Masterchef: The Final Five

You know that the competition has entered the business end of things when Kate Spicer turns up in a business suit...
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This week, the remaining five contestants – Lesbetarian, Tom, USA, Italy, Tatt-face – were cooking for the food critics. It’s always by far and away the greatest episode of the series.

“These people make or break restaurants!” bellowed John, as a gust of wind swung open a door to reveal Jabba the Hut, Mrs C3P0 and Kate Spicer – all wearing business suits and clutching various important pieces of cutlery.

“This better be good,” sneered Spicer, as a single string of drool fell from the corner of her mouth and dripped onto her lovely shoes.

First up, Tom. Tough guy Tom who likes to cook great big chunks of meat on open fires, whilst his naked penis dangles enormously in his trousers. As expected, his main course was a massive pile of lamb. This was flanked by some pike with cabbage, and a bowl of pudding. Everyone had a great time. Jabba smiled.

“The sauce could be thicker,” complained John, his puppet mouth forming a sad face.

Next was USA. A retrospective video showed him speaking gobbledygook to a confused Chinese gentleman in a shop. Trance bass line. Back to the studio.

“I’m cooking Smooshi!” he declared, before plunging a teddy bear into some bubbling water, frying some Taste the Difference mackerel over a Bunsen burner, and plopping some steaks into a large cup of Nescafe Gold Blend.

“That guy is fucking INSANE!” cried Gregg, pointing his finger two centimetres away from USA’s nose.

“It just works,” shrugged the cook.

“This is like porridge,” complained Spicer, nonchalantly flicking her starter at the wall, before everyone agreed that it was an okay lunch, and would just about do.

First up, Tom. Tough guy Tom who likes to cook great big chunks of meat on open fires, whilst his naked penis dangles enormously in his trousers

Italy was up – she’s desperate to get away from her utterly pointless day job as an intensive care nurse. As expected, she formed a potato mountain laced with squid, topped with an olive hat. Main course was monkfish in a jacket made from ham, and pudding was fig pie.

“It doesn’t look Italian,” complained 3PO, before piling everything into her mouth in one spoonful, and giving a thumbs up to the camera.

“That’s like being snogged by an hot European man-whore,” cooed Gregg, with fig juice coating his lips.

“Don’t mind if I do,” agreed John, placing his hand over the camera to mask whatever came next.

Only two to go – Jackie the Lesbetarian, and Tatt-face.

Jackie, from Manchester, dreams of cooking classic Mancunian Street Food – like salad in edible paper with chillies, or spinach and cheese on a slice of fried potato bread. Hilariously, her starter gave everyone the hiccups, and instead of bothering to make pudding, she simply thrust a knife deep into her own thumb, embraced John Torode, and went into the dining room to show the critics the impressive amount of blood oozing from her wound.

“Looks nasty,” agreed Jabba, dry puking at the very sight of it.

Lastly, it was the turn of Tatt-face, who decided that after weeks of making things like Shepherd’s Pie and Irish Stew, it was time to take some risks. His intro tape showed him grating cheese on mushrooms for his girlfriend.

“So what’s on offer, Tatt-face?” asked Gregg, absent-mindedly staring around the room, wondering why they ever got rid of the hot blonde one, and completely expecting the usual meat and potatoes bullshit.

“Tuna with strawberries, then monkfish and apples,” answered Tatt-face, as the entire roomful of chefs and TV production staff sprayed cappuccino foam from their mouths, and shouted “WHAT??”

Gregg formed an angry fist, John held him back.

“Seriously, it works.”

It didn’t. After insulting the food critics with his preposterous lunch, Tatt-face got the chop.

“It was just my time,” he wept, his fingers clawing desperately at the misguided Masterchef tattoo on his right breast.

And everyone started laughing.

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