Episode 7 – Sweet Dough Week

Last week: Holby City in the Bake Off tent as Johnuendo was attacked by a magi-mix and then they all lived happily ever after for a week because no-one got culled. Hilariously, whilst everyone else hugged it out with joyful relief, Brendan’s face was completely impassive when it was announced that no-one was leaving. I’ll generously say it’s because he was too busy floating on Star Baker Cloud Nine.

This week: bun fun. Mary is wearing (what looks like) a garish multi-coloured shell suit jacket. It’s actually floral, which I understand is bang on trend, although perhaps not in shiny tracksuit form. I predict Brendan will use it as inspiration for his show-stopper.

Thundercats... Dough!

Signature bake: Twenty-four buns

Sue lists a whole load of bun types they might want to make, including Chelsea, Bath and “Mary Berry’s hot buns” - Sarah-Jane promptly smirks and John supportively raises an eyebrow. (I think we can expect a lot of this.) Smut aside, it’s all about yeasty dough and 'proving' this week – which is just a quick way of saying ‘shoving your dough in a cupboard and waiting several hours for to rise’. Everyone gets stuck in to the dough, quite literally, as their fingers and hands are immediately covered in a fairly yucky porridge paste. I’m particularly worried about Ryan’s glasses - how will he be able to push them up his nose if his fingers are all doughy?

As we start our tour of the kitchens, we get another glimpse into Brendan World – this time we're transported to his living room, where he’s serving something tarty to a room full of delighted guests. (I imagine them gossiping about how dashing Brendan's man is and bitching about that neighbour that would barely open her patio to him.)

Back in the tent, we discover that Brendan's making Chelsea Bunskis, a name he made up because of the Eastern European influence that comes from including Polish poppy seeds. Mel, whose dad is Polish-Lithuanian (thank you Wikipedia), says he could call them “bunkoviets”, as poppy seed cakes are called ‘mucoviets’. Brendan looks tickled and says “you must show me how to spell it and that’s what we’ll call them” - I think it’s fair to say that this is not how he would have reacted to Sue making the same suggestion. Doughski doneski, Brendan pours out steaming, ground up poppy seed on to a tray and starts patting it with a spatula - it looks like hot soil and about as appetising. However, Cathryn comes over for a sniff and whispers “ooooh, I like that”.

Danny, going for Bakewell Chelsea Buns, is sporting new turquoise Converse daps this week, after her royal blue ones got covered in fondant cake poo. Meanwhile, James Shetland is making Easter Chelsea Buns, which are essentially hot cross buns made of wholemeal flour and cider. YES, CIDER!!! Less excitingly, James is knitwear-free.  I fear the worst – this can only have a Samson-like, negative effect on his cooking abilities.

John is carefully checking off a recipe list for his Chelsea and Almond Saffron Buns, so *evidently* he’s going to forget a key ingredient come baking (turns out it’s only the bloody almond). As he puts them in the oven he wishes them “Good luck, little buns, good luck”, which is adorable. Sadly good luck is not on his buns' side, as he decides “they look awful” when he takes them out. Staring at them doesn't help - “What is WRONG with them?” he despairs. (And this is before he realises the lack of almond.)

Over the other side, Paul asks Cathryn “tell us about your buns please?” (snarff snarff). The surprising answer is “they’re called Lady Arundell Manchet Buns”. However, Paul, who is very familiar with Lady Arundell’s buns, promptly steals the only fact Cathryn knew about them, which is that they’re from the fifteenth century. Turns out Lady Arundell’s buns are also good and sturdy - Cathryn drops a few as they come out of the oven, but they basically bounce back off the carpet. “They’re robust!” she’s relieved to note.

Ryan is once again rushing last minute in order to finish his Lardy Cakes in time. Making lardy cakes involves stuffing serious amounts of lard into the dough, folding, then restuffing more lard in, folding, restuffing more lard in, folding and restuffing etc etc etc. His glasses are dough-free, but also dangling on the edge of his nose, so he probably just hasn’t pushed them up for the past few hours. (HOW CAN HE COPE? IT WOULD DO MY FACE IN!!)

Finally, we learn that Sarah-Jane is making Orange and Nutmeg Cornish Saffron Buns, which she tells us should be “perfectly domed shiny orange buns”. Argh, don’t tempt fate SJ - even though she’s probably the weakest left, I’m gunning for her to do well, even if it’s just to finish on a high.

Interestingly, her chosen bake is the subject of this week’s food history bumpf – will that be a good omen?

Foodistory #1: Cornish Saffron Buns

Turns out that Saffron Buns were invented by the Cornish Methodists to bribe the locals into not drinking themselves into a stupor on their days off. As the power of buns alone was not sufficient to stop alcoholism, they also launched a special teetotal day, called the Cornish Tea Treat, where booze was swapped for sugar and mucho bun fun, and they had a procession to celebrate how Jesus and his disciples just couldn’t get enough saffron bun goodness. (That last part might not be 100% correct.)

