Suddenly on reality food television, things have come to a grinding halt, for two very different reasons.
Last Monday, Glynn and James were finally able to dispose of their MasterChef Crocs and mercifully avoid Skoda ownership whilst completing a Survivor Island cooking challenge.
I was sad to see them go. In a previous post I had mentioned that their stay on the show would be short-lived, not because of their cooking prowess, but because of their tendency for thought-revealing facials.
In one recent episode, George Calombaris, the judge from the Australian version, set the contestants a ‘veal three ways’ challenge and as he swept the room, wheedling the couples during their sweaty timed food-exam, he referred to Glynn and James as “typical Kiwi blokes”; the implication being that because they were New Zealand males, they surely must have known exactly how to cook meat, because that’s what blokes do in these Antipodean nations.
The look from Glynn should have been bottled, preserved and sold on Trade Me under the category “Faces”.
It’s obvious the duo are not typical Kiwi blokes. I’m sure they enjoy a beer, a barbie and a Barbie, but not to the extent I imagine of having an All Blacks flag flying from their black SUV and Matchbox 20 trickling out of the sound system.
These guys are more QOTSA, radically experimental drinking, and long sleeps on the beach but with brains. I’m sure that they don’t mind the smell of Brut 33 and deep fried chicken either.
What they brought to the show was innovation, truly passionate cooking and ripper personalities, three features clearly essential in the world of cuisine. Whatever these two do, I hope they physically do something with food like open a live music cafe – as opposed to just Facebooking (or blogging) about it. Ha ha. Blog about it. Who’d do that?
Over on TV3, The Great Food Race is also coming to a close for this viewer. The show seems to want to appear expensive and international sounding, but instead comes over as incredibly cheap and at times incredibly scripted.
The contestants are a strange bag of fruits, and there is not the cohesion with each other like there is on MasterChef. Clearly there, friendships and respect bind the whole show together. On The Great Food Race, competitors seem (or are edited so) to want eliminations; MasterChef is more communal, shall we say.
TGFR is like watching Purple House versus Yellow House in your Top Town school event, with an egg and spoon race thrown in. At the end of that race after you’ve cooked the egg five ways, a pair of spunky Italian ‘House Captains’ turn up and everyone giggles, including me. Tee hee, they’re here. Pick me!
Of course the judges in both programmes also complete the show and certainly for this one, if it wasn’t for Zoe Marshall and the Bresolins, it would be like eating at The Spotty Beagle Cafe on crumb-strewn Formica.
The remainder contestants in each show of course clearly contain the person or couple who the sponsor would like to see peddling their wares. I have often wondered what the agenda is at the outset.
It’s pleasing to see though, that even if there is a desired winner in the mind of the creators, that contestants remain true to themselves, irrespective. They are a tenacious lot to be sure. Why can’t they just come and cook for me?
Good luck to all of the remaining contestants of The Great Food Race and MasterChef: Couples, both on tonight at the clashily awkward times of 7.00pm on TV3 and 7.30pm on Tv1.