Gok’s cook-off is just reheated TV leftovers with extra sauce

You’ve got to say this for Gok Wan, he tries. Making the switch from fashion to food, he’ s t hrown a ny ingredient he can find into his daily culinary contest, Gok’s Lunchbox (ITv).

He’s pinched i deas f rom j ust about every cookery programme in the hope of creating something original. unfortunately, this has the opposite effect — it’s like tucking into a plate consisting of all the leftovers in the fridge.

Three contestants take delivery of crates containing the basics of a meal — rice, veg, meat or fish, and some herbs. They have to rustle up recipes, give them a name and serve them to the judges . . . their own family and friends.

All those elements are familiar, from shows such as Come Dine With Me and Masterchef, to obscurities such as James Martin’s short-lived The Box and the bizarre celebrity cook-off, Who’s Doing The Dishes?

over it all, Gok sprinkles a fairydust smattering of smut because, since Bake off became Britain’s favourite show, no foodie show is complete without a mouthful of sauce and a couple of bulging double entendres.

He’s at it from the start. ‘Who is going to get their hands on my lunchbox and do they have what it takes to pull it off?’ he gasps. oooh, no, missus!

And he carries on until it begins to be slightly sick-making.

Gok can’t see a pan of noodles without asking whether they are ready to be tossed. When one contestant, a married 61-year-old taxi driver called Dave, asks a question, Gok accuses him of flirting and then flounces away to ask the chap’s dog, a bemused Jack Russell, whether Dave really fancies him.

It’s a bit forced, but anyone who watches ITv’s This Morning, where he stands in for presenter Phillip Schofield, knows this is his usual patter. What seems less natural is the sight of Gok playing celebrity chef.

He claimed he had been cooking since he was three months old, which seems unlikely. Then, examining a gurnard, he admitted: ‘I’m not a fishmonger — I usually put bras on women for a living.’

I strongly suspect that, until this week, Gok couldn’t have told a gurnard from a St Bernard dog. But he has the true telly presenter’s knack of sounding confident whatever he’s spouting — he could be fronting a show about the Plantagenet dynasty and he’d want to convince us that medieval history has been his passion since he was in nappies. He’d even believe it himself.

He certainly seemed at home in the three contestants’ kitchens, which wouldn’t be hard because all of them were beautifully equipped.

everywhere the camera looked there were marble work surfaces and enough fancy brand-name equipment to restock a Michelinstarred restaurant.

even though this is a budget show, with a top prize of just £250, you won’t be invited to compete if you’re cooking on a grubby hob in a rented flat.

The format’s weakest point comes at the end, when the cooks bundle up their masterpieces in tin foil and bring them to the studio to be reheated. For some reason that Gok didn’t attempt to explain, there’s only one microwave and they have to queue to take turns.

Survival shows are another overworked Tv concept, and Bear Grylls is fronting most of them.

He’s currently tormenting celebs in the African bush on Mission Survive on ITv, but that hasn’t stopped him launching a third series of The Island (C4) in which two groups of castaways are stranded on an uninhabited jungle outcrop in the Pacific and left to fend for themselves.

except, of course, they aren’t. Among the plumbers, barmaids and accountants there are the usual experienced hands, as well as Grylls and his team sitting offshore, waiting to swoop in with medical assistance. And the place has been well-stocked with poultry, bigger game and a plentiful supply of plastic debris to serve for fishing nets and tents.

This time the campers are split into two groups of men and women, and neither party knows the other is there — a twist blatantly pinched from Channel 5’s 10,000 BC. More leftovers and reheated scraps, then.