The Fall of the house of MasterChef:

When he admired the tart’s sensuous glaze,

The kitchen stalled - she dropped her spoon in fright.

You can’t say that, the crew began to bray,

It’s 2025. We’re woke. Alright?

He said, It’s pastry! I liked how it looked...

Such a nice crust, I’m giving it it’s due.

But hashtags bloomed and soon his goose was cooked,

#Pastrygate and #CookingHasGoneAskew.

His partner pled, Put the beaters away…

He’s loud, but not some victimising twat.

But BBC execs refused to sway…

He’s fried, in fact he’s overdone, that’s that!

So prostrate at the cancel-culture shrine,

He sifts his shame… but damn, that tart looked fine!

His partner thought he’d dodged the paring knife,

At least, I’ve not objectified a bun,

But past misquotes began to come to life,

He'd once called plums a ‘bit too dark for fun’.

A joke from many years ago appeared

About a dumpling shaped like Kim Jong-un,

The BBC was well and truly seared…

They packed his wok and told him he was done.

His cookbooks pulped, his cheffing days were through,

They stripped his name from every frozen meal,

The tweets just spiced the boiling racist stew.

He fled to Wales to grow some herbs and heal.

Now judges tremble, mute before the flan

You drop the egg... and boom - you're in the pan!