The bargain basement purveyors of this new trend are as bad if not worse. You think my issues are with the elite, the guys who want to exoticise food for Michelin stars and suchlike? No, sir.
#Alia bhatt childhood dream twitter serial
Why aren’t there a similar number of shows on plumbers, electricians or handymen, if you leave out adult entertainment, that is? Are you saying their stories are less worthy of being told? Cooks, superheroes and serial killers. With the protagonist being a cook (I know I should say chef, but I shan’t) or aspiring to be one. I’m talking of the nauseating buffet of dramas with food as the central theme, with swelling music accompanying shots of vegetables being chopped, dough being kneaded, meat being fried, and noses being picked (okay, I made up the last one). And weep in defeat or delight, depending on whether the twit of a judge condemns or approves. Meenakshi Ammal’s Samaithu Paar - heckle, harangue and hector a bunch of hapless half-wits whose life dream, apparently, is to produce what looks like ET doo-doo, embellished with brush strokes of Belgian chocolate and drizzles of extra-virgin olive oil. When has this food-related insanity taken over our race? Why are there so many shows with food as the ‘lead character’? And I’m not even talking about the surfeit of ‘reality’ cookery shows where a pack of pretentious plonkers - who deserve to be beaten with the hardback edition of S. Meaning, no one would die if this hyper-ventilating, self-involved lot didn’t open that restaurant. That despite all the purported angst of the lead characters, there was really nothing in there for them (and, therefore, me) to get their apron strings twisted into a reef-knot with the nada of their knickers. It gave me perspective in the most literal way possible. It was sheer serendipity that I had stumbled upon this show after abandoning The Bear. While the other was saying life and death were, well, a life-and-death situation. One show was telling me that food, not its accessibility to the deprived, mind you, but its look, taste, and presentation, hyper-curated to appease a bunch of indulgent idiots, was a life-and-death situation. Soon, it came to me why The Bear (S2, readers, please note) had left me colder than Lionel Boyce AKA Marcus’ exotic desserts, even annoyed a bit - and not just because of Ayo Edebiri and Abby Elliot’s grating vocal fries (no cooking pun there, I promise) - while the other show had had me immersed. (I’m deliberately not naming the show because that’s not what this piece is about.)
I surfed about and settled on a European show set in a hospital. Unfortunately, unlike the majority and their co-brother who are telling me this is the greatest show on earth, I couldn’t get past Ep. A flawed (and charismatic, we are told) man dies, leaving in his chaotic wake a brother who has to deviate from his own seemingly straightforward path, and take on the unenviable task of running a broken café with broken people. The lead character, the support, and their concerns had me rooting for them. I was happy to note that Season 2 of The Bear had dropped (as everything seems to these days).
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