Michael Winner's Dining Stars, ITV1

Winner is in his element as a pantomime Sun King. Before setting off to visit contestants in the north of England (“it’s grim up north,” he chortled, convinced that people living there “are incapable of cooking”), Winner graciously invited the cameras to trundle around his 46-room mansion in west London, a Barbara Cartland-style mausoleum of gilt and chintz. We were treated to intimate views of the Winner levée, as his assistant Dinah washed his hair and his stylist Joan lacquered all his exposed body surfaces. He emerged all primped and powdered and preternaturally smooth, lightly embalmed with a Barbados tan. He looked nearly as lifelike as one of those blue people in Avatar.

Then Winner was whisked northwards to Longridge in Lancashire by helicopter and limousine (a mere Daimler in the first part, satisfyingly upgraded to a Rolls in part two). He went walkabout in the town, barking orders at the faithful Dinah as she struggled along in his wake carrying stuff. He quizzed the locals about Justine Forrest, with whom he would be dining that evening. A mixture of nosy old git and shameless gossip, he wheedled out the information that Justine had lost a lot of weight, and immediately inferred unappetising cooking. As a warm-up, Winner took his entourage for lunch in a local pub, sent all the food back and harangued the waitress.

Justine and her family greeted Winner with a mixture of bonhomie and barely controlled hysteria, though their bumptious guest at least had the decency to look solicitous when hearing about her children's various disabilities. One of Dining Stars' hooks is that we watch Winner munching his way through dinner, but he somehow manages to keep his opinions - about the food, at least - to himself until the end of the show. So, we could only surmise what was going through his mind as he poked suspiciously at Justine's prawn cocktail, studied her beef Wellington through a monocle and squinted at her strawberry pavlova (pictured: Winner and the Forrests)

Before we heard the verdict, the schedule stipulated a visit to Wilmslow and the evening's second contestant, Dean Lewis, who fancied himself a dab hand at Caribbean cuisine. He learned much of his culinary craft from his West Indian dad, a bit of a chef himself if he didn't mind saying so. Dean rather cockily previewed his proposed dinner - prawns (again!) in spicy mango salsa, curried goat, rum-raisin and almond tart with passion fruit ice cream. Though his family were struck dumb when parked around the table with Winner, Britain's harshest restaurant critic whipped out the eating irons faster than Billy the Kid as soon as Dean got the fodder circulating. Dean confidently predicted he'd earned at least two of Winner's much-coveted Dining Stars.

And so to the finale, for which the contestants travelled down to a small cinema in London which Winner had hired for the occasion. Actually, with its velveteen seats and crimson drapes, maybe it was just a spare boudoir in Michael's chateau. Dean and Justine must have felt they were in a remake of Death Wish II as Winner inflicted his judgments as painfully as possible. Having told Dean that everything except his dessert was ghastly, he announced, "I've thought it over very carefully. You are going to go home with... nothing." Dean, who's in the demolition business, looked as if he was thinking of new uses for falling masonry.

Justine's prospects of collecting a trinket for the mantelpiece looked even bleaker - her pastry was uneatable, her meringue soggy - and then, incredibly, Winner burst into tears. The stories of her daughter with cerebral palsy and son with a deformed heart had got to the old fool. "In a restaurant you don't get heart and you don't get warmth such as I saw in your house," he sobbed. "I thank you for having me." And he gave her one star. Sweet! If he ever comes round to our place, he'll get a giant plate of Old Ham. Or possibly grouse.

• Read Winner's Dinners at Times Online