Why the rush? Seriously.
This is a programme where snooty presenters oversee snooty chefs serving snooty food to snooty people. Just like the meals produced in the show, it is divided up into three distinct courses; the introductions to the chefs and the critics, followed by the actual cooking bit, then the X-factor style 'and the winner is...' results bit.
The main portion of the show, then, is a breathless run through the chef's individual perfomances in the kitchen; all close-range, quick-fire, heavily edited shots of the chefs at work. At all points the chef and ourselves are reminded of the eternally ticking clock in which one of the two presenters shouts a random number of minutes left before the food goes out, all interspersed with pseudo-profound, Yoda-esque one-liners. Adding to the overall perplexity is the pulsating dance music ensemble this whole thing is set to, giving that off-your-tits-on-E, Ministry of Sound feel to the proceedings. Probably the only reason the viewer doesn't keel over at this point is that the body can't decide what to have first; an epileptic fit or a mild coronary. That and the brief moments of respite where we watch the chef analyse his/her own performances in the sancturary of that bit at the back of the kitchen with shots of their tortured expressions betwixt morsels of hope or despair or both, coming on like it's the fucking Shawshank Redemption.
The whole emphasis on speed is baffling to say the least. On one occasion, when the chef ran out of his allotted 'time' and the meal was now Officially Late, the host pointed out that the diners 'will be waiting now.' What the hell were they doing hitherto? Playing bloody darts? Eventually the chefs get to 'plate up' - which is surely not a real phrase - where they take laughably large plates and arrange practically sod all on them, while the hosts stare down and shout 'come on' and cause the poor guy to put ice-cream on the fish and vinegar on the pudding amid the confusion. They are then presented to the judges who raise quizzical eyebrows at each other, forgetting all the while that they are BEING PAID to EAT FOOD. Lucky buggers. Just to ratchet the tension up another notch, the shots of each service are underscored by a single low musical note, giving the vague impression that one of the dishes has been poisoned or that the maitre'd is actaully concealing a large cleaver under his suit and about to turn on the critics. Which would be different, at least.
After a good twenty minutes of this carry on, the chefs are gathered together for the results. At this point, due to the mad rapid-fire production approach of the actual kitchen segment, no-one can quite remember who cooked what, including the audience at home, the hosts and even the chefs themselves. In fact by this stage, remembering what day of the week it is becomes quite a task. Compounding matters further, the presenters then announce the chefs in turn as winners and losers in no logical order, who - once they recall what their own names are - either stand in a non-designated winner's area or march disconsolantly out the door.
This process, with subtle tweaks, has been running for a number of weeks, whittling down the contenders. Eventually one chef will rise above all others, and presumably spend the rest of his/her days on Valium trying to calm themselves from the relentless time pressure they have been subjected to and go and work in the world's only Michelin-starred library. I have to say, however, that despite my attempts to send this programme up, I found it oddly compelling, if only because my idea of fine dining is one where you do the tin of beans in the pan instead of the microwave. I just wish they'd slow down a bit.
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