Pages in category “British cooking television programmes”. The following 78 pages are in this category, out of 78 total. This list may not reflect recent changes … (Wikipedia listing on Google)
(Yes, 78 pages of cooking shows. It makes you sick!)
As the only TV shows I watch tend to be the news, international rugby matches, police procedurals and documentaries about parallel universes/who really built Stonehenge?, all of which enable me to shout furiously at the telly (much to Hunzi’s and the neighbours’ distress), I’m not very up on fashion trends in cooking.
How I have avoided the overwhelming swampiness of programmes featuring tense cake bakeoffs and nervous celebrity cheffing and the production of complex desserts using industrial gases and hairy bikers and epic-fail dinner parties and art critics making agreeable tours round Italy’s more expensive ristorantes in a posh hire-car, I don’t know.
It’s probably that I’d rather eat my own head boiled with Swede, than sit here for an hour watching some media-smoothie and his best mate scoffing delicious regional specialities in the eternal Calabrian sunshine, engaging agreeably in witty, unscripted badinage, while copping for massive expenses.
Hence, I have caught up with “Pulled Pork” rather late in the day.
And wished I hadn’t.
Eating “Pulled Pork” is rather like eating overcooked, frayed string dipped in Vaseline, to use an analogy. It’s the kind of pappy nappy-food you don’t really need teeth for – which is just as well, I suppose, as I haven’t any, at least none that meet conclusively in the middle.
When you do manage to chomp through a mouthful, however, you can spend many a happy hour trying to winkle the bits out of your denture, using a succession of increasingly enamel-unfriendly sharp implements.
“Pulled Pork” is clearly one of those serendipitous discoveries beloved of marketers:
“Now, team, porkchop sales are falling off a cliff. Focus groups tell us they’re too retro for modern tastes. We’ve tried marketing just the fatty bits, but the consumer has seen through the old “Pork Belly” scam. So how are we going to segment this normally boring, meat-like commodity in order to get the housewife’s eyeballs on a profitable new market proposition for our revered client, the Porkmeat Marketing Council of Great Britain and Elsewhere? Let’s blue-sky some thoughts. Yes, Torquil?”
“So, like, my partner Jocasta well overdid the pork roast on Sunday, while we were out playing tennis with our friends Dave and Sam the Cam, and, when I poked gloomily at a slice with my fork, it just, like, pulled apart, like a shreddy old skein of damp sheep’s wool. Come to think of it, that’s pretty much what it tasted like, too.”
“”Pulled Pork”? Terrific branding, Torq, have another Porsche!”
And so, with a decent bung to Mr Tesco, the aisle-end chiller cabinets have filled with Now Only £4! bargain-priced boxes of microwave-in-the-bag “Pulled Pork”, pre-slow-cooked for all Eternity in smoky barbecue flavour goo by Europe’s finest chefs at 30 deg. C. , so you don’t have to.
And I ask myself, what do all those millions of gluttonous viewers glued to glutinous Celebrity Oven-porn do with the reams of brilliant ideas and information they are absorbing, along with the microwave background radiation spewing from their fifty-inch TFT Smartscreens?
Why, like me, they rush out and buy Mr Morrison’s cook-chilled ready meals (now with extra subtracted unidentifiable chicken pieces in spicy bulky gluten gloop) and ‘wave them for three minutes during the commercial breaks.
Cooking? Like, duh, dudes. Cooking’s for Masterchefs.
I’ll just pull me some pork.
Speaking of cookery shows, how many people would you imagine having the same name, a very uncommon-sounding name, like ‘John Torode’?
I worked years ago at the London all-news (ha-ha! They used to get me to present music shows when they had no money to pay journalists. And I wasn’t invited to the 40th anniversary bash!) radio station, LBC. There was a journalist there called John Torode, who later became slightly well known on, I think, The Guardian newspaper, but then seems to have disappeared off the radar – much like myself.
So you can imagine my mild surprise/wild surmise, when he popped up as one of the heavily sceptical judges on Masterchef, only it wasn’t him but some random Australian namealike bearing no resemblance to the original.
Really, because I find there are several people posing on Facebook with my unusual family name, and they are not me, or even related to me. I don’t even have an active Facebook account.
But who would know the difference?