How Very Fkn Dare ‘MasterChef’ Break My Goddamned Heart By Making Reynold Cry

What the hell, man. What the fuck. I turn on MasterChef: Back To Win last night expecting it to be like literally every other episode of the show – the judges point at a pile of food, contestants flail their arms around, Kenwood appliances get a little product placement time in, edible dishes are produced; some good, some not so good. But instead, last night, I get my bloody heart ripped clean out of my ass, because after a full season-and-a-half of strutting around the joint like a literal dessert robot, producers found a way to make Reynold cry.

Last night’s Mystery Box challenge deviated from the normal script by eschewing the usual combination of Shit That Doesn’t Go Together in favour of a simple picture of family.

Apparently that was the straw that finally managed to do Reynold well and truly in, because his story of family struggle and growing up sleeping on a box in his parent’s restaurant kitchen while they worked their fingers to the bone brought him, and just about everyone else in the room, to tears.

Jesus christ, guys. Why would you do this to me. Why would you drop this kind of thing on me with no warning.

There was no way to prepare for this. I’ve been tuning in all week expecting each night to be the one where “the greatest dish in MasterChef history” is made, and not only do you not deliver on that time and time again, you mule kick me square in the heart with this?

I mean bloody hell, look at this sequence where Reynold and Melissa cry together across the room while maintaining meaningful eye contact.

It’s fine. It’s fine. I am fine. Oh god.

Reynold spent his entire life forcing all his emotion down into a tiny little locked box so he could free up room in his brain for military-precise sugar ratios and dry ice tricks and wafer-thin tempered chocolate techniques and whathaveyou. And all it took was a lone family photo (and the strain of managing a hospitality business remotely during a global pandemic and subsequent industry shutdown, I suppose) to completely obliterate the lock on that sumbitch.

I certainly didn’t need to become a giant blubbering mess on my couch on a bog standard Wednesday night. But lord help me, I did.

Are you happy, MasterChef? Are you happy with what you’ve done to Reynold but more importantly to me??