Despite a nasty paper cut on my middle typing finger, I’ll not let you down on my thoughts of this week’s first episode of Masterchef. As usual, there was lots of drama created by the judges (especially Joe Bastianich, who could save us 11 minutes per episode if he’d just stop pausing and glaring.) Despite that, they were able to whittle it down to the last 38, who begin to go “breast to thigh” starting tomorrow. Well. That was a cooking metaphor rather gone wrong. Sorry.
The ones to watch for me included Guisseppe, the Italian who comes complete with schmarmy accent, who made the judges sit up and take notice with his stuffed mussels marinara. I was surprised that Joe admitted not ever hearing of such a dish on camera. You mean, there’s something in Italian dining that Joe is not an expert on? I’m fainting!
I also liked Adrian, the real life waiter, who has begged chefs in the past to let him work for free. That’s how much he loves cooking. Anyone who has been a server (I had the misfortune during my equally unfortunate acting phase) has my vote of confidence. I’m all for seeing people get out of a “career” where your name ends up being “Excuse me!”
And of course Joe, the tooth-challenged alligator maker with the disabled wife. Well, you had to have a heart of concrete not to find his story touching. He learned to cook after his wife’s accident many years ago, to make her eat to gain her strength back. I knew the judges wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bring her in and yank their heartstrings for awhile. I mean, my Gordon is no fool. He knows his reality television moments, people!
And finally. The man we will all love to hate – Max, the eighteen year old rich kid from New York. No shows of this kind are complete without someone to root against. Here’s our guy. He’s opinionated. He’s admittedly a trust fund baby. He’s “damn sure he’s going to win this competition.”
He’s on my list.
So there you have it. Tomorrow begins the real tests of knowledge and skill. I can hardly stand the wait!
. . . . .
First of all, I love Joe Bastianich and all his “stop and glare” tactics. There hasn’t been a time yet when he hasn’t done that that a chill doesn’t run up and down my spine.
It could be made into a game (which I secretly commit to when he does that): Did he like it? Or didn’t he?
Oh. That’s why I like it. It’s The Drama. Of course.