and other bits. He manages to plate up the delicate-looking nest. All he has to do is seal up the egg and he’s golden…

…but at the last second, he decides to skip the step of sealing the egg halves with extra chocolate.

Time runs out.

Everyone lets out a sigh of relief.

Matty looks over at his station…

…and his egg has split open.

The kitchen falls dead silent. Even MasterChef’s ever-present backing music gets dialled back.

This has crushed him, far beyond words.

Whereas last year’s finale was full of joy and familial love and support, this year the only emotion left lingering in the air is one of pure and utter heartbreak.

Help. Someone help. This is too much. Oh god.

The cracked egg, it should be said, is still good enough to get Matt scores of 7 across the board, leaving Elena with the unenviable task of needing 8 or better from each of the four judges.

Gary gives her exactly that. So too does George. And Matt Preston.

And as for Heston? He gives her a nine.

The confetti rains from the ceiling and the judges hand out the prizes. For Elena, your champion, $250,000. For finishing second, Matt scores a cool $40k. Harry picks up a very handy $10,000 for third. Theresa picks up a handful of Jimmy Grants vouchers for 9th. Miles gets a hearty pat on the back for 15th (and an ice cold beer for being a stone cold legend). And Ashley gets to tear down the set by himself for finishing 24th.

And that, dear friends, closes the book on a rather run-of-the-mill eighth season of MasterChef Australia, as well as the book on another year of MasterChef Drama articles.

Shut it down!

NEXT TIME: There is no next time! We are free from the clutches of TV once again. And as for me, I can venture outside once again as this article series draws to a close for another ye- wait.

*looks down at TV guide and notices ‘The Bachelor‘ premieres in a matter of hours*

IT NEVER ENDS.