Mastershite

Last year I fell in love with a new breed of reality TV. Masterchef was like a breath of fresh air, different format, judges who knew what they were talking about, contestants that didn't make me feel the need to go on a murderous rampage and best of all, some of Australia's most exciting culinary talent showcased for the nation to feast on.

That was last year. This year, I hate it.

The blatent product placement, the simpering, whining, crying contestants and the fact that most of them just want their faces on television drives me nuts and I find myself sounding so much like my father when I say, it's rubbish.

H and I caught up for drinks with another chef friend and his charming wife (M & A) on Sunday and M made an excellent point. Some of the contestants this year are quite young, not yet in there twenties, and they sit there on screen talking about their dreams of becoming a chef. Well if that is the case why not become a chef? Seriously, H didn't start his apprenticeship until he was 18, my own father started his last year and there is a serious shortage in Melbourne. H's boss wants to hire an apprentice at the moment - now that is the opportunity of a lifetime, if you want to be a chef, not if you want to be famous.

And to top it all off, Matt Preston's plate throwing antics and the cliffhanger style ad break truely was 'disgusting'. The lack of all of that scripted drama last year was what distinguished Masterchef from all the other annoying, crappy drizzle.

Like A said on Sunday, the first season of a reality TV show is always good, before the contestants start seeking the fame and money that will come along with it rather than persuing dreams of a different life.

Yuck. Rant over.