The fact that a show that takes place in a white tent in an English field has grown to be one of the most exported television formats worldwide is subtly amazing. The Great British Bake Off, which debuted on BBC Two in 2010 before switching to Channel 4, did more than just make entertaining television. It created a sense of patriotism. Every autumn, for a period of time on Tuesday nights, a sense of collective calm descends upon Britain. The flour rises. Judges narrow their eyes. And a country lets out a sigh at nine o’clock.
However, MasterChef is more established and older. Since its resuscitation in its current competitive format in 2005, it has been a part of BBC scheduling since the 1990s and hasn’t really slowed down. It is at the top of YouGov’s all-time popularity rankings among UK adults, with a 97% fame rating. This figure is nearly unbelievable until you consider how many people have watched at least one episode, even unintentionally, on a lazy Sunday afternoon. You find yourself watching this kind of show even though you didn’t intend to.
Gordon Ramsay falls into a distinct category. At a time when reality TV was beginning to gain traction, Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares aired, and he found his on camera, louder and more explosive than anyone had quite expected. There’s a feeling that the show was successful because the restaurants were actually failing, and Ramsay—regardless of your opinion of him—often knew exactly why, rather than because viewers were eager for humiliation. Since then, he has amassed an empire of formats, such as Next Level Chef and Hell’s Kitchen, but it’s important to note that he has reportedly voiced concerns about competing with Bake Off and MasterChef for ITV viewers.
It is a little unfair that Saturday Kitchen has operated virtually unnoticed in the discourse surrounding prestige television. Without the drama of eliminations or the emotional arcs of competition, this live cooking format, which is anchored to weekend mornings, has quietly accrued over two decades of airtime. It simply cooks. When guests arrive, chefs prepare meals, wine is paired, and somewhere along the line, a country is gently prodded to prepare a better lunch. That’s a big deal.
A cozier area of the genre is occupied by the Hairy Bikers. Their travelogue-cooking hybrids, such as their Asian Adventure series and Food Tour of Britain, leaned toward friendship and appetite in a way that felt truly spontaneous. Dave Myers and Si King weren’t attempting to intimidate. They were simply excited, hungry, and strangely endearing about it. YouGov’s 79% fame rating indicates that they were seen by people who might not have otherwise considered themselves to be food television viewers.
Another thing was completely altered by Nigella Lawson. With its 2001 debut, Nigella Bites introduced a previously unheard-of level of sensory domestic intimacy to cooking television. The joy of eating, the midnight raids on the refrigerator, and the abundance of a well-stocked kitchen were more important than technique. The reason it endures is probably that it still feels different from everything else on the list.
Britain has a long and complex relationship with food television, which has been developed over decades of formats ranging from the warmly instructive to the fiercely competitive. The number of them that have persisted and the extent to which they have ingrained themselves into the weekly routines of everyday life are remarkable.