But enough about Jesus’ buns, let’s get to judging.

Paul says Cathryn’s “look pretty good” (they look like hamburgers to me – which I’m not saying isn’t ‘pretty good’), are “the right size” and “all different colours”. However her “bottoms are quite tight” (ahem) and Mary wanted even more cream (easy now). Paul also thinks some of them are burned, which Cathryn finds a bit harsh.

John thinks he’s underproved, but Paul tells him “the structure looks alright”. However, the taste is found bland. Mary asks him if he put almond extract in and the penny drops; “I forgot” he admits. Unsmiley face.

Danny’s made huge buns - “for good appetites” says Mary, who is wide-eyed and keen to tuck in. “Sheer heaven to eat” she adds. “They look great” agrees Paul. “Great buns, Danny” says Sue.

Paul takes a bite of Ryan’s lardy cake and emits a low groan, before producing a throaty chuckle, holding up the cake and saying ...... *dramatic pause* ........ “THAT is a good texture. It’s excellent. I can’t argue with the bake on that.” Mary also throws in some compliments, but the camera stays on Paul stuffing his face. “They taste great” he declares and shakes Ryan’s hand. “Well done, Ryan, well done. They are very, very good.” Praise indeed.

James’ buns come undone – Paul helpfully tells him “the filling doesn’t bind” and it’s a bit “crusty”. Mary loves the flavour though.

Sarah-Jane’s buns are “dainty”, but sadly, Paul tells her they are underproved. Mary finds them “a bit dry and a bit lacking in flavour” which is a right old shame for our Sarah-Jane, who puts her usual smiley brave face on.

The structure inside Brendan’s bunskis is “very even” and “holding together”. More praise for the taste and texture - “really lovely and soft and totally original”. “Congratulationski” says Sue, and Brendan gives off what may or may not be a forced laugh. (Oh, they love each other really.)

Judging done, we see a lovely, but wholly random shot of a massive ewe looking indignant. I’m immediately reminded of Wellington week.

Ryan, who has done oh so well, looks shell-shocked, but that’s probably because he knows the score by now – the technical challenge is NOT HIS FRIEND. And it’s a toughie. Again.

The Technical Challenge: Jam doughnuts

John immediately rolls his eyes and Sarah-Jane does the giggle of denial. Mel explains that the judges want consistency of size, colour and jam distribution.

We’re informed that doughnuts originated in Holland where they were called “oliekoek”, which means ‘oily cake’ (which totally backs up my theory that Dutch is a perfect mix of English words with a comedy accent and German that’s been recorded and played backwards). Oily cake sounds pretty disgusting but I can image that it would nonetheless appeal to someone in a ‘relaxed’ state of mind with a severe case of the munchies.

Paul reveals his platter of perfect doughnuts and Mary calls them “absolute whoppers”. Paul then explains how unless a precise series of exacting circumstances are perfectly re-created in their entirety, they’ll fuck it up.

Everyone looks confused by the doughnut process, bar James who reveals he has made them many many times before – how better to combat a dark windy Shetland night than by making an army of doughnuts? He does, however, recognise that he’s at an unfair advantage and reflects on how it will be embarrassing if he doesn’t make really good ‘uns.

Ryan, who confesses he is also experienced - in doughnut eating - is implementing PMA as he concedes that at least this time he knows what the end product should look like. The others just look peeved and it’s certainly true that the kneading process looks particularly frustrating – Cathryn, covered in the stuff, surmises that it’s like kneading a big ball of chewing gum. Ugh.

John, I’ve just noticed, is wearing welly boots indoors. Perhaps he's still scared of the magi-mix.

Foodistory #2: Doughnut dollies

In 1942, homesick US soldiers based in the UK were cheered up by the so-called Doughnut Dollies; namely, pretty charmers who served up doughnut and flirting at the service clubs (think air hostess meet dinner lady and that Christina Aguilera video Candyman, only in a church hall). It was so successful that the American Red Cross took it nationwide and turned old buses into mobile doughnut kitchens and got desperate-for-doughnut queues around the block. The wartime equivalent of the 2am kebab van, if you will.

“Two hours left, you DOUGHNUTS!” calls Sue, complete with Dick Van Dyke cockney inflection.

James shows us how he charmed his girlfriend (hurrumph) by saying that the most satisfying thing in the whole wide world is putting a lump of dough on the scales and it being exactly the weight you want it to be.

Out come the deep fat fryers! (No SMEG branding in sight.) Cathryn wonders whether she should be the first to “take the oily plunge”? (Johnuendo is obviously catching). “Oh my giddy aunt” she says as she plopadops her doughnut in. There is no fire or explosion of any kind, so we’re all good.

After deep frying, comes sