Celebrity MasterChef review – anyone for a giant lasagne?

So, here we are, heading into the semi-finals already. Twenty more-or-less recognisable names and faces have become four, and by the end of the end of the night the remaining quartet of contestants on this new series of Celebrity MasterChef (BBC One) will – courtesy of a nail-biting double bill – have been reduced to a mere brace of rivals.

Still standing at the beginning of the stretch are comedian Judi Love, footballer-turned-pundit John Barnes, Apprentice star and quintessential salesman Thomas Skinner, and Rak-Su recording artist and sweet summer child Myles Stephenson, who is younger than most of the tins in my store cupboard.

This time they had to knock up identical dishes while communicating only verbally, through a wall – Myles’s conscientiousness combining with teammate Thomas’s confidence, Judi’s instinct dovetailing with John’s big-picture practicality – before cooking a two-course lunch for 100-plus London Underground workers, including a meat-free option. Judi and John plump for a vegetarian lasagne. Gregg Wallace, who seems only to have got louder as his co-presenter John Torode has got older and has developed communication skills more closely resembling those of a normal human adult, is concerned. “INDUSTRIAL-sized BÉCHAMEL!” he cries. “Takes. A fair. Bit of COOKING LET ME TELL YOU!!!!” Come, friendly bombs…

Everything turns out fine. An elusive tinned custard stash is found, curries are flavourful, ginger syrup sponges declared both gingery and syrupy, and no one forgets to season everything they say with a generous handful of otiose adverbs. Things are crisped off, fried off and plated up until it’s time for Gregggg to shout his charmless verdicts at John T again. “THERE’S CUMIN IN THERE!” he bellows like a man who’s never come across food or spice before, let alone in harmonious conjunction. “THAT’S A PROPER PUNCH!” If only, Gregggg. If only.

In the second instalment, our contestants must feed last year’s champion Greg Rutherford and two runners-up: Dom from Gogglebox, fruitier than the rum-soaked raisins Judi plans to add to her apple tart, and Vicky Pattison, funnier than everyone put together. “Stop bitching,” she tells Rutherford as he notes that Thomas’s toffee sauce has set solid on their plates, “and have a slice of your sauce.”

Masterchef – Celebrity or otherwise – is such a strange beast. Parts of it are so slow. Introductions, descriptions of what’s going to happen (“Each team … is going to be cooking … a dish” intones the voiceover in an attempt to build tension where none can ever exist), and recaps of what has already happened are interspersed with spots of action in which the chefs actually get around to cooking something. Here contestants must also deflect the random bursts of belligerence from Gregggg and depressive contempt from Torode. (“The problem with classics,” he says sadly when Thomas puts forward a final menu of fish and chips, “is that there’s nowhere to hide.”).

Still, it was lovely to see everyone enjoying themselves before lockdown. And lovely too to escape into a world where noodle thickness is everything and the greatest challenge before you is to ensure those pig cheek pieces are going to cut sufficiently through the richness of your carbonara-with-double-cream (oh Myles, you beautiful, blessed infant fool! The middle-aged gut is a travesty inconceivable to you!).

I shall not reveal the winners here – only that justice was but partially done, a bit like John’s scallops. But I’ll be back for the final, with my heart in my mouth and ear defenders on my head, ready to pick out the morsels of pleasure from the broth of tension, motiveless aggression and boredom in which they are served. UnACCOUNTably MOREish.