For the past year, the MasterChef franchise has been in crisis. Thirty-five years after it first appeared on British telly, the format was plunged into disarray when allegations of inappropriate on-set behaviour were made against its (seemingly) avuncular host, Gregg Wallace. Those accusations were followed by questions about the conduct of Wallace’s co-presenter, John Torode, leading to the pair being sacked by the corporation last summer. But, like the BBC itself, not even the stain of permacrisis can derail operations for too long, and now Celebrity MasterChef is back, with a fresh face in the mix.

“Brand-new kitchen, brand-new celebrities, and brand-new judge,” introduces Torode, who filmed this series before his fate was sealed, “Grace Dent!” Dent is a familiar face around these parts, having frequently served as a guest judge across the various series after making her name as one of the country’s finest, and most biting, restaurant critics. “I’ve eaten in thousands of restaurants,” she observes wryly, when she is handed an unsightly bowl of tossed chickpeas. “And never have I had deconstructed hummus.”

This is, after all, the creative runt of the MasterChef litter. If MasterChef: The Professionals is competence porn, and the regular version of MasterChef an everyman fantasy, then Celebrity MasterChef is a chance for culinary schadenfreude. There are always some truly abysmal concoctions, which will make even the most inept of home cooks feel quietly smug. It is, in a way, the hardest needle to thread as a new judge. Dent’s skills could be comfortably applied to the professional version – which tests the prowess of up-and-coming chefs at some of the country’s best restaurants – given that’s essentially what she does in her regular gig for The Guardian. The main edition, meanwhile, offers huge variation of quality, affording her opportunities to exhibit the full range of her descriptive powers.

And so, Celebrity MasterChef is a tricky place to start. Contestants care a bit, but it’s not make or break. Their best dishes would be savaged on other formats, and the whole thing is conducted with a collegiate grin. Dent – visibly nervous as she embarks on this new chapter – treats her first competitors (including actor and singer Alfie Boe and Paralympian Ade Adepitan) with all the grace that her name implies. She stifles a playful giggle when Blue singer Antony Costa names his food truck “Costa Lotta Greeka” and observes that he is “deflating like a tyre” when he presents his muddled dish. Yet for the main part, she draws from the gentler end of her adjectival canon. Dishes are “succulent” or “authentic”; her harsher critiques reserved for dishes she describes as “stodgy” or “subdued”.

It all feels quite safe. Dent has a reputation for being quite fierce, but the dual role of host and judge imposes some constraints on that. Alongside her, Torode is a fount of platitudes, yet there’s no denying that he has mastered the skill of gambolling around a busy kitchen making side-eyed observations, before delivering a concise judgement of the plate. In time, the sharper notes of Dent’s presenting palate will surely come to the fore, especially once she is counterbalanced with steely Irish chef Anna Haugh, who will pick up from Torode in 2026. Together – the first all-female presenting team on British MasterChef – they ought to pack more punch than the stodgy, subdued pudding served up by Wallace and Torode in recent years. After all, can you imagine Wallace describing a dish, as Dent does, as the “ultimate after-clubbing comfort food”?

Torode and Dent hosting ‘Celebrity MasterChef’ (BBC/PA Wire)

For now though, it seems wise for the BBC to play things safe. This is, after all, an interregnum within the interregnum: a refresh that will not fully set in until the end of this series, when Torode meets the same fate as his ovoid co-host. “What have I signed up for?” Dent laments, knowingly, in the final moments of her first episode. What she’s signed up to, really, is the most knowable of all the BBC’s shows: a light entertainment competition with low stakes and a positive energy, which will provide the BBC with 63 episodes this year (across its main three formats). This is filler, and boy is it filling.

The recent controversies around the show have, in fact, made it seem far more exciting than its actuality. Neither a salacious intrigue around Torode’s presence nor a brazen curiosity about Wallace’s defenestration can stand in the way of the series’ fundamental banality. Despite a year spent filling countless column inches, on its return and even with a new host, Celebrity MasterChef reverts to its original directive: simply, to fill the schedule.