Last night I couldn't watch the third episode of the final of the final of the final of MasterChef on account of my legs, so I have, just now, watched a recording of it.
And I now know that I am officially and without doubt mental.
Mental because I cried.
Yes cried because that wicked aunty BBC tightened my emotional chords so much so that when the winner was announced I broke into female tears.
Mr Dhruv Baker from London won the coveted title of MasterChef 2010 and well deserved it was. His culinary expertise was learnt from his mother but his imagination wasn't learnt from anywhere or anyone, he was born with it. Knowing how to plate up food so that it waters mouths even before being tasted is the skill of the artist. And a good cook IS an artist of course, whether he's cooking hash browns for his children or braising lobster for the Maharajah, glowing Dhruv proved he could do it all.
His frustrations didn't get get the better of him even when cooking in 100 F. Jodphur, so great was his concentration that I doubt he noticed the perspiration droplet hanging from the tip of his nose. How sweet I thought as I waited for it to drop in to the raita. It didn't. But it wouldn't have bothered me one jot if I'd had some of his bodily fluids glazing my Samosas.
So Dhruv won and I sniffed.
His artistic interpretation of how food should look, taste and feel left me weeping.
Loved him!
No comments:
Post a Comment