John: Gregg, this Final has taken the premium Waitrose biscuit.
Quite the most extraordinary moments of erotic gastronomy ever to have been jiggled in a MasterChef climax.
Gregg: I couldn’t agree more. The whole series has been a money shot. I’m toe-curlingly sated. I could even do some cuddling right now.
John: But this isn’t for sissies- let’s be clear about that, Gregg.
Cooking Doesn’t Get Tougher Than This. Have I mentioned that already?
Gregg: It’s not actually possible to repeat that often enough. This show could be called ‘Hardcore Fascist Food’.
There’s absolutely nothing gay about it.
John: Tell me, what did you think of Diane?
Gregg: I think I’d give her one. She’s tasty. I like her cleavage.
John: But what about that dish?
When I saw her seducing the pureed Aboriginal broccoli onto a bed of sun-kissed celeriac effluvium I thought Mamma Mia was staging an impromptu matinee in my boxer shorts.
Gregg: I’m with you, John.
As soon as the spoon made contact with the back of my mouth the only thing I could think of was the Mother Superior singing ‘Climb Ev’ry Mountain’ in The Sound of Music.
Then there was a smooth sweetness kick-boxing my pleasure receptors, followed by the all-over body sensation of Cheryl Cole giving me a round-the-world wearing a pair of Dalmatian puppy gloves.
Suddenly, I was Rick Astley.
John: But you can’t ignore Brian. He’s ugly, I know, but the man lives food.
Gregg: His denim butter hair-pin pasties made me want to talk about nipple cream with Debbie McGee in a sage-green Bristol car.
John: What a morris-dancing, supercilious combination.
Christ, I’m almost angry.
Gregg: And the bergamot thumbprints? Was he having a laugh?
Did he want an ejaculation to thin out the sauce?
John: Right, I’ll be conjuring that one up in bed for at least a fortnight.
Gregg: Now, we need a moment’s silence for Luigi.
John: Struth, is he the Messiah?
Gregg: Or just a very naughty boy- he’s ruined food for me forever.
John: Unless he moves into my bedroom and re-creates nightly the pan-stroked carpet of marsupial cheese giblets I’m going to moon Smithfields and become a software engineer.
Gregg: What, I mean what, can you say about it?
John: Nothing. I’ve run out of adjectives.
I’d need to start touching you to communicate what that did to my taste buds.
Gregg: So Luigi’s the winner, right?
John: He’s been on a journey, for sure. The first day he was here he asked me what the oven was for.
Plus he’s got that rarest of ingredients.
Gregg: A goose’s golden egg?
John: No: he’ll give good press.