Warning: This article contains images of a dead animal some readers may find distressing.
A Masterchef contestant was immediately removed from the show after serving up the judges a questionable dish that had them spitting feathers – literally.
Oh, Masterchef.
There’s nothing better than watching over confident contestants talk themselves up on the VT – only to have them produce an absolute abomination of the dish that the judges’ waste no time in ripping into.
We all like to sit on our sofas, Goggleboxing and declaring that we could do better.
Although this time, most of us probably could because anything would be better than what one contestant served up on Masterchef Espãna.
Saray Carrillo served up a questionable dish. (Masterchef Espana / YouTube)
Sometimes when you’re cooking, not every job is pleasant, and if you want to serve up something that looks delicious and inviting, sometimes you have to get a little bit dirty.
And that’s something this contestant had no plans of doing.
In 2020, Saray Carrillo, 27, was mortified by one of the challenges where she had to pluck and cook a whole partridge.
Unless you’re vegan or vegetarian, cutting up poultry is pretty standard cooking practice, but Carrillo apparently expressed her fear of having to do such a task and took the challenge as a personal attack.
Defiantly, she decided to serve the bird, unplucked, uncooked and unappetising, garnished on a bed of spring onions, some kind of sauce and garnished with a couple of cherry tomatoes.
Take a look:
Umm, yeah. (Masterchef Espana / YouTube)
I think it’s hilarious, but the judges certainly didn’t think so – the only way to describe the look on their faces is ‘p*ssed’.
This was only exasperated more when Carrillo approached the bench with a cheeky smirk on her face, whilst the rest of the contestants looked on in horror by the dish she was presenting.
One judge said something in Spanish that translated to: “This is never seen in MasterChef.”
The judges, rightly so, grilled Carrillo and were not exactly sad to see the back of her.
As she plonked her apron down on the bench and strutted out of the Masterchef kitchen, the judges watched her leave with faces like a slapped a**.
The clip was from a season that aired in 2020 and went viral at the time, and has since been viewed 7.4 million times on YouTube.Play
People were quick to mock the episode on social media.
One YouTube user wrote: “HOW DISGUSTING GOD, I really can’t handle cherry tomatoes.”
Someone else saw fit to quote TV Chef legend Gordon Ramsay saying: “IT’S SO RAW THAT IT CAN STILL FLY!”
While another brutally said: “It is tragic that a person like this is a social educator when in reality she is yet to be civilized.”
I wonder what John and Greg would have made of all this?
MY 12-YEAR-OLD SON DEMANDED WE RETURN THE 2-YEAR-OLD GIRL WE ADOPTED — ONE MORNING, I WOKE UP AND HER CRIB WAS EMPTY
The morning sun streamed through the window, casting long, dancing shadows across the floor. I stretched, a contented sigh escaping my lips. Then, I froze.
Lily’s crib, nestled beside my bed, was empty.
Panic clawed at my throat. I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. “John!” I yelled, my voice hoarse.
John rushed into the room, his face pale. “What’s wrong? Where’s Lily?”
“She’s gone!” I cried, my voice cracking. “Her crib is empty!”
John’s eyes widened. “Oh God, you don’t think…”
The thought that had been lurking in the shadows of my mind, a fear I had desperately tried to ignore, now solidified into a chilling reality. My son, driven by anger and resentment, had taken Lily.
The ensuing hours were a blur of frantic phone calls to the police, frantic searches of the house, and a growing sense of dread. Every ticking second felt like an eternity. John, his face etched with guilt and fear, was inconsolable.
“I should have been firmer with him,” he kept repeating, “I should have never let him stay home alone.”
But I knew it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I had allowed my son’s anger to fester, I had underestimated the depth of his resentment. Now, I was paying the price.
The police arrived, their faces grim as they surveyed the scene. They questioned us, searched the house, and offered little comfort. “We’ll find her,” the lead detective assured us, his voice firm, but his eyes held a grim uncertainty.
As the hours turned into days, the initial wave of panic gave way to a chilling despair. I imagined Lily, frightened and alone, wandering the streets, lost and vulnerable. I pictured her small face, her big brown eyes filled with tears, her tiny hand reaching out for comfort that no one could offer.
The search continued, but hope dwindled with each passing day. Volunteers scoured the neighborhood, posters with Lily’s picture plastered on every lamppost. The news channels picked up the story, her face plastered across television screens, a plea for information.
But there was no trace of her.
The guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. I replayed every interaction with my son, every harsh word, every dismissive glance. I had focused on the joy of adopting Lily, on the love I felt for this small, vulnerable child. But I had neglected my son, his feelings, his needs. I had failed him, and now, because of my neglect, Lily was missing.
One evening, while sitting on the porch, staring at the fading light, I heard a faint sound. A soft whimper, barely audible above the rustling leaves. I followed the sound, my heart pounding, my breath catching in my throat.
Hidden behind a large oak tree, I found them. My son, huddled beneath a blanket, was holding Lily close, his face buried in her hair. Lily, her eyes wide with fear, was clinging to him, her small hand clutching his shirt.
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. I rushed towards them, tears streaming down my face. “Lily!” I cried, scooping her up into my arms.
My son, his face pale and drawn, looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and relief. “I… I couldn’t let her go,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. “I know I was mean, but… but I love her too, Mom.”
As I held Lily close, her tiny body trembling against mine, I realized that the past few days had been a painful but ultimately necessary lesson. It had taught me the importance of communication, of empathy, of acknowledging the feelings of those I loved.
That night, as I rocked Lily to sleep, my son curled up beside me, his head resting on my shoulder. We had lost precious time, but we had also found something unexpected – a deeper, more profound connection. We had faced our fears, confronted our mistakes, and emerged stronger, more united than ever before.
The road to healing would be long, but we would face it together, as a family. And in the quiet moments, I would cherish the sound of Lily’s laughter, a sweet melody that filled our home with a joy I had almost lost forever.
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