PREVIOUSLY ON MASTERCHEF AUSTRALIA: The judges threw an almighty curveball at the full class of brand new amateur cooks by locking up all the fancy kitchen equipment they’ve not previously had access to anyway.
That sous vide you could never afford to buy? Can’t use it. The ice cream maker you’ve never used before in your life? Forget about it. That thermomix you were pretty sure only existed in infomercials? Get the hell outta here. It’s all knives and blenders and hard work, ya dickheads. All the things you’re totally used to using anyways. COP THAT.
The three judges spend the entire cook jacking Peter Russell Clarke‘s “where’s the cheese?” catchphrase, and a simple slab of halloumi turns into HELLoumi for three unlucky cooks.
HELL-oumi.
*taps mic*
AND NOW, LAST NIGHT.
Oh, sure. We could talk about the impending Pressure Test. We could talk about Pete, Ray, and Lee‘s incredible shitting of the bed that’s put them all in glorious elimination black this early into the season. We could talk about Ray‘s soundbite claiming he’s “sacrificed everything” for the show that producers overlaid over a shot of him treating people at a hospital which is both a) very funny, and b) needlessly cruel.
But honestly, what’s the point of talking about any of that shit when Samuel is strutting into the MasterChef Kitchen looking like he’s about to take the stage at Woodstock?
God DAMN, son. I take back about 85% of the slightly mean-spirited things I wrote about you last week. It’s barely week two and you come out in full peacock mode?
For everyone else who has to stand on the gantry this season: that’s the bar. The curve has been wrecked. Get it right, get it tight.
Regardless, we push ahead with tonight’s elimination challenge, and Gary has marched in with his chef whites on and the attitude of a chess grand master who’s about to flay a 3-year-old on live TV.
“I am going to make you all cry, and I don’t even care.“
This week we’re focusing on ‘Home Cooking Week,’ which feels like they’re reaching to call the ordinary first full week of the competition something fancy. This Marco Pierre White debacle really has left holes in the production schedule all over the damned place, hasn’t it.
This challenge is all about keeping up with Gary. Watch what he does. Listen to his explanations. Copy. Fairly simple. And to make things even easier, Gary’s set the task of cooking a bit of roast chook with some peas and spuds. Piece of piss, right?
He also weirdly puts on another apron over the top of his chef’s whites, which feels a bit like the culinary version of double bagging a single bottle of lemonade. I get what you’re doing, but it still feels like overkill.
The cook begins and almost immediate Ray, who is a doctor lest you somehow forget, almost immediately falls behind. Gary is working at something called “kitchen speed,” which instantly makes a fair chunk of the nation’s sous chefs chortle under their breath.
Look at that. Calm. Considered. Does it all the time. Doesn’t even give a shit where that very sharp blade is landing.
Now compare that with Ray.
He’s wanging that thing down on the board like he’s trying to conduct a concerto.
Pete‘s day begins with a little hiccup; he falls behind slightly and decides to mash some garlic instead of chopping it finely to save a bit of time. Cue: Gary’s disappointed glare. Pete, m8, unless you rock up one day and find they’ve turned it into Rainbow Road, the MasterChef Kitchen is not the place for shortcuts.
Ray’s lagging day continues and the more he falls behind the more he tries to over-compensate by becoming first a magician…
“Ta da!”
…and then secondly, when that didn’t work, a pyrotechnician.
Ahhh yes. The classic “burn the whole place to the fucking ground” tactic. It’s a bold strategy with a low success rate, but sometimes you’ve gotta throw a Hail Mary.
The sudden gigantic fireball manages to set off the one smoke alarm installed in the entire kitchen, which is notable only for the fact that of the probably around 50 people inside the building at the time, only George seems to show any concern.
Say what you want about his wage-paying skills, but that right there is the face of a man who knows his evacuation routes. Safety bloody first.
Ray’s pea custard takes an ungodly turn when Gary says “50ml” of cream but he hears “150ml” instead, meaning while Pete and Lee’s custard turns out the colour of radioactive ooze that’ll turn turtles into their teenage mutant ninja equivalent’s (good), Ray’s is more the colour of the giant Ishka store that stares me down from across the road every time I write these articles (very bad). I do not care if there’s absolutely 50% off everything all the goddamned time. I don’t want to buy a four-foot dreamcatcher. Not now. Not ever.
And with Ray absolutely struggling as the cook draws to a close, it would take something quite dramatic for him to avoid elimination.
Like, oh I don’t know, someone somehow undercooks their chicken.
Lee.
Lee mate.
What the hell are you doing.
Lee forgets to flip the bird, causing Gary to mentally flip him one in return, freezing him like Mac staring across the restaurant at Charlie Kelly.
“Yeah dude, Gary’s looking right at me.“
Pete absolutely smashes his dish, and is as safe as houses, thank christ. Ray’s custard is a mess, and his spuds aren’t much better. But it’s the cardinal sin of the MasterChef Kitchen – in that there is no such thing as “medium rare chicken strips” – that sends Lee home.
Ahh well, mate. Someone’s gotta finish 23rd.
Meanwhile, let’s check on how our other contestants are going in their Gantry-reaction lessons.
Ooft. This is gonna be a long season.
NEXT TIME: Immunity is up for grabs for the first time as one extremely amateur cook takes on a professional chef mere days into their MasterChef education, in a battle that is absolutely fair and won’t at all see them mercilessly flogged from pillar to post.
Photo: Twitter.
