YES - Chef!

At the risk of being accused of being obsessed with TV (I'm not by the way), it's hard not to be aware of the proliferation of foodie programmes. Hardly a day goes by without Gordon (Mr Shouty) Ramsay, Raymond (Mr Smoothie) Blanc, Jamie (Mr Matey) Oliver or Nigella (Little Miss Phwoar) Lawson showing us how easy it is to prepare a three course gourmet banquet.

Let's be honest how difficult can it possibly be to prepare a Smoked Salmon and Caviar Souffle, Cote de Boeuf en Croute and a Frais du Bois Pavlova on a budget of £10. Unless of course you are Heston ( Mr Wacky) Blumenthal and you need a nuclear reactor to cook with.

What is puzzling me is the "Master Chef" or " The Restaurant" concept. Supposedly "ordinary" people with a penchant for posh nosh compete for the privilege of either owning or working in a top class eatery.

First and foremost don't any of these wannabees realise that they will be facing eighteen hour days, burnt fingers, stab wounds, a complete lack of social life and a potential nervous breakdown. Moreover, the catering industry has one of the highest rate of bankruptcies of any business sector.

Secondly, and this is the bit I really don't get, where on Earth do the contestants get their "chops" (pun intended) from? It's fairly safe to assume that, when we are introduced to:- "27 yr old, single London based PR girl Jinty Penwiggle-Ffolkes" she was brought up on Sunday lunch at Simpsons, birthday dinners at La Gavroche and now dines regularly at Scotts and Locanda Locatelli. But what about :- "39 yr old, married father of four, coach driver Bill Biggins from Preston"?

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not being snobby or elitist but you can't actually prepare and cook restaurant style cuisine unless you've actually eaten it........and it don't come cheap. I suppose its possible that, instead of taking the kids out on the weekend, buying them clothes and actually paying the mortgage, Mr and Mrs Biggins disappear once a week to the nearest Michelin starred destination and actually blow £150 on dinner (I know there are a lot of "actuallys" they just seemed to fit).

And then there's the practicing, you can almost hear the conversations: "Oh No Dad! Not pan seared sea bass on a bed of caramelised samphire again! Can't we just have fish fingers and chips?"

Or

"Dad can you take us to the park to play footie?"

"Nope! Sorry kids but Daddy's havin' a reet bugger getting the crackling perfect on this here pork belly and the white truffle sauce is doin' me head in.....ask your Mam".

Still, each to his own but I can't help having a little sadistic gloat when they are eliminated and their dreams of becoming a Mr Man or Little Miss crumble like the biscuit base on their kumquat, quava and passion fruit cheesecake.

Anyone wanna share a bargain bucket of KFC?