masterchef ho! (four blues)

G. Wallace (2005 – )

Bald head! Tan skin! Fat hands! Stuffed fork! What a mouth!
How’d a greengrocer ever bag this number?
The wife loves a bit of sole (fish), prick tells us in every shot
Done to Le Gavroche standards
Torode relegated to guest (not chef) – not with Roux’s eyebrows on the stainless steel
Swallowed the poor bitch whole on the wedding night
Stained white thermals under his giant suit
Watched TV, then dozed off to the sight of himself
Then woke up for coffee and presenting commitments
Fuck cooking – LIFE doesn’t get tougher (or better) than this
You excruciating cunt!

J. Torode (2005 – )

They call him tortoiseshit,
all the lads,
always did and’re right to do so
Over a couple of cold lagers and fat fistfuls of chilli nuts
In the Streatham pubs where he haunts the fruit machines
With sad eyes and heavy face
Clothed in long sleeves to hide the eczema
Haunted by the faces of other, more successful chefs
Not just middling but starred and treasured
He cried that time, reminiscing about family life in Australia
in the weird episode where the chefs cooked for his father and his aunt but not his dead mother
You’re not a fat man, John, but your torso looks fucking huge
Keep up the good work
You don’t become second best by jerking off.

M. Roux, Jr. (2008 – 2013)

Roux! Roux! You! (terminally nice person!)
Just keep on nodding
You might be French in tongue and name
But you’re ours now
English.
Roux! Roux! You! (cultural appropriation!)
We’ve colonized the movements of your bulging eyes
They’re two assets of the corporation now
(were, before Potato-gate)
Like your beard and your two gentle hands and your obvious pleasure
Roux! Roux! You! (marketable talent!)
We’ve commodified your measured gestures
Your exemplary cutlery work
Your stock phrases –
“Unctuous!” “Perfectly cooked!” “The classics!” “Just not right!”
&c. –
And slowly over whole series you’re stripped of greatness by default
Until your enthusiasm for British pears and artisan breadwork
Are caricatures of your silent laughter.
Roux! Roux! Fuck you!
It’s the English way.

M. Wareing (2014 – )

You were cruel Wareing
Before, I mean
Some face making women cry
Some voice convincing itself of its own import
Twats like me don’t forget.