Ever since the Masterchef thing happened in the UK, it spread to America and then to Australia. It was like the Big Brother phenomena, and then the Idol/X factor/My Country’s Got Talent thing … for now, on TV, being a chef is the new hot, sexy thing in fashion.
Ironically, the enrolment for culinary school didn’t increase but according to the statistics, more and more young students are home cooks. This isn’t a bad thing at all. I enjoy watching from the sidelines and making comments but Renee was the type of girl who either bitched about contests or joined them.
Funnily enough, she started off as a musician. A bloody good one. She practiced for hours, took lessons and then after rigorous rounds of auditions she entered a really good conservatory. Then she got bored. So she took some time off and decided to cook. She started to bake – one of the easiest methods of cookery. She made cakes, meringues and all sorts of biscuits. She moved on and started to roast… after roasting she started to stew and so on… she read every single culinary textbook under the sun, she watched a lot of TV. All she talked about was food. I wondered sometimes – I wondered why we were in a relationship. She was so ambitious, so dedicated, so passionate and I just enjoyed breathing in her passion vicariously and watching from the sidelines. I wish I had her passion… but I never did … maybe my job in IT verifies this simple contentment and lack of thirst.
Today she decided that she was MasterChef material. She decided to rock up to the audition. She practiced her own goats cheese, sweet potato and beetroot tart at home so many times, that I became very sick of eating it. Watching somebody in a sporting event is normally thrilling; you sit by the sidelines and watch them perform. This MasterChef audition was nothing like the kind you see on TV – there is no balcony. There is a room and inside that room there is a commercial kitchen with lots of bench space and refrigerators. I wasn’t allowed in the room. I waited for her outside… and I felt nervous, but a tiny part of me wished that she didn’t win.
She walked out with a grin on her face. Oh dear…
“I MADE IT!”
She grabbed me faster than I could say “congratulations!” her arms wrapped themselves around my shoulders. And I stood there outside the room, clutching her, in wonder of what will happen if she gets bored of cooking.