Hola, lovers! Well, wasn’t tonight the most enthralling tale of survival since The Revenant! We know we promised no more Oscars references but if Leo can win the golden statue for growing out his greys and sleeping in a horse carcass, what does Tim win for going three straight course on his hands and knees without once begging Dee not to use her truncheon? The world, that’s what!
What was it Lauren was saying again? D stands for Disaster? Destruction? WRONG, lovers! D stands for instant Decapitation! Destined to lose your penis! Oh who are we kidding, D stands for DEAR SWEET BABY JESUS EVERYONE RUN FOR THEIR LIVES!
Which begs the question: why are we writing this? Do we have no care for our personal safety? I mean, surely after she’s finished with Tim and his Dismembered body is Dissolving in a bathtub somewhere, won’t she be on the lookout for her next victim? Is it too much to hope she’ll turn her attentions on Lauren and Carmine or, even better, the Academy members who didn’t give Sly that Oscar?
Sorry, we’re still bitter. So, so bitter.
Anyhoo let’s get on with it: Tim and Dee are newlyweds which means they still do rumpy pumpy and Tim’s scarring is still concealable under his t-shirt. Tonight they’re cooking straight from Dee’s fifty percent homeland, Spain, and that means three courses that we won’t even try to pronounce until later when the Dog and his judgement have gone to bed.
First is a lentil soup, followed by Spanish meatballs and finishing with the Penelope Cruz version of Creme Caramel, which we’ll just call a Flan because that’s what all the cool kids do. Their Instant Restaurant is something equally indecipherable and we’ll just have to take their word that it means ‘good journey’ and not ‘eat raw food at your own fucking risk’.
Off shopping they go and for once we see more of Coles than the standard three seconds exchanging pleasantries with depressed deli workers called Jarred. The reason? Dee’s list writing skills are as defective as her brain chemistry and Tim just loves getting a good whiff of the capsicums.
Four and a half hours later they finally get home, blu-tac some maps, throw some dirt over a table and congratulate themselves on creating the kind of ‘authentic travel experience’ where you wake up on a roadside with a goat bleating at you for Pesos.
Into the kitchen and they start off with the only dish that is destined to make it more than halfway down the other teams’ throats: dessert. While they work, Tim admits that he likes Dee ‘checking up on him’ because that way he knows where she is and has more chance of shielding his dangly bits when she strikes the first blow.
Good news for Tim is that he doesn’t have to wait long, because something has happened to the second batch of bread and the onions and here we are still strapping on our crash helmets.
Rico reckons it wouldn’t be right for us to call Dee mentally unbalanced, because that would be unfair to all those people who wear undies on their heads, drink their own urine and are currently watching their televisions in a state of shock.
Miraculously, Tim manages not to throw the perfectly FINE onions in Dee’s face and fix the bread at the same time. She then goes from weeping and weird slow-talking to normal and Rico urges the Dog to hop up onto the couch under the guise that his feet are cold.
Throughout this chilling state of ‘I’m fine’ more giant hunks of uncut meat go into the soup, joining the giant hunks of uncut garlic and onion. Meanwhile, Tim gets onto making some Sangria, slops red wine over the side and once more comes close to living out the rest of his days in traction.
In come the teams and other than Eve and Jason who served dinner in a porta-loo and are easily impressed, no one cares for the sloppy table and the sharp scent of Tim’s terror.
‘We want to take you on a journey to learn more about us and our cooking’ threatens Dee, before grabbing Tim by the sack and dragging him screaming back to the kitchen.
After a bit of vege chopping and Tim wondering why his dad said ‘happy wife, happy life’ rather than ‘here’s some money and a passport, call me when you get to outer Mongolia’, Fergus and Rachel turn up.
Good thing too, because until they arrived no-one knew what they’d be eating other than that it would be the by-product of Tim’s pain and humiliation.
