No, Chef

ITV’s new culinary reality romance show attempts to make sparks fly in the kitchen, and it's neither romantic nor realistic

Romance and food are a common pairing for me. A man who is good with a knife is hot. There is honestly truly nothing sexier to me than someone who can chop a vegetable with absolute precision. I am no stranger to seeing a ‘secret supper club’ or strong collection of food-related ‘simple pleasures’ on a Hinge profile and it pique my interest. My previous dating-app foreplay has been mostly exchanges of restaurant lists and favourite cocktail spots. Apparently I now know I fancy someone if I’m sending them photos of my dinner.

All things considered, you’d think ITV’s new show The Heat would be to my tastes. The new reality drama presented by ex-Love Island contestant, Olivia Attwood, is a strangely high-glamour affair where young contestants work in a ‘professional kitchen’ under the steer of Michelin-star chef Jean-Christophe Novelli. While there, they’re encouraged to hit it off with one another. Love Island-cum-MasterChef. Literally.

The show left a bad taste in my mouth. As someone who makes a living writing about food zeitgeists, and has long fantasised about a Romeo and his Julienne, I know I am part of the problem. Can you blame me, though? I grew up watching a TV chef whose brand was being ‘naked’, while Nigella was describing custard as ‘warm and voluptuous – like an 18th-century courtesan’s inner thigh’ while sucking a finger and eyeballing the camera lens.

I have contributed to, and now hate the high-gloss hornification of the kitchen. The ‘hot chef’ trope continues to thrive after almost everyone on earth seemed to lose their marbles at Jeremy Allen White’s portrayal of a personal kitchen struggle in Disney’s The Bear. According to The Hollywood Reporter, the last season of the show debuted with 917 million minutes watched in opening week. It also doesn’t surprise me the Bloomberg recent report showcased that the chef-friendly closed-toe offering pushed Birkenstock’s revenue up 18 per cent last year. It’s hard to know what came first: Carmy or the closed-toe Birk?

So you can see how we got here. Food is now cultural currency. Culinary knowledge is a social status symbol. Chef is the new chic. And nobody tires of watch people try to fall in love. Yet within the opening credits alone, you can hear the table-discussion at ITV’s terrible editorial meeting. I can practically see the treatment document pulling inflated figures from ‘successful shows’, ‘trending TikTok reels’, all while a trembling intern shares potential ‘audience retention rates’ as evidence for why this concept will land perfectly with Gen Z. It doesn’t.

Why does this show suck so badly? Not on the concept (although it’s a problematic start, given MasterChef’s recent legal cases involving their presenters.) This doesn’t work because they’re all quite crap. Part of the reason why chefs are hot is because they are competent. These blokes are burning caramel three times in a row without even being able to smell it or see the kitchen fill with smoke. The first week’s ‘Head Chef’ loses all knowledge of which tables his meals are going to and the punishment for his cock-up? Being ‘sent to the pot wash.’ Come on. As for the paid extras who have skipped their sunbed reservation at Nikki Beach to come and eat free soggy ravioli? Well they don’t seem that annoyed when things go wrong with service either.

Another reason why this doesn’t land is because hospitality is ludicrously hard work. This (almost) looks fun. The team show up at the same time together, only work a lunch shift, then finish before it’s goes dark and sip Cava before a dip in the apartment pool. We see them lifting weights on their apartment terrace before work. Real chefs work sixty-hour weeks in basement kitchens with no windows. Chefs clock off when the rest of the world is sleeping or stumbling home from their drunken nights out. Even if they had the energy to, they most likely don’t have time to work out before a shift (definitely not on a private sundeck with a pool). And sometimes they’ll muck in on the pot wash because someone newly hired by the agency yesterday has already phoned in sick before their first day has even begun.

As for the romance? Well it’s not there either. They’ve clearly tried to pair the contestants up based on little more than facial symmetry, height, and the presence of tattoos. Producers cut to single-sex groups chatting about who they fancy, with one lad saying he is ‘the lord of the cheat and delete’. Seriously? That’s his philosophy, apparently. Sorry, what is going on? Are we in 2026? (Oh wait, we are, and it’s hell, I forgot).

Does this show risk romanticising problematic workplace dynamics? I’m gonna say yes. (And you’d have thought last year’s Coldplay concert scandal would have taught us all a lesson.) Moreover, in her brilliant anonymous memoir Tart, Slutty Cheff points out the harsh realities of being a woman in the restaurant world. So I wonder, what are ITV playing at here? With hospitality still shaped by significant gender imbalances, is a flirt-first kitchen format empowering women by rewriting gender splits? Are they attempting to showcase female talent and composure in this environment? Maybe. It does so happen (producer intention or not) that the women are far superior to their male counterparts at their jobs.

I could never go on a reality TV show. I think it’s an admirably brave thing to do. For that, I respect these kids. They’re young, bold, ambitious. They’re clearly hungry for something. I’m not sure exactly what. Probably a future brand deal.

There are no fear-inducing hierarchies. There are no deliveries at dawn. There are just as many women as there are men. And this lot operate on a dulled-down version of the labour-intensive grind that defines much of hospitality.

I’m pretty open-minded about stuff I watch. I don’t think I am above reality TV. I can be a bit of a food snob, but I’m definitely not a TV one. In fact, I’m one of the few people who didn’t despise “Wuthering Heights” for not being representative of the book. But this show is supposed to be reality, and whilst we know much of this kind of television can be contrived—The Heat is truly a total work of fiction.