TV review: The Taste

For that is what I should have done. Instead I spent 60 long (ever so long) minutes watching TV's latest talent show/cooking/celebrity judge concoction, The Taste, which aired for the first time on Channel 4 last night.

In a nutshell, it sees Britain's headline stealer Nigella Lawson, American food expert Anthony Bourdain (who he?), and French chef Ludo Lefebvre (I repeat, who?) battle it out to find Britain's best cook.

Last night, 25 contestants were whittled down to 12 – with each of the food supremos selecting four chefs for their team in a blind audition – think The Voice but without the cool chairs.

Clearly there are not enough TV shows about food. There's the Great British Bake Off, The Hairy Bikers, Great British Menu, Saturday Kitchen, Jamie Oliver this, Gordon Ramsay that – then there's that little short Italian guy, and of course, between spouts of powdering her nose, good-old queen of the kitchen, Nigella.

It's not enough. Why isn't Abbey Clancy tossing a pancake while dancing the pasodoble? Why don't we see Sir David Attenborough catch and deep fat fry any of the remarkable creatures he tracks – I've always wondered what Cheetah on toast tastes like?

And most importantly, why haven't we seen Big Mo from EastEnders seductively masquerade wearing nothing but a thin coating of chocolate sauce?

It all made me think, what on earth was the conversation like with Channel 4 executives who commissioned this nonsense?

If some young producer had rustled this up and served it to me I would have promptly sent it back to the kitchen.

Honestly, the show is just a rehash of Masterchef, but with Nigella's cleavage instead of Gregg Wallace's bald head. This is Channel 4 after all.

And it took just 12 minutes until we had the first set of waterworks. Get a grip, it's cooking – not the front line in Helmand Province.

Pathetic 18-year-old student Dale from Glasgow cooked a braised pork chop that failed to move the judges' pallets.

As Nigella tried to soften the blow, the scruffy young shaver turned a light shade of scarlet before bawling his eyes out.

But ever-so-caring Nige soon got to her feet and put an arm around to comfort the teenager.

He seemed quite pleased with that result.

I swear I saw him exit the judging room happier than when he first entered.

It was at this point that arrogant American Bourdain exclaimed the Scot needed to 'toughen the **** up'.

Possibly, the only sensible thing ever uttered by a yank. Ever.

After a further excruciating 40 minutes, we saw the judges battle it out to choose their team.

Of which the only entertaining thing all night was seeing the wee Frenchman get increasingly irritated when the candidates snubbed him for the cocky Bourdain.

So now onto the knockout rounds where the dirty dozen will be putting those familiar ingredients of 'heart and soul' into their food and giving '110 per cent'.

Expect tears, expect celebrations, but don't expect anything good to watch on TV.

This is a poorly executed show cooked up for the middle classes in the Home Counties. It's mutton dressed as lamb, warmed up in the microwave.

The presentation is poor, it carries no punch. And The Taste? . . . it lacks any.

Rob Golledge