Masterchef Australia came to an end last week with a finale that was, in every way, a condensed reflection of the entire seventh season. It was full of drama and endless close-ups of the focus and perspiration on contestants’ faces, chef Heston Blumenthal and, of course, beautiful food. The show’s ending has left a rather large void in my weeknight routine, considering that for the past few months, all I’ve been doing at 9 pm is religiously sitting in front of the television, watching contestants chopping, pureeing, zipping sous-vide bags and plating up food like their lives depended on those.
I’ve been watching the show right from its second season, and initially, I was underwhelmed. This was a cookery competition where they showed very little of the actual cooking. What’s more, the contestants were nice, friendly and supportive of each other, which was against everything that was sacrosanct in reality television. A week into the show, however, I was hooked. I quickly realised that this was a show which elevated cooking into an adrenaline-pumping, high-intensity sport. Five seasons later, I’m still infatuated with the show. I know the challenges contestants face in preparing and seasoning lamb racks, in creating that elusive shade of pink that belongs to the juiciest of steaks , and in filleting a King Salmon in a manner that is not only efficient, but also respectful. And this is in spite of my being a vegetarian.
Considering the fact that the show doesn’t encourage participants to get nasty with each other, the theatrics come from the hosts (and judges) George Calombaris, Gary Mehigan and Matt Preston. They zip in and out of kitchen stations, questioning contestants about their dishes, seasoning choices, and most importantly, what the title Masterchef means to them. When the food comes to the tasting table, there are no words – just dramatic music as spoons meet plates, and indiscernible expressions before the judges admit, in detailed and almost poetic ways, to loving, loathing, or being on the fence about the dish in front of them.
This season was no different – George, Gary and Matt constantly spoke about the show and winning the title the same way most would speak about the invention of Penicillin. For twelve weeks, we saw amateur cooks either rising to the top, or crashing and burning, while they recreated Michelin-star recipes and participated in fine-dining challenges with dishes, the names of which required French lessons to pronounce. Celebrity chefs, including Marco Pierre White, who has become the resident Masterchef boogeyman, and everyone’s favourite mad genius, Heston Blumenthal, made appearances, and were given rockstar welcomes.
As with any reality competition, it is only when the season considerably progresses that you really start rooting for someone. When the top ten wereannounced, Reynold became an instant favourite for me, as did Billie and Matthew. Unfortunately, both Reynold and Matthew crashed out towards the end of the competition, and finally, only Billie and Georgia remained. The finale, as expected, was brutal. The usually calm, collected and machine-like Billie got a delayed attack of the nerves, and Georgia, who is made for primetime television and is usually panic-stricken before the hour comes to an end, powered through the first two rounds with a considerable lead. The final round, which was a vicious five-hour pressure test set by Heston , turned the tables around as Billie tapped into her inner beast machine, and Georgia, oh Georgia, started dropping things and panicking again.
When the time came to announce the final scores, I had chewed up my fingernails and had nearly dropped off my chair. And when it was confirmed that Billie was to be crowned this season’s Masterchef, I pumped my fist in the air as if it was a personal victory.
I’ve often wondered what makes this show the success that it is – Is it the format? The concept? Or the food? I got my answer this year, when my staunchly vegetarian mother watched a meaty dish being put together and sighed, “They have butchered a poor animal, but it looks delicious.”
