My name is Alex, and I’m obsessed with MasterChef Australia

Like, seriously obsessed. I’ve forgotten to watch all but one episode of Glee this season, but I get seriously grumpy when I don’t get my fix of Aussie culinary glory.

It’s just so damn good. And at this point I’d usually link to examples to show you what I mean but I’M AFRAID TO GOOGLE IT IN CASE I ACCIDENTALLY SEE WHO WINS. Which would upset me far more than is reasonable.

I felt relatively smug when I managed to predict the likely winner of the last series, but I’ve just taken a kick to the gut seeing my early pegged winner plunge into an elimination and promptly lose it.

Everything about it is wonderful. The challenges are extraordinarily freakin’ difficult. The guest judges and guest chefs are a brilliant mixture of the Nigellas and the Hestons (both appeared just this past week) and less mainstream but even more stellar culinary superstars. I’m not saying that John and Gregg aren’t brilliant, but how can they hope to compete with a contest that flies contestants to Malaysia for a masterclass with Rick Stein?

Although there is a serious dearth of announcements about cooking not getting any tougher than this, which they should really borrow from us.

Also, there’s a Greek judge. Alright, Greek Cypriot, but when you’re half a world away that’s closely related enough. And they help the contestants when they get stuck. And everyone sobs, and you can’t blame them because you can’t even begin to understand how you make a DESSERT THAT HAS TO BE SPRAY PAINTED WITH CARAMEL.

(You’re going to be doing some Googling, aren’t you?)

Oh, the huge manatee. You can keep your X Factor and your Weasels Got Talent. I know what I’ll be watching.