Jock

I was watching the first episode of the new season of Masterchef, and writing my first recap of the year, when I heard that Jock Zonfrillo had died. It made no sense. It still doesn’t.

I didn’t know Jock, but I had met him a couple of times. Most recently in mid-March, when I was lucky enough to get to do a “pressure test” in the Masterchef kitchen, along with other media folk. My hopeless effort was judged by Jock, along with the other two judges, and he was in great form, finding it incredibly amusing just how bad some of us were in the kitchen. Especially me, who’s made fun of actual cooks for so many years. He was funny and boisterous and just as he is on TV, except with more swearing.

The way he greeted me that day made me feel we were old friends. I didn’t know him but it was easy to feel like I did when I was in his company. But then, it was easy to feel like you knew him just from watching on TV, wasn’t it? That’s why he became such an essential part of Masterchef, so quickly. In three short seasons he claimed the hearts of fans as much as any of the previous judges had in a decade.

There are so many people hurting so badly right now. He was loved by his family and his friends and his fans. It’s devastating. I don’t know if it’s even the most minute consolation to think of all he packed into his 46 years: that his life, though much shorter than it should’ve been, was full to the brim; that he did more with those years than most can do with twice as many.

Maybe that makes it even harder to bear. Because how much more he had to do. How much more he had to give. And his wife and his children…

I’m trying to say something, but I don’t know what to say. Does anyone?

Jock is gone. And that is too unfair for words.