fooker

Fucking Masterchef, since it’s been on I’ve been more obsessed with food and cooking than ever. I’d never really got into it before, despite one of my friends being on it last year (I think she got in the quarter finals too, perhaps she’ll read this and post a comment?) I’d always found the two presenters, a chirpy cockney barrow boy type and a doe eyed misery guts from down under (I think), a bit too much for my palate. Even the shape of the formers head annoyed me.

This time round I’m addicted, the presenters command a genuine respect from the contestants, which adds an element of menace to proceedings. Indeed, the pressure of this alone can force some talented cooks to utterly balls up dishes they’ve been making for years –one poor lady ended up making a veritable biscuit instead of a soufflé. It was her speciality dish.

The effect all this has had on me is to experiment. Last night for instance I ended up making a watercress sauce. Even saying ‘watercress sauce’ deserves a punch in the mouth, but no, there I was sautéing onions, wilting the watercress before blending the two together with seasoning, lemon and crème fraîche and plopping over fishcakes if you please, it was a sensation.

Yesterday was fairly uneventful save a close call with death on my way into work, a few pints with Frank in the evening and of course, supper. Myfwt went to bed quite early leaving me to watch Chris Langham getting a good grilling from Dr. Pam. It was tough going, I’m not sure if he’s sorry for what he did, or just sorry for himself. What was clear from the off was that he’d spent a great deal of time thinking about what he was going to say when certain, inevitable questions were asked. The tears were genuine enough, and I’m fairly sure he’s not a threat to children, but there was something about his evangelising ‘I know who I am through all this’ which struck me as a bit, well, US talk show -if not entirely insincere, to me it characterises the mind of a desperate, tortured man.

Following this I soothed myself by watching the snooker, this was my undoing. Along with Masterchef my interest has gone for virtually nothing to mild addiction. I’m bloody hooked. It’s cathartic and intensely gripping in one motion, it’s the tampering of universal physics by humans which exalts the players into gods warring with one another. Unfortunately last nights coverage went onto 2.10 am, I didn’t know this when I began watching it sometime after 11pm and, being unable to resist its charms I watched the whole fucking programme sipping wine and gently smoking the odd joint. Of course, today I’m feeling a tad ragged, but able to deal with my day.

Please do check my latest post on Watch With Mothers (link right, it’s the ‘Emily I by Scrabbel’ one). It seems that a person can’t be tongue in cheek anymore without a bunch of brainless arseholes taking psychotic offence; naturally, I’ve responded my usual calm and measured manner. Feel free to join it, it’s free, and hey, it’s fun.

You may have to use this youtube link to recover.