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Jock Zonfrillo is wearing a kilt.
This indicates two things:
1. He DID get my letters, and
2. This is a very important occasion.
We also know this because the Scotsman is clutching his worry beads, and because fellow judge Andy Allen is wearing a nifty lil' bowtie, and because Melissa Leong... well, looks like a walking Vogue spread (but hey, what's new).
Anyway, I'm guessing you didn't come here for a detailed sartorial analysis.
You came to experience two best mates, bonded by a mutual affinity for dough, being subjected to several hours of extreme stress as they produce food that several million viewers will mercilessly critique despite not being able to... actually taste it.
Oh, and also to relish once again in Reece's directional palm clapping.
We begin with finalists, Emelia Jackson and Laura Sharrad, bidding each other good luck, and almost sounding like they genuinely mean it.
Their usual generic aprons have been replaced with chef's whites, which again, is likely a reflection of the seriousness of the occasion. Or perhaps, the meagreness of Channel 10's laundry budget.
There's the cursory few minutes of group therapy, in which the pair reflect about that time they didn't win MasterChef but pursued their food dreams regardless (I also have food dreams, but they never involve a robust business plan... or cooking).