There is a formula for this show.
Pick a group of delusional people who believe they are great chefs, yet lack basic knowledge, such as being able to cook a steak.
The greater the levels of hubris and arrogance the better. Because we are in the business of crushing dreams. The further they have to fall the better, our wax winged Icaruses.
Add a volatile perfectionist with anger issues.
Set the contestants some cooking task, at which most will not succeed.
Stand back as each failure ignites the blue touchpaper and sends our perfectionist into an incandescent rage.
Admire the Michelin starred fireworks as a tirade of invective humiliates our hapless victim... erm... contestant.
Repeat ad nauseam.
I suppose the appeal of the show is the Schadenfreude one feels at watching someone crash and burn, sometimes quite literally as this is a cooking programme. One can but marvel at the remarkable nominative determinism of that shouty force of nature, Gordon Ramsay, his emphatic verbal aggression, not so far removed from the charge of a testosterone maddened ram in rutting season. While that feeling might be enjoyed as a guilty pleasure, it is not an aspect of my character that I would seek to cultivate.
I suppose the appeal of the show is the Schadenfreude one feels at watching someone crash and burn, sometimes quite literally as this is a cooking programme. One can but marvel at the remarkable nominative determinism of that shouty force of nature, Gordon Ramsay, his emphatic verbal aggression, not so far removed from the charge of a testosterone maddened ram in rutting season. While that feeling might be enjoyed as a guilty pleasure, it is not an aspect of my character that I would seek to cultivate.