Sign in. It’s quick, free and it’s up to you.
An account is an optional way to support the work we do. Find out more.
LAST UPDATE | 10 Jun
BY THE GRACE of Bourdain, at least this time around, we didn’t have to endure eight weeks of culinary court jester Gregg Wallace yelling “PHWOAR” to Anish’s pani puri and “LAAVLEE” to Susan from Swindon’s toad in the hole.
Ditto spared from the painfully obvious, droning critiques of John Torode; “you’ve got the sharpness from rhubarb and sweetness and creaminess from custard” — yeah, it’s a bloody rhubarb and custard dessert, John.
Not even Ireland’s own chef Anna Haugh and restaurant critic Grace Dent could save a format that’s been so long languishing in A&E nobody bothers searching for a pulse any more.
When Torode and Wallace were eventually binned, a decade past their sell-by date, the show had a golden opportunity to revolutionise the format. That was the moment to strike.
Fuel to the fire, the entire production had also just relocated from London to a purpose-built studio in Birmingham. Reader, no strike has happened. It’s been the same banal format for nigh on 20 years.
While literally anyone with a pulse would have been better, with stronger credentials to judge than Gregg Wallace, Dent and Haugh have been pretty sturdy pairs of hands. Both familiar to the audience as regulars in the MasterChef universe for many years, they navigated their new roles well, complementing each other in an unlikely fashion, but they definitely need a couple of seasons to find their duo mojo.
The replacement of judges was never going to change much, though. The process is the same, and the format is so painfully predictable. It’s like slapping a new label on the same old bog-standard yoghurt; it might look marginally better but still tastes sour and tangy, and the base product is crap.
No, the rot is really in the tired, low-stakes format of MasterChef UK, and I can say that with confidence as I’m a MasterChef nerd, for my sins.
I’ve watched too many. UK, US, Sweden, Italy, Türkiye, New Zealand, even Ireland’s short-lived few seasons. Anyone remember Mary Carney, Tamarin Blackmur or Diana Dodog? The Irish winners live rent-free in my silly little head.
But then, there’s Australia. The undefeated GOAT, the competitive cookery competition supreme. Youthful and energetic in production, the talent on MC AU is also stratospheric, proper budding pro-chefs, not yer aunty who makes a tasty curry — her chef’s secret being a spoon of mango chutney in it, yet she can’t ever steam rice correctly.
Not only long but girthy, each year it’s a marathon 50+ episode season, broadcasting well over three months with 24 contestants, four judges and a tight format that allows itself regular twists and changes to keep the audience guessing.
It’s been on the go since 2009, but I came to it as a late bloomer in 2020, binging all previous 12 seasons back-to-back. What else was I supposed to do in lockdown?
MasterChef UK had the chance to copy and paste its Aussie cousin, or at least pinch liberally, with the new location and judges, but it took the opportunity to change diddly squat.
While in the UK, the contestants you have met merely two episodes ago are now suddenly semi-finalists who you’re supposed to care about, let alone root for, Australia is a delicious slow braise. The length of screen time and the different challenges really allow the audience to fall in love with each contestant, their unique personalities, POVs and backstories.
The cast also always seems to adore one another, clapping for each other from the gantry above the warehouse studio and embracing one another after judges’ feedback. Where the feeling of AUS is camaraderie and the joy of cooking, the UK series feeling is awkward silence and tension, like the start of a teen disco.
Australia’s judges also always appear genuinely passionate with the most precise critiques, and the talent it attracts is insane — each year’s intake is more stupidly skilled than the last.
To understand how badly MasterChef UK is getting it wrong, compare it to its counterparts. Great British Menu succeeds because of the skill and talent it attracts. Michelin-starred chefs see it as another badge of honour worth seeking out to represent their region and get a course to the banquet. Bake Off succeeds because of the warm, cosy, village fête vibes and the fact that it broadcasts in Autumn as the days shorten and the temperature drops.
MasterChef UK, for all its prestige and heritage (it’s been on the trot since 1990), broadcasts like a fart at mass: people are aware of it and its familiar scent, but try to ignore it, while in the grand scheme it registers as fairly irrelevant.
Here’s what it needs to do: strip the bones and concentrate to a rich stock. Fundamentally alter the structure, reimagine it and refresh the call-out, solely to those who want to leap from home cook to budding pro.
The audience needs inspiring, captivating home cooks — as John Travolta would say – “wicked-ly talented” — who feel like they could star in The Bear, not yer aunt who entered for a laugh for her 15 minutes of fame.
Keep Haugh and Dent, but expand the judging panel; three feels more natural than two, and a further separation from the prior iteration.
However, a thought: what if Ireland resurrected its iteration and put the UK to shame with its own revitalised format? Now you’re cooking with gas.
Patrick Hanlon is an Irish food, travel and culture journalist, and is one half of the award-winning duo GastroGays. He is the author of a new food column, The Feeder’s Digest at TheJournal.ie. More on Instagram.
To embed this post, copy the code below on your site
have your say