MasterChef was rigged

Now, I know, we all love Julie. She’s the cuddly Mumma we all want to cook us chicken soup when we’re sick and make us chocolate cake for our birthday – but she is no master chef!

And it’s not that I’m especially a fan of Poh, either. In fact I don’t think either of the girls belonged in the final two. I’ve worked in enough restaurants to know that the kitchen is no place for a person prone to hissy fits or breakdowns. Good chefs, great chefs are clinical. They’re scary. As a waiter, you wait for them to ding that bell and quickly, cleanly take the appropriate dish off the pass and to the eager diner. You don’t ask questions. You don’t collect a smile or kind word. You say, “Thank you, Chef” and scurry on.

Forget her messiness – Julie puts way too much blood, sweat and tears into her culinary creations. Having spent the past three months watching her toil away behind the bench I’d be worried her ‘home style’ cooking might make me ill. Yes, she’s a lovely, happy lady – but was that the show’s brief?

No. They were searching for Australia’s first Master Chef. A person in the same ilk as Matt Moran (ARIA, Sydney), Emmanuel Stroobant (Saint Pierre, Singapore) and Donovan Cooke (Hong Kong Jockey Club Happy Valley Clubhouse, Hong Kong) – all fine dining chefs who made guest appearances throughout the season.

Every night (except Saturdays) I, along with a couple of million other Australians, sat down to supper eyes peeled to the TV screen. We watched as hundreds of hopefuls auditioned their favourite dish, marvelled at the challenges that saw twenty finalists whittle down to five, four, then seven again (when a second-chance Navy-lunch challenge brought back Tom, Poh and Justine); and we nodded when Lucas and Julia – who’d earlier secured a place in the final week – were swiftly sent packing. It seemed that winning those early master chef challenges worked against them. Those who had stayed week-to-week had become hardened contestants: compared with them, Lucas and Julia were weak.

So came the final four: Chris and Justine, talented, level-headed, reasoned cooks; Poh, whose art background and perfectionism ensured every dish she plated look amazing and tasted fabulous, and Julie, with her flour-flecked face, sweaty brow and inevitably sliced fingers.

Julie, Julie, Julie.

Now the grand ol’ prize for winning season one of Channel Ten’s MasterChef Australia: $100,000 in prize money, the chance to work in some of countries top kitchens, and a cook book deal. It’s this last little ditty that’s got me all in a flurry. Because, it was the cook book deal that sealed the fate of the final four.

Chris’ Snout to Tail, Stout to Ale idea was great, but not really mainstream. And Poh’s Food From Mars Malaysian creations – Century Eggs? No thank you. Justine…? Well, French cooking’s a tad fiddly.

But Julie had an idea that Channel Ten could run with. What self-respecting Aussie battler wouldn’t run out to buy, Our Family Table? Full of easy to prepare at home dishes-with-love. Yep, that was a money earner – even Donna Hay wanted to buy a copy. So that’s how the cookie crumbled.

In the end, it came down to Julie’s marketability. It didn’t matter that Poh’s replications of the final challenge dishes looked and tasted far superior, they threw her to the curb over a teaspoon of chocolate sorbet and gave Julie a bunch of undeserving ‘nines’.

Poor Poh. Poor Chris. Poor Justine.

Although, I’d like to think these guys will go the way of runner-up reality TV contestants-past and make their mark sans the cloud of chef-lebrity. Poh off to LA (with Curtis Stone), Chris with his beer and meat inspired cook book (that celebrity chef, Ben O’Donoghue loved!) and Justine under the guidance of Matt Moran at ARIA.

Julie’s cook book will sell. She’ll open her family café on the New South Wales Central Coast, and her boys will love having Mum back in the kitchen.

I just can’t help feeling a little deflated. Three months of loyal following and the finale fizzled. Master Chef has left me with a bitter taste in my mouth.