Quite recently, I have come to recognise the real reason behind my love for Masterchef, and that is a love for watching someone pour their heart and soul into what is essentially a work of art.
It doesn’t especially bother me who wins or loses each week. I don’t care if the end result is brilliance or disastrous. What I find so attractive – and addictive – about the programme is the passion its contestants show. I feel proud watching the contestants as they cook, listening to them talk about their food. Mostly, I feel a very strong connection to them because I recognise their passion. I might write, instead of cook, and I wouldn’t really recommend eating anything I’ve written (although I’m sure I’ve seen stranger, more ambitious plates of food served on the show) but that passion remains the same.
When I see individuals so passionate for their chosen field, I feel a very strong sense of belonging. Passion unites us – not just every writer and every chef but every musician, every artist, every man, woman and child who throws themselves into an activity not for money or fame or because it makes any sense at all but because they love it and they must.
This passion is a most admirable thing, and this is why, week after week, I tune into Masterchef, which so wonderfully captures the spirit of cooking and living.