I’m a sucker for a good cooking show. I’ve been all over
India with Rick Stein searching for the perfect curry, floated on the Mekong
with Luke Nguyen, surfed the Menu, ridden with Hairy Bikers and meandered
through cottage gardens and woodlands with two fat ladies.
Lately I have been inside the instant restaurants, food
truck and kitchen HQ of the latest My
Kitchen Rules contestants with their flirty Nana flutters, witchy Cheshire grins,
shoulder charging for the ‘best crate' and general self promotion that defies any
notions of humility. I get that it’s all cast and cut for maximum dramatic impact,
but that’s not why I watch. I love seeing the results of a meal cooked under
pressure, or the décor selected for a pop up dining experience.
So while I am bemoaning the focus on poor character traits,
what gets up my nose more than the assumed aromas from the dishes, is the
hackneyed phrases that have become part of the genre. I know every industry
has its jargon, but I swear that if I have to hear any more of the following I
will stuff my ears with olives - only those macerated in the finest garlic and
olive oil of course.
Take it up a notch:
I know that means do it better than before – deconstruct that lemon meringue pie. Crumble
the buttery shortbread into a million
tiny pieces like it has been living at the bottom of the kids school bag for a week -we call this edible sand-, put a dollop of lemon curd in a test tube and
lay it on top, and add yellow stained rice paper cut outs of three meringues on the side.
What I should really read into these words is that if I continue to sit on that couch
watching shows like this and then experimenting with the recipes, those jeans I
fitted into last year will never get past my crotch .
Take it to the next
level. I’m inclined to think that this really describes the act of walking
up the stairs to take the dishes to the judge’s table – or is it just another
way to say take it up a notch.
Again, I
know I’m supposed to believe that as the
competition ramps up everyone will do better and better starting with a tin
of baked beans on toast (cheating because the contestant didn’t grow and
process the beans and didn’t make their own bread) and culminating with a Heston
like, larger than life, desert sculpture of beans made of honey puffs dipped in
strawberry coulis sitting on two gigantic slices of marshmallow bread dusted
with toasted coconut.
The hero of the dish. I can’t see how the pig’s tongue in this dish
gets to be a hero. It can’t do deeds of great strength- unless it has some
magical properties I am unaware of; is not a crusty roll with meat and cheese
(sic the American hero sandwich), nor is it the offspring of a Greek god.
It’s
a bloody pig’s tongue, and it’s on a plate!
You’ve nailed it.
Oh no I gasp as the judges bite into the dish . I really hope those little
silver sparkles are the dragees that I put on the top of my cupcakes not the
brads I buy from the local Bunnings.
The beef needs to
shine. So, here is where my imagination just loses it. Does that actually
mean that if I had gone out in to the paddock before this beast became steak I would
have seen it emitting a radiant glow like Homer Simpson’s fluorescent fish? And,
if so, is shining beef better than matte fish, or do I care?
It has to be perfect.
If one more contestant says that and then delivers a plate of beige mash topped
with bleating lamb followed by a flood of tears for letting down their team
mate I swear I will take all my toothpicks and pin my fingers to the floor so I can’t
use the remote control to turn on this drivel any more!
And finally aliments –
you know: How many aliments can I
get on the plate? All the aliments have to shine.
Pa…lease!
If I ever get polled about this what will I say?
Use your words people. Use your words.
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Art Work of the Week
Just a little cupcake I nailed recently
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