Back in the kitchen and Tim tells Dee he’s ‘proud’ that she’s no longer screaming and wanting him Dead because he can’t seem to find the word for ‘fucking relieved’. Again it doesn’t last, this time because he got his Cs mixed up in the spice aisle and brought home Coriander instead of Cumin.
‘We’ll just have to serve it’ she says in a voice that would send chills up the back of the Boston Strangler and Rico whispers that the Dog’s peed on the couch and that’s the story he’s sticking with.
Out they go to the accompaniment of some ominous music and Fergus says he started out eating with his eyes, moved on to eating with his mouth, and then fookin’ regretted it. Rachel agrees and says it looked nice and colourful going in, and hadn’t changed much when she spat it out into her napkin.
Dee cries which everyone other than Lauren feels sad about – until they taste the actual food.
Back in the kitchen and it’s meatball time. Dee let’s Tim cook some breadcrumbs and wash some spuds. Minutes later the breadcrumbs are burned and Rico is starting to suspect Tim likes it.
‘Well, I’ll just use the packet ones’ Dee says in another of her strange sing-song voices that has the entire camera crew fleeing to the dining room.
Things are safer there because Rachel has decoded the main as ‘meatballs and spuds’ and Lauren and Carmine can’t believe their luck.
Back in the kitchen and Tim is still alive and rolling the meat, while Dee commits to more rough chunks of raw vegetables. Finally the balls go in to fry, but the test one turns out raw because brainiac and suspected masochist, Tim, hasn’t turned the gas on.
‘I’m losing it!’ mutters Tim, who has clearly seen his life flashing before his eyes and can’t believe he’s about to be Disemboweled on national television.
‘Just cooooooooook theeeeeeeemmmm!’ wails Dee, who has NO TIME for slaughter, not when she can hear the cutlery banging in the dining room.
Plating time and there’s spuds, balls, sauce and boiled broccolini and finally after more than two hours and no discernible skill, out they go.
‘Hope it tastes better than it looks’ mutters everyone who was ever born, and Tim reckons he’s so embarrassed he can’t even look them in the eye, let alone listen to them attempt to swallow.
‘Well I didn’t travel anywhere!’ snaps Fergus who tells them the balls were raw, the sauce was raw and that means more bleeding from his balloon knot. Rachel concurs and says you have to pan-fry the balls HARD because otherwise they’ll never respect you in the morning.
Around the table and no-one wants cold, raw balls on their plate, let alone in their mouths when their mothers could be watching. Also the spuds aren’t crunchy and Mike shudders so hard into his napkin Rico wonders if Tarq has finally shanked him.
Dessert and it’s all about whether the Flan will be firm or floppy. The answer is a bit of both, which is fine because there’s more than enough good ones for people they like, and two that look like curdled man foam which will go to Lauren and Carmine.
Out they go and Lauren takes one look at their sloppy portions and comes to the shocking realisation that it’s not just Hazel and Lisa who hate them. Speaking of hate, Fergus doesn’t and nor does Rachel who’s glad Dee ‘dug deep’ and saved Tim a trip to the Emergency Department.
Around the table and there’s talk of it being ‘pleasant’ and ‘better than the first two’ which is all just code for ‘at this point I’d eat an out-of-code Yoplait’. For Lauren and Carmine, though, the lack of disgust combined with Dee’s tears is fucking annoying, and Lauren manages to lower the opinions of people who would already play deaf and blind if she were on fire.
Right, off to HQ where can find out what Rachel and Fergus scored but never the other teams because the rules blow. Entree is a three (Rachel) and a two (Fergus). Main gets twos. Dessert gets sixes which goes to show that it was only good when compared to raw garlic and the hairy space hoppers of the Spanish Inquisition.
And the team total is… a solid Jessica and Marcos eleven! Which means they end up with…32! Best of luck Tim! Our advice is to get to the taxi, tell Dee you’re just going back for your wallet and then hitch a ride with the first serial killer who will hopefully kill you quicker.