Last Night's Tv

Something strange is going on. My friends and colleagues have started to shout at each other, and at me, in an aggressively male and thuggish fashion. "FIVE MINUTES!" they growl. "You've got FIVE MINUTES!" Five minutes for what? And why do they suddenly sound like disgruntled taxi drivers? What do they mean? I'll take as long as it takes, thank you, whatever it is.

Then they'll do little mimes, pretend to dip their fingers into something to taste, announce that it looks quite presentable, but lacks oomph. They'll spoon on a little innuendo, make suggestive comments about saltiness. Then they'll point a finger at me, and say: "Sam, you're ... [very long pause] ... going home."

What's going on? COOKING DOESN'T GET TOUGHER THAN THIS - that's what's going on. They're impersonating those two off Masterchef (BBC2). It doesn't matter which; they're pretty much the same, John and Gregg; one is more antipodean, the other has less hair.

It seems the whole world has become obsessed with this cheap and formulaic cookery show since it was moved to the later 8.30pm slot. I need to get involved. So we've reached the semi-final. The policewoman has gone, sadly. Her hotpot may have made John weep, she may have come up with the most memorable and moving line of the series (something like: "There's a lot of me in that trifle"), but she cocked up on the coq au vin. (Coq au vin? What the hell was she thinking?) She ... went home.

Actually, it's amazing that there are any women left at all; they're usually the first off, possibly because they just aren't TOUGH ENOUGH. Or maybe men are better at cooking. But Sheridan and Emily are still there, battling for the chance to CHANGE THEIR LIVES FOR EVER, along with James and Jonny. They're in teams now, and there's no culling until the end of the week. That's a shame, and means John and Gregg will have to wait to have their totally contrived and unbelievable little argument about who to send packing. But the contestants are still being moved RIGHT OUT OF THE COMFORT ZONE, RIGHT FROM THE START.

Breakfast first, and James and Emily's pain perdu (possibly) with fruit compote and creme fraiche gets the thumbs up, but Sheridan burns the muffin, so her and Jonny's eggs benedict aren't so perfect. Then it's off to Dunstable Hospital to do lunch for 400 in the staff canteen. That's an odd task, given that the contestants want to work in gourmet restaurants, not canteens. I get the impression the producers could be running out of task ideas; tonight the contestants will be cooking for Booker Prize judges, bizarrely.

I'm still not really getting it, to be honest. What's bothering me is that I'm not actually learning how to make anything. My friend Hannah helps me out. She's Masterchef's biggest fan.

Her whole family is. They actually do it at home, get in the ingredients, act it all out, have timed cook-offs, while shouting John and Gregg's catchphrases at each other, things like THERE'S TOO MUCH GOING ON ON THE PLATE.

It's not about learning recipes, she explains. It's about finding out about which flavors go with which, and not overdoing them, not having too many things fighting to be the star. (It's also about knowing what is the star - if

the parsley is the star, then you know you've gone wrong somewhere.) It's about harmony and presentation. In Hannah's house, they're eating more rounded, better-presented food since becoming Masterchef addicts, she says.

And the Pop Idol format, with manufactured conflict and broken dreams? That's just comforting, familiar, exciting, she says - as Pop Idol is. And perhaps it explains why John and Gregg try to out-Simon Cowell each other. But I'm still cross about the way that they will never look at the camera and only address each other and the contestants. I think they believe they're in a soap opera, not a cookery show. Maybe they are. And what about the music - 10 seconds of Fat boy Slim, then what sounds like The Apprentice theme, then something else? It's as if a child is randomly hitting buttons on the car radio. It's giving me a headache and making me tired. I think I just can't take the heat. I need to get out of the kitchen. I'm ... going home.

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