“We’re in fucking Scotland!” shouted Greg, dressed as One Man and His Dog, clutching a great big wooden spoon, whilst men in skirts threw bricks at each other in a field, and the mob of cooks strode up a hill.
“You’re… here… to… cook… people… lunch,” explained John.
The contestants were then split into two teams, one led by Jackie, the other Kennedy (oh how delicious!). On one side: the one who looks like an ASBO – with the face tattoos of spiders webs presumably airbrushed out – the one who’s French/Italian/German, someone called Tom. On the other were the rest of them – Miss Wales, Ed Norton, Peter, and the milkmaid who specialises in puddings.
The plan – to cook dinner for the Highland Games.
“Hey dude, what’s a neep?” chirped Ed Norton, holding a whisk to Peter’s throbbing crotch, whilst, elsewhere in the tent, ASBO violently stabbed a load of carrots in the face for mugging him off, then boiled some fucking veg.
“Seriously, I’m not even joking…I don’t even know how to spell neeps…” continued Norton to himself, blissfully ignoring the commotion caused by Kennedy cutting his own finger off whilst attempting to peel the edible overcoat from a raw potato.
After some serious cookery, occasionally interspersed with scenes of John Torode suddenly emerging from behind people with his puppet face to compliment them on really feeling the vibe, dinner was finally served. The grown Scottish men had finished playing tug ‘o war, they were ready to eat now. Tensions were running high, Miss Wales was looking hot, and within about ten seconds all but the unpopular fish soup had been gobbled up.
“We’re even out of neeps!” declared Norton triumphantly, pretending that he knew what the fuck he was talking about.
It was then decision time. The teams had been going head-to-head for their survival. One would win and cook for another group of Scotch – this time posh ones who sound English - the others would be banished to London to stare angrily at themselves in a mirror, then fry something up to prove that they still have what it takes to work in a restaurant. As it was, Jackie won it, and they all went into the woods to snog each other, whilst the losers traipsed off to form a queue on the platform at Scotland Train Station.
Next up – dinner at Brideshead Revisited, under then watchful eye of the lead singer of Simple Minds, Tom Kitchen (NB. He makes things like squid with lettuce. He has a soft wet perm. He’s famous as fuck.)
Ed Norton and Miss Wales did a mean job of it. Kennedy served his on a puddle of animal blood. Peter screwed it up on purpose. Then Gregg nearly choked on a bone because of Polly.
To summarise: Jackie was required to put shells in an oven. The Italian/French/German one boiled a haggis. ASBO sat in the yard gobbing phlegm balls at slugs and tearing feathers off birds. A posh one fried some meat. Tom forgot to put the jelly in everyone’s pudding.
When it came to serving the stuff up, the real highlight was the French/Italian/Spanish one emerging into the dining room to bagpipe music to carve a giant sausage, whilst Billy Connolly did one of his classic routines about needing a jobby on a building site.
Everyone had a great time, and all five cooks got a standing ovation for their efforts, immediately followed by a slow-hand-clap to ensure that they left the room and didn’t hang around to make boring chit chat and delay the ensuing orgy.
MEANWHILE, DOWN IN LONDON.
Their ultimate challenge was afoot – it involved cooking pigeons in gunpowder with crisps. One of them would be going home, explained Torode, before Gregg appeared from behind a massive fridge holding a knife and fork
Ed Norton and Miss Wales did a mean job of it. Kennedy served his on a puddle of animal blood. Peter screwed it up on purpose. Then Gregg nearly choked on a bone because of Polly’s utter stupidity.
“Get out Peter!” boomed Gregg, eventually, before pointing at each contestant individually and purring: “you four are still in it.”
“But I don’t even know what a neep is!” laughed Ed Norton, hilariously.
And everyone totally cracked up.
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