Katich Krêpe King

I had an inkling Mr Katich would take out his Masterchef heat, because there's been a trend of the quartz-precision athletic types doing well. It wasn't too noisy a show in the end, partly because I was sitting under the quiet pall of sheepishness that comes from scarfing down a McValue meal. There was praise in our loungeroom for his plating and his running, and in the end my flatmate gave the best verdict: "He's very Straight, isn't he?" It was after an especially wooden piece-to-camera, and we reflected that most blokes, whatever their actual predilections, can still work a tiny admixture of camp into their manner, an little swing, an element of, well, style. Most blokes. Not Simon. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I gather (I am no judge) his technique at the crease is also largely untouched by gainliness. But whatever works, right?

The showing was low on the violence front. There was a small yelp of "Don't stab it!" when he was attempting, a little roughly I thought, to unmould his crêpe cake with the aid of a knife. And though he watched his salmon "like a hawk" (his words), he still managed to overcook it: stabbing may have been the better diagnostic move in this case. His face was mostly set in an expression of bemusement, with the exception of one break-out moment when first confronted with the crêpe layer cake:

And since there's a history of shutter-sequence analysis of Katich's reactions here, this was actually a 1-2-1 sequence of:

1. Appalledness at the cake;

2. Look to the judges to confirm reality of situation;

3. Back to cake with heightened appalledness.

I can feel a Simon Katich Memorial Lemon Curd Crêpe Layer Cake coming on, because that's exactly the kind of dish I go in for. I gather Simon has also been playing some cricket. Must look into that.