As the comedian Dara O’Briain said, it comes to something when a roiling brood of “inveterate ego-maniacs” are reduced to silence or just cooing “Gosh” and “Wow”, their wisecracks and smart backchat at bay. But an open, astonished gob (quickly filled with truly bizarre food) was the only response to Heston Blumenthal’s Perfect Christmas (BBC Two).

We knew that with the kind of molecular gastronomy Blumenthal is famed for he wasn’t going to serve roast turkey, roast potatoes and Christmas pudding. Indeed, he set the bar very high for a new generation of competitive cooks: forget brandy butter, it’s all about reindeer milk, darling.

The idea was that Blumenthal would serve a Christmas dinner of his own special nitrate/blowtorch brilliance to a group of six celebrities: O’Briain, Kirsty Wark, Richard E. Grant, Terry Wogan, Sue Perkins and Rob Brydon. It was not an interesting meal conversation-wise because the participants were glassily bamboozled by the food in front of them.

First, Blumenthal converted a car park into a snowbound woodland glade. This took about 30 seconds. In a fake atrium the guests were first served what one reasonably identified as “salmon in light bulbs”: the baubles really did look like tree decorations and therefore inedible. Then came mulled wine: one half of the glass cold, the other warm; Blumenthal wouldn’t divulge how he did it.

How closely did you follow the recipes? Is anyone right now lighting sorbets, flavoured delicately with tobacco and leather essence? All right, Blumenthal ultimately decided simply to set the sorbet on fire, and then release the aromas, which he had freeze-dried, by pouring boiling water on them, leaving his guests encased in heady-smelling steam, and Perkins pondered the more than likely appearance of Michael Flatley.

Blumenthal hit a snag when trying to concoct a dish of gold, frankincense and myrrh – though it’s not like he didn’t put the effort in. He went to the Middle East, to the area from where the Three Wise Men would have bought their gifts. (Waitrose is for wimps clearly.) Frankincense was fine, but even the adventurous Blumenthal balked at myrrh’s bitterness and so made a teaspoon from its bark. Gold is inedible, so he allowed himself to buy edible gold leaf and made a shiny broth.

He fed his goose (turkey is so not him) with pine-feed so it would taste of Christmas. Alongside the goose, he served a chestnut velouté in a bell jar that contained the smell of chestnuts roasting on an open fire. “I’ve eaten in some of the best Little Chefs in the world, but this . . .” said one of the guests in mock wonder. For the reindeer ice-cream, Blumenthal first went to Siberia (bugger the carbon footprint, baby), ate reindeer marrow and kidney and then drank reindeer tea – like an “upmarket Cup-a-Soup”.

Not even this twinkling wild boy could bring himself to kill a reindeer (and how would a dead reindeer make a good dessert?) so he bought rich, creamy reindeer milk, added skimmed milk and then, with liquid nitrogen, scrambled it and put on mincemeat brioche. By now, bar a snarky Wogan, the celebrities were all orgasmically sated. Blumenthal appeared from the shadows. O’Briain said he felt like Charlie Bucket winning the golden ticket to see Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Blumenthal said he thought he’d created “one of the most memorable meals of my life” – sure, but this is panto, not practical cookery. Is there a “Heston effect”? Do sales of blowtorches rise exponentially after one of his shows?

Last Chance Driving School (ITV1) was also an exercise in molecular gastronomy: discordant elements bought together to create a unique, and in this case thoroughly off-putting, whole. Ten really terrible drivers were offered a chance to pass their tests finally. But not the most wild proclamations of the voiceover to keep us watching – “Coming up, it’s time to face the examiner, pretest nerves, and what’s to become of Janet?” – could truly animate what was, um, driving lessons.

It was also nightmarishly long, so every microdrama blew up into full-size squalls. (Leanne couldn’t reverse park! “Why are you doing this to me?” she wailed.) Scariest of all: Steve, who claimed his bad-boy racer days were over, but when he got his pass certificate you knew the bad boy still rumbled within. Just never be in the vicinity when he emergency parks.

Out of the box

— So, did they fix it? ITV claimed late on Tuesday there were no voting irregularities in this year’s X Factor final. “We know there are many Rhydian fans who are disappointed that he did not win, but the simple fact is that Leon won fair and square,” ITV said in a statement. Rhydian’s dad told The Sun that Rhydian thought it was “possible” he’d been “stitched up”. Whatever’s true, I would never cross anyone with hair like that. You’ll lose in the end.

— Almost as delicious as Stephen Fry playing Oscar Wilde is the prospect of David Walliams playing Frankie Howerd in a new drama for BBC Four. “Matt Lucas and I first bonded as struggling comedians over a shared love of Frankie Howerd impressions,” says Walliams.

tim.teeman@thetimes.co.uk

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