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Coming at you with another little confession today because I like those and also I have had this blog post idea in my head for months now. Months. This isn’t really season specific, except for the part where it totally kind of is, because what I am gonna talk about today is about to hit its peak.
I am obsessed with cooking shows. Obsessed. Full on, will watch almost any one that is on TV obsessed. Masterchef (from anywhere in the world but I am partial to the Australian version), Bake Off (my god Bake Off) anything from a TV chef and I mean anything. I am a total sucker for anything that has Gordon Ramsay in it, Hotel Hell/Kitchen Nightmares/Hell’s Kitchen. If he’s, there I’m sold. Nigella and Nigel Slater, I bow to them. Jamie Oliver I have been known to spend whole days watching him when left to my own devices. My Kitchen Rules Australia owned my ass for most of the year and a part of me felt empty when it finally ended all the back in September/October (I still feel a small ache for it sometimes). Honestly I could watch anything that involves anyone cooking something, competition or not.
It’s a problem. And incredibly ridiculous when you bear in mind that I don’t really cook. I mean I can cook, if I could be bothered I would cook more adventurously, but I can survive. And I definitely don’t bake. I am barely competent as an assistant to R whenever she ends up baking when I’m round her’s. Seriously my skills reach the ‘I can sustain myself’ and I’m currently relatively happy with that.
I don’t watch these shows because I’m looking for inspiration or because I want to try out whatever recipe they are cooking. I watch them because it is almost like a compulsion to do so. I can’t help it. If I flick it on then it stays on. Unless someone intervenes, although they usually don’t. I have watched repeats of the same cooking show and been fully aware of it but not cared. I could definitely have used that time more wisely but I don’t (same applies to those episodes of Friends that I have seen more times than I can count). I have almost audibly wept at the beauty of some of the finished products (especially if they are of the dessert/cake variety). I have wished multiple times that I had the patience (or time, or a whole heap of other things) to at least make a botched attempt at the finished product.
I never do, because that would be absurd…
Which leads me on to the festive element of this post. Because we have reached that time of year again where all the festive foods come out. And I am never more of a sucker for a cooking TV show then when it comes with the festive foods. I have watched far too many different people cook a turkey, some roast veggies and all of them claim to have perfected the roast potato. And I am fascinated by it. Full on fascinated.
I mean they can’t all have the perfect roast potato (in fact none of them do, le madre does (FYI, I know that it a mix of French of Spanish)). Nor can my brain compute that there is more than one way to prepare a bloody bird.
And the desserts…I have never felt the need to be able to exist solely on desserts more than I do at Christmas. I mean come on, it becomes acceptable to eat a small piece of chocolate for breakfast. But the desserts that come with cooking shows are just something else. I mean they aren’t quite Bake Off level desserts (the showstopper round), but that’s not important. Mainly because I wouldn’t feel so bad about devouring them (seriously when they take apart some of those final round cakes I can’t help but feel sad because some of them are works of edible art). But I want to devour them. All of them.
And all the best desserts seem to come out at Christmas cooking show season. They make me weak. Especially when they come from Nigella. Don’t get me started there. Seriously.
I have a problem.
I mean it’s a wonderful problem for me. It’s awful because I spend a shit ton of my time hungry for food that I am most likely never gonna have at any point. Buuuuttttt I love them. So much.
This was a really rambly (what’s new there though) post that I think lost its point somewhere along the line (if it ever really had one) that actually be summed up quite simply in a sentence.
I fucking love cooking shows.
Parentheses count: 12. See you tomorrow.
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