People who know me are well aware that I am a conscientious objector when it comes to the ‘Reality TV’ wars.
My Kitchen Rules, The Block, and whatever the hell else suburban Australia is losing its shit shit over.
I have to confess, however, that I’ve been subjected to a few episodes of the latest series of Masterchef Australia; about a cumulative three to three and a half hours or so.
Congrats to the winner, Brent Owens and commiseration to the freakishly talented 19 year old, Laura Cassai, who was the runner up.
So… I was discussing one of the episodes with a friend who’s a writer, where the show tried to ‘re-imagine’ apricot chicken.
Firstly: I am a white, Gen X male from the western suburbs of Melbourne. Apricot chicken does not need ‘re-imagining’, okay? Let’s get that straight.
Secondly; APRICOT CHICKEN DOES NOT NEED RE-IMAGINING.
So anyway, Hugh and I are talking about the episode where Apricot chicken was the challenge dish.
Like a number of the contestants, the show’s producers and the hosts Gary Mehigan, George Calombaris and Matt Preston, Hugh was aghast that chicken was ever mixed with apricot nectar – as if it was a gratuitous waste of poultry and an effrontery to good taste, refinement and style on a par with brown corduroy flares and desert boots.
Which would all be fine – we’re entitled to our opinions – except the same people who are coming at the time-honoured, traditional apricot chicken with garlic, crosses and pitchforks are also losing their shit over BEETROOT FLAVOURED ICE-CREAM.
Yes. Beetroot fucking ice cream.
Don’t dare mix poultry with stone fruit, but by all means, lets put a root vegetable with frozen sugar and cream.
Give me a fucking spell.