No, My Kitchen Rules.

As I may have mentioned previously, my aversion to cooking shows is almost as great as Altiyan Childs’ apparent aversion to using shampoo. Happening to catch the last five minutes of My Kitchen Rules on Tuesday this week did little to change my feelings. Having watched no more than five minutes of this program throughout what has seemed to be a never-ending season, I cannot pertain to be an authority on the series in any capacity whatsoever. But, I will use it as a platform to outline my disdain for, and disbelief of the fact, that for some reason people enjoy watching other people cook on television.

It appears this is not a new idea. There are so many hours dedicated to cooking programs, it is amazingTwo And A Half Men and The Big Bang Theory ever get any airtime. But what motivates a person to get into the kitchen with the only reward being a supposed ‘first class chef’ giving you a number out of ten at the end of it? And what does that number really mean? “I give you a five out of ten,” Manu will say in his French accent, as women across the country swoon at the combination of his swarthiness and phonetics, regardless of whether they can understand him or not. What he is really saying is, “Your food was okay, but you’re a massive wanker so I’m giving you a five. If you want anything more than that, stop pretending you are Elvis and get back behind the fry pan.”

I am like anyone else, I enjoy going out for a meal every now and again and I also enjoy eating. But I don’t need to know how the food came to be stacked on my plate, nor how many times it was dropped, prodded or spat on before arriving at the table. I also don’t need this process to be televised. I have seen first hand how much swearing goes down in a dairy when trying to get cattle to cooperate, I imagine an industrial kitchen with its many staff is much the same.

The worst is Ready Steady Cook, if only for the lack of punctuation in the title (but that’s a whole other issue). This show challenges its guests to throw the chefs a curve ball, by presenting them with a combination of obscure ingredients and asking them to fashion something edible out of it. Which is very realistic when you think about it, because how often have you gone to the fridge and pantry, only to realise the last things left are some prosciutto, bread crumbs and a carton of off milk? Then you don’t panic, it’s all good, because RSC has taught you the life skills to be able to deal with such situations! But because crumbed prosciutto in a sour milk jus is as unappealing as it sounds, you end up going out to buy takeaway. Then, as if being judged with a number wasn’t bad enough, on RSC, the audience holds up a picture of a tomato or a capsicum, and whichever team has more, wins. “I’ve got more tomatoes than you, na, na, na na na!” Welcome back to primary school.

Maybe the only cooking show I ever enjoyed was Surprise Chef, mainly because Aristos appeared to be slightly unhinged which added an element of danger to an already shady premise. The poor, unsuspecting shoppers who had a camera shoved in their faces and a home visit from a chef, who the proceeded to rummage through their belongings, always made for entertaining viewing. I wonder what Aristos is doing now? Perhaps we’ll see him audition for the next series of Masterchef.