SWEET, SWEET EATING
Delicious Masterchef made me reach for my Emergency Toblerone
THURSDAY night nearly did for me. Raymond Blanc, who has held on to two Michelin stars in Oxfordshire’s Manoir Aux Quat’Saisons like they were his last Rolo, was the guest chef in the semi-final of Masterchef and the last four contestants had to cook some of his most famous dishes. Well, three had to cook the dishes but one literally had to make them, because the first task presented to the adorable Jilly, a former captain of the Scotland women’s rugby team, was to fashion a cup and saucer out of chocolate. Once made, the cup had to be filled with a coffee parfait and topped with a sabayon and a squirt of caramel.
I had made a huge mistake and eaten dinner at six, and by the time the chocolate cup and saucer came on television, it was about three hours later and, honest to God, I wanted to lick the TV screen. I’m diabetic and I don’t routinely keep sweet and sugary treats in the house, but I do miss them, and I had a lightbulb moment.
At the back of a press, hidden away since Christmas, was just the remedy I needed and I cracked open The Emergency Toblerone and devoured two triangles of it.
This was just as well, because shortly afterwards, another contestant, Delia, made a spinach ravioli with a quail’s egg inside. When Monsieur Blanc cut through it to taste it, the oleaginous egg yolk tantalisingly trickled into the spinach and pasta, and I almost wept with vicarious pleasure. I was drooling like a St Bernard. I have very little interest in The
Great British Bake Off, because cakes and sweets are largely forbidden territory for me, but I adore food, and Masterchef is food porn as its finest. Equally, while GBBO contestants often are chosen for big personalities and grandstanding talent, Masterchef contestants tend to fall into the Louis Walsh school of personality – ‘You don’t know how good you are’ – and are self-effacing, self-doubting, and caring about their fellow chefs.
Watching their faces when their food is being dissected can be agonising – Jeremy Corbyn lookalike Geoff knew almost instantly he was for the chop when he presented a cracked meringue and marshmal
low dessert that disappeared into the white plate and was so dry it would have been like eating breeze blocks.
As expected, he was dismissed, and Friday’s night’s final was won by Irini, an immigrant from Greece. She was crowned just an hour before the original planned time of Brexit, which was ironic – a minute afterwards, she would probably have been deported.
As it happens, I should have been in London this weekend to report on the UK’s departure from the EU, but cancelled my plans when the date was pushed out, hopefully forever. I was glued to the television on Friday for the third round of voting on Theresa May’s Withdrawal Agreement and completely unsurprised when she yet again failed to get the legislation through the House of Commons. Mrs May is an odd fish who makes Margaret Thatcher seem warm and cuddly, which is quite the trick.
There was, however, a little spark of life when she outlined the contradictions parliament has voted for. It won’t say yes to her deal, but it also has ruled out no deal. It doesn’t want to remain in the Customs Union or the Single Market, but it doesn’t seem to want to leave them either, and it all was summed up best by Sky News political reporter Lewis Goodall, who likened it to an arcade game of Whack-A-Mole.
Sky has been very sure-footed in all its coverage, not least thanks to
deputy political editor Beth Rigby, whose quizzical looks when interviewing politicians remind me of Jeremy Paxman at his finest. Brexit is highly entertaining but absolutely exhausting, and I’m not sure I any longer can afford the popcorn I get through in industrial quantities as I watch the clownshow continue.
Dancing With The Stars came to an end on Sunday night and I punched the air in delight when Mairéad Ronan and John Nolan took the glitterball trophy. Mairéad was of my favourite school of reality contestant, à la Masterchef, one who doubted her abilities but somehow managed to put it all together and triumph. John (no relation, incidentally – he’s Kilkenny and my Nolans are Kildare) is especially good on classic Hollywood musical choreography, and brought the series to an end with a bucketful of glamour.
There is talk that RTÉ might not be able to afford another series, because of the €3m price tag. Nonsense. The BBC’s Strictly probably spends that much on fake tan, and the money should be found somewhere. For 12 weeks in winter,
DWTS brightens up Sunday nights and long may it continue to do so.
Finally, the television moment of the week came on The Late Late
Show. Guido Nasi was a guest, and you might remember him as the victim of a barbaric assault with a glass bottle in Fairview 20 years ago. He was left severely braindamaged and cannot walk and cannot speak, but he still is present in his body. A translator read a letter from Guido’s mother, Simonetta, who is being treated for cancer, in which she said she bore no ill will to the people of Ireland and thanked us for all that was done for Guido.
When the translator finished, Guido reached out with his hand and stroked his mother’s face in the most gentle and tender way imaginable. I hope the thug who changed his life saw it and felt deep shame, because it left me in a puddle – and reaching for another triangle of The Emergency Toblerone.