You know, a lot of shocking news hit us when we got back from our Indonesian Bintang Conference (invitees: 2): Lara Bingle having a baby, Zayn leaving One Direction, and Angelina Jolie announcing that she’s officially retired from pumping out ludicrously good-looking children, and that she’s now passing the torch on to, well, not Beyoncé and Jay Z.
Anyhoo, the thing that hit us the hardest, of course, was finding out that bald denialist, Rob, and the hot, hairy bundle he likes to cradle at night, Sweet Baby Dave, had flunked out of their second Sudden Death, leaving the needle on the show’s Sexy Beard-o-metre quivering in the red zone.
According to Rico, this outcome was a sadly foregone conclusion because what Emma and Jane lack in hairiness, disturbing nicknames and Hobbit feet in thongs, they make up for in maybe English boyfriends who just happen to also be on the show. And, let’s face it, MKR wouldn’t be complete without a love story – even one yanked out of an editing suite with a pair of bloodied forceps.
But let’s get on with this shall we? Because the boys scored a Perfect Ten from our Irish sex sandwich, Fergus, they’re hoping to recreate their success with an open lobster ravioli for entrée which, as Kat reminds us, is exactly the same dish they attempted in their first Instant Restaurant.
‘Yeah, but yours was toiny!’ reminds helpful Shaz. ‘Any smaller and Pete could have actually finished it!’
‘Whatever’ mutters Kat, who hasn’t been in a great mood since her wedding night with Andre – for obvious reasons.
Anyhoo, on the other side of the bench and the girls are doing salt and pepper prawns on a fruit salad because apparently they were born with the burning need to make Rico suffer.
They are also pulling out the good old lamb shanks for main, because everyone loves the suspense of meat going into a pressure cooker and coming out a short time later ‘falling off the bone’.
The fact that they are serving it as a ragout with some pasta does not make Rico’s or the Dog’s eyes stop rolling, or make the notion that they are ‘not playing it safe tonight’ any less than a PILE OF LIES.
Sorry. We’re a touch on the bitter side tonight. The stars in the sky just seem darker and less hairy. Sniff.
Up on the balcony and there’s the usual chitchat with English Steve talking about how he and Will have ‘become good friends’ with someone and, fuck NO it isn’t that poncy lamp post in a fob coat, Drasko.
Speaking of Drasko, his rather scary partner in cooking crime, Bianca, thinks that Emma and Jane are rather similar to them in that they are a ‘bit of a fiasco in the kitchen’. Rico reckons it’s kind of Bianca to acknowledge their similarities, but the one that sticks out to him is less about their team work and more about the way they’re both way more attractive when viewed from a pair of seaweed-covered swim goggles.
Anyhoo, back to the cooking and Sweet Baby Dave is comparing the smell of their cooking to ‘the streets of Rome’.
‘There’s no smell better!’ gushes Rob, before adding that if they could just bottle that smell of sautéed onion, fresh garlic and young boys with leg hair you could plait, he knows what he’d be slopping on his underarms before an anniversary!
Over to the girls and they have spent so much time making sure the lamb shanks will be ‘falling off the bone’, they’ve still got bugger all done on their entrée.
‘All they’ve done is their nuts!’ hisses Adam’s wife, Carol, who adds that frankly that’s the first part she’d cut from
her husband the dish and throw to the dogs.
Down on the floor and because Fergus is playing a supporting role tonight, it’s Pete and Manu who get to stand together and say completely obvious things about cooking seafood.
‘The prawns need to be cooked perfectly!’ insists Manu.
‘Oh yes’ agrees Pete ‘but the lobster needs to be cooked to per-FECTION!’
Back on the balcony and Drasko is making Kat and Andre’s ears bleed by yapping about that time Fergus awarded the boys a ‘perfect ten’ for their Instant Restaurant pasta.
‘I mean, he gave them a PERFECT TEN!’ he bellows, enormous whitened choppers on full display.
‘Yes, yes’ mutters Andre, who says that, in a morbid way, he’d quite like Drasko to fall off the balcony and get what little brains he has splattered all over the grouting.
Back to the cooking and Emma has worked out that one minute, thirty seconds and a steady stream of bitching from Carol on the balcony means perfectly cooked prawns! Sweet Baby Dave, on the other hand, is making do with the glad eyes of Jac and Shaz on the balcony, who reckon there’s no way the boys are going home – but if they do it better be in a taxi straight to Mount Isa.
Anyhoo, there’s nothing really to report other than Steve’s look of concern over Emma’s put-your-back-into-it grating technique, and when the clock hits zero there’s two very nice looking dishes on their way out to the judges.
Speaking of the judges, something must have happened to Liz Egan because in her place is a piece of chicken jerky wearing a pink tennis outfit and tasting is delayed for the time it takes for Adam’s erection to be pushed back into his trousers and out of his fist.
Team Two are Rob and Sweet Baby Dave and their ravioli is first on the trip down the judges’ throats.
According to Pete, it’s a winner; according to Fergus, it’s ‘enticed him’ in a way that middle aged Ariana Grande could never – unless she came loaded with four litres of whiskey strapped to her stringy thighs.
Over to Team One’s prawns and salad and while Guy adores the prawns, Fergus says it ‘packed a punch’ similar to the one Manu is about to get if he doesn’t stop whining about the lack of dressing.
Up on the balcony and everyone’s saying it’s too close to call, with the exception of Shaz who says if she really had to choose she’d go with Rob, because everyone knows bald men are grateful in bed and less likely to complain about stretch marks you could bury a pirate’s treasure in.
Main cooking starts and that means it’s time for Emma to announce that the lamb shanks are falling off the fucking bone.
‘I’m literally just pulling bones out!’ trills the aforementioned, which has Jane leaping across the kitchen with her mouth open and Pete snapping at Manu to get a hold of himself.
Anyhoo, then it’s on to the pasta rolling and Emma once again demonstrates that if a carriage breaks down, she’s the beast of burden to carry the fine ladies and their suitcases back to the palace.
‘She’s like a machine!’ whistles Will from the balcony, while Steve lays a wrist to his suddenly clammy brow and passes out cold.
Over to the boys and Rob is starting to wonder whether the hot filling he’s stuffing into the cold fish will obey him or the laws of physics.
‘It’ll be a hidden surprise!’ he insists to the cameras, which has Shaz nodding with approval because blue cheese in a dessert.
Over to Pete and Manu now because there’s some conversation about what in hell has possessed the girls to serve pasta with a pea pesto.
‘It’s not exactly traditional Italian’ comments insightful Pete.
‘No, but it is English’ offers Manu, before adding that Jane, not Emma, is the one making the stuff and it wouldn’t be the first time a woman set her sights on her best friend’s man, right Skinny Pete?
‘I have no idea what you are talking about’ huffs Skinny Pete, who clarifies that his partner only slept with her friend’s husband because she was blind drunk and a slut, not because she had any genuine interest in romantic involvement.
Back to the cooking though because Emma has discovered that her carefully rolled pasta sheets are sticking together and Will is so distressed by the sight he starts nose wanking.
Over on the other side and Rob has put together a tray of tiny meringues that are clearly a tester batch for a table of leprechauns.
‘Mate, they are prettier than a shirt covered in tattooed prison buttocks!’ bellows Dave, hard at work at some passionfruit sauce.
Back over to the girls and Emma has discovered that rerolling the stuck together pasta is working, which has Will torn between being happy for her and finishing himself off. Meanwhile, Rob has decided that Dave is inching along slower than a Paleo bowel movement and the salsa verde is not going to chop itself.
‘I’m just trying to avoid giant chunks!’ says Dave, which Rico says should come as a relief to the MKR cleaners.
As the final minutes tick away the fish gets cooked and the girls throw pasta and ragout into a single pot without thinking about how they’re going to get it out again.
‘This is not pretty’ worries Emma, who thinks it would be much easier to use her hands to arrange the pasta into something that doesn’t resemble the interior of a school dining hall trash can.
And then as if things couldn’t get any uglier – here comes the pea pesto.
‘Ewwwww!’ hisses Rico, the Dog and a wolf spider called Hairy we didn’t even know had moved in.
‘I’m happy with the flavours’ insists Emma, before adding that it’s a shame the presentation reminds her of Bianca’s complexion in broad daylight.
On the boys’ side things are looking much more attractive because Dave has his back to the cameras and Rob still hasn’t removed his hat.
First to be served is the pasta, and aging Britney, Liz, loves the rusticity because it puts her in mind of an attractive woodsman who hunts with an axe and has 12 inch long penis fingers.
Manu, who has 2 inch long penis fingers, is less than impressed and thinks the pea pesto is so ill-thought out it’s probably straight from the pages of Bubba Yum Yum.
On to the fish and the fish is over cooked which Fergus blames on being ‘unlooky’ rather than ‘fooking stupid’. Skinny Pete, however, disagrees and says HIS fish was cooked beautifully and he’d take it any day over a plate of refined sugar that will POISON YOU AND YOUR LOVED ONES FROM THE INSIDE.
Onto dessert time and the bad news that Rob’s tiny tester meringues are actually his tiny for real ones is only slightly balanced out by the notion that ‘bombolinas’ is probably Italian for ‘boobies’.
‘Everyone loves a pav!’ declares Rob pulling the miniscule specs of aforementioned out of the oven, while Dave mutters that they have to get a good dessert out or ‘the girls will eat them’ – and, no, he’s not talking about Emma and Jane.
Over to Emma and she’s in trouble with the cooking time for the donut balls because for some reason, no matter how dark and crispy they get on the outside, they’re staying raw on the inside.
‘We don’t want them raw’ says Carol rather unhelpfully, while Jane – hard at work on the crème anglaise – tells her to just ‘use your eyes’, or failing that, turn down the heat on the fucking fryer.
Over to the boys and Jac and Shaz are growing concerned that the boys’ dessert needs ‘something else’ – and they’re fresh out of blue cheese! The boys, however, think they’re on to a winner – if they can just overcome their dessert presentation issues and plate up something that doesn’t look like store-bought meringue that’s been run under the fruit tap.
Back to Emma and she’s finally worked out that if she thinks of the bombolinas more as testicles than full sized breasts and shapes them accordingly, they’ll actually cook through in the middle.
Up on the balcony and Will is relieved he can leave his nose alone and tend to the calluses on his hand, while Kat is looking at the boys’ pavlova and wondering if it really is smaller than their raspberry tart and whether that’s a clever ploy because it tastes disgusting.
‘Do you think it’s too simple?’ Rob asks Dave, taking in their baked sugar plus fruit.
‘I think it’s beautiful!’ reassures Dave, while Rico mutters that there’s no ‘too simple’ dessert, only a pair of simpletons who should stick to Barbequeing prawns for their freeloading neighbours.
With time up, the plates go out to the judges and the boys’ pavlova gets a lot of slow-blinking and pursed lippage from some less than enthusiastic judges.
‘Mine is way undercooked’ complains Judging Barbie, Liz, while Guy complains about the portion size and insists his guts are still squealing for nourishment.
Speaking of deep-fried nourishment, it’s an under the table boner clash of epic proportions before the bombolinas even hit the forks, but when they do there’s so much squinting and moaning and writhing in chairs, Rico wonders if we’ve accidentally switched over to Antiques Roadshow.
According to Guy, fuck the sauces because DONUTS! According to Fergus, sometimes a deep-fried dessert is so satisfying you forget that your life’s happiness relies on the home-distillery you have set up in your bathtub.
‘It’s going to be a tight race!’ says Skinny Pete with a thin it-totally-isn’t smile, and just like that we’re on the countdown to Rob hopefully whipping off his Artful Dodger cap and pirouetting out into the street.
Because they’re going home, the boys get their scores first and it’s an even split of sevens and eights from judges who creamed themselves over the entrée, but then got progressively drier and more prone to a headache as the night went on.
Fergus says that the pavlova was orright, but if he’s no longer allowed to connect his knee to Manu’s face, then he needs to ‘hear the snap’ from the dessert. Skinny Pete says their lobster was sensational and what he loved about their dessert was that it was crap and that means there’s still the opportunity for Emma and Steve to root on live TV.
On to the girls and even though everyone thought their pea pesto was retardo, Guy says the donuts gave him goose bumps and they’re just the sort of thing you’d find on Nonna’s bedside table along with lube and a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey because she’s a dirty old bitch.
And so with five straight 8s and a 9 from Liz the boys are OUT and Rico sits forward in his chair in readiness for the big reveal.
‘You brought something special to the competition’ recites Pete examining his cuticles, while Rob replies that they certainly didn’t ‘leave anything on the table’.
‘YOUR HAT!!!!” shrieks Rico, the Dog and Hairy in unison.
But suddenly all that is pushed to the side because here comes Fergus to give them a hug and SWEET CHRIST, bombolinas, THAT’S how you finish a meal!
While Rico shares a post-Fergus cigarette with Hairy, the Dog murmurs that it’s probably best that Rob never bared his scalp, because this way we get to imagine perfection rather than a sad little comb-over or, worse, one of those heads that’s shaped like a penis.
Oh boys, we will miss your sweaty mateship and your wives’ enthusiasm on our posts – and just remember: if you happen to wake up in a hideous mining town with no idea of how you got there, don’t call us, call Texan Robert. He’ll probably have a bull story to take your minds off it.
PS: Happy Jesus Zombie Day, lovers! May you all rise from the dead and terrorise the neighbours who thought they’d seen the last of your alcohol and chocolate-fuelled foolery!