Adam Richman in Man v Food: gastronomic filth.There are two very different types of food television right now. There are the shows everyone from the laziest sports science student to your nan knows and watches. The terrestrial, safe, twee, scallops'n'cauliflower puree world of MasterChef, the Hairy Bikers and Great British Bake Off. They love "I wish my Mum were here to see this" narratives. The food they serve up is the kind of thing you'd see at a posh wedding or golf-course hotel. It's nice. Such programmes have been accused of forgetting the real essence of cooking TV, and even the home baking matriarch herself, Delia Smith, has waded in, grumbling that "nobody teaches people how to cook any more".
That might be true, Delia, but have you seen Man v Food? It barely teaches you how to eat properly, let alone cook. The snotty younger brother of food programming is clambering down to the kitchen from the teenage boy's bedroom that is the depths of Freeview. Man v Food is one of a number of loud, brash, unashamedly American offerings such as Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives and Iron Chef, which reaches its typically overstated finale tonight. These dirty food shows don't make you want to buy the cookbook. They're shows that make you want to jump on the next plane to Coronaryville, Texas, to order yourself a five-spice rub chicken'n'cheese steak with a side of Mama's cinnamon grits.
It's a fact that probably winds up Charles Campion and the stuffed-shirt judges on the likes of Britain's Best Dish, but shows like this are becoming cult viewing in this country. Not cult viewing like the latest BBC4 Scandi-crime, but in the way that World's Scariest Police Chases or Danny Dyer's Deadliest Men are trashy pleasures. This is garish, macho, gluttonous food TV aimed squarely at young people with short attention spans.
The popularity of this greasy genre is such that Man v Food's Adam Richman (a big man who likes his food) and Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives' Guy Fieri (a brash, bleach-haired skate-punk cowboy who runs a much derided Rock'n'Roll Sushi BBQ chain) have become cult figures in the same way that David Dickinson and Sky Sports' Jeff Stelling once were. They talk about food with passion, but as if it were cars or on-form strikers rather than Renaissance paintings. They eat the food, too, but they're looking for spice, size and the "woo-ha!" factor rather than earthy notes and subtle combinations.
MasterChef is often bandied about as an example of "food porn", but it isn't really, and that's why these new American imports are taking off. With their lurid close-ups, the oozing, stringy pull-aways and the frantic editing, they're gastronomic filth. This is food as primal fantasy rather than aspirational status. It's dirty, it's unhealthy and you might feel a bit awkward watching it with your family. It's the perfect programme to veg out to, and it's here to stay.
In a way, it's odd that the terrestrial proponents of epicurean entertainment haven't picked up on dirty food, particularly as food critics have spent the past couple of years praising a new breed of burger joints such as Meat Liquor in London, which makes the kind of grub Adam Richman might consider a light snack before bedtime. They're ahead of the mainstream TV producers so in love with Jamie, Hugh and Gordon – but don't be surprised if you see Delia embarking on a hot wings challenge rather than basting a turkey on her next Christmas special.
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