Those lights, they ramp the pressure up,
I know that cameras catch my every move,
Hands shaking as I chop I try my best
To imagine that I’m in my kitchen home
Where an Aga sings all day, heating air
Cold with winter snow and ice.
The studio is sunny, painted white
To make it bigger on the screen, but now
It feels so clinical, like judges may
Want to kill or operate on me.
I’m making fancy stuff today;
Impress them’s what they said,
They want to see the fiddly stuff,
Not the one pot dish that nana taught
When you were just a little girl.
Those casseroles and meaty stews are not
What they want to see, so make a roux
And add a strawberry coulis too,
With warmth of ginger mixed with saffron,
Rice that’s flavoured with a coconut;
Knock them out with taste explosions,
Bamboozle those at home with words
That none will understand, and with a smear
Of chocolate sauce spread artfully,
I’ll fool the world and make them think
I have a flipping clue!