ZUMBO FOR THE WIN!

The auditorium is full of spectators (all 21 rejects), and a hush falls over the crowd as the gladiators stand before their judges.

In one corner, we have the feisty little Asian, whose specialty is…. Asian.  And that’s pretty much it.  But don’t worry! Her over the top personality, and ability to sound so sincere when accepting the judges cooing compliments, is sure to convince the them that the shit on toast she serves up is worthy of the crown.

In the other corner, we have Princess Prissy, who’s got her game face well and truly plastered on.  Oh wait… she looks like that all the time.  With her hair pulled back so tight that her lips are puffed (possibly from clawing her way into the final), she’s hoping that the rounds ahead of her involve sugar, sugar and more sugar.  Don’t underestimate her.  Her bite is worse than her bark (and she’s a pretty nasty bark).

Then in the other corner (wait… how can we have a three cornered ring?  Of course – it’s a three ringed circus!!!) we have the dude food specialist, Andy.  Although he has taken a recent hit to the heart (being separated from his bro-mance buddy Ben), he’s determined to see it through, although he doesn’t know how the fuck he ended up in the title fight. 

Neither do we, Andy; neither do we.

However, this dark horse can’t be under estimated as he pulls his chef whites on and sharpens his knives; this boy has got game.

So we have our three mighty gladiators, armour gleaming, faces determined, eyes on the prize, as they enter the first battle round. 

After the first round, the gladiator that’s receives the first fatal blow will be carried from the ring, and into a life of obscurity, as no one ever remembers who finishes third in these epic battles.  And no one cares.

The gladiators have to prepare a hot entrée.  I repeat HOT entrée.  Andy delivers the biggest blow by throwing up a dish involving a massive chunk of tuna and squid ink cauliflower puree.  It looks like art on a plate, taste less shit that the others, and see’s him into the next title bout.

Princess Prissy delivers a stunning blow involving beef, turnips and fuck knows what else, but it’s enough to see her sail past the feisty Asian, who clearly doesn’t understand the concept of HOT entrée, and delivers a deliciously flavoursome salad.

With a click of her heels and the delusion that she’s done amazingly well, Audra is evicted to the stalls to watch the remaining two gladiators battle over what should have been her crown.  Shame she couldn’t cook anything other than Asian food.

Their confidence piqued, our two remaining gladiators prepare themselves for heavy, dirty, blood thirsty one on one battles. 

The first, sees favour to Andy (who still doesn’t know how the fuck he got there) by way of creating a main dish that could be Australia’s new national dish. 

This is where he delivers his master stroke.  Understanding that a banger in bread with sauce is clearly not going to get him past the harsh judges, he opts for a classic seafood platter; Masterchef style.

Battling with a lamb in the background, the Princess struggles, and although she plates up a masterpiece compared to her mighty foes dish, (which simply looks like he picked everything up and threw it at the plate from a height), the fact that she can’t cook savoury and he can really cook seafood, is plain to see.

She falters, and he seizes the moment to surge ahead.  Victory is within his grasp.  He can now taste it.

Standing there, catching their breaths after a mighty battle, the gladiators are then confronted by the pocket-sized spicy assassin (Christine Manfield), and a surprising adversary; dessert.

After tasting the tempting treat, the Princess nearly jumps out of her skin with elegant excitement, as Andy simply declares ‘that’s the best thing eva, hey?’

So the final battle begins. 

Confidence is fading for our gladiator Andy, who’s five point lead from a round of savoury awesomeness seems insecure under the strength of Princess Prissy’s confidence in a dessert challenge.

They both hit the ground running, with mixers, ice cream churners, caramel, biscuits, wafers and spatula’s flying in all directions.  Mousse has to be re-made, tweals have to be re-curled and caramel has split.

The battlefield has become a devastating mess.

Meals are presented to the judges, and the final votes are cast.

The leaders and respected citizens mingle with the past, defeated gladiators and wait in anticipation for judges to hand down their final verdict.

As family gathers, mother’s declare their astonishment at being in the presence of such important people, and sisters are excited about meeting Matt Meringue, the Princess falls as the final blow strikes home, and Andy remains standing; victorious.

To the astonished victor, who still cannot understand how he even got there, and declares that no one else would either, go the spoils.  One hundred thousand dollars for him to follow a dream he doesn’t have, a book deal to create a compendium of dude food and seafood, and a chance to cook with artists way above his calibre.  And of course, the rekindling of his bro-mance.  How sweet this victory must be.

To the fallen Princess, a token of fifteen thousand dollars, and the glory of being the first loser, cannot revive her. As she lay there, drawing her final breath, her hand reaches out, grasping for the dream of a cake shop once so close, but now so far away…

And then, from out of nowhere, Prince Zumbo sails in on his white horse (made of marzipan and glitter) and offers the Princess a paid apprenticeship in his kitchen.  The day is saved!

‘Hail to Zumbo!’ is the collective cry, as everyone embraces the wonder that is the Masterchef of 2012; the great and might Andy.