If you’re thinking of doing this show, don’t. Just buy a pizza. Order a pizza. Marry a pizza. It’s safer.
You lose the ability to enjoy a simple meal. Every dinner out becomes a critique. The lighting is too dim. The conversation is forced. The plate has a smudge. Sound familiar?
And you’ll never trust a scoring system again. I now have a deep, philosophical distrust of numbers. My bank account is a mess. Coincidence? I think not.
I tried to reclaim my cooking mojo. I made a baked potato last night. I put cheese on it. I told no one. It was perfect. But then I heard a voice in my head: “Would this score a 10?”
So yes. Come Dine With Me ruined my life. It turned me into a bitter, scoring-obsessed kitchen goblin. But also… I learned that I’m a fantastic baker of potatoes. You can’t take that away from me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a liquid panna cotta to finish. Cheers.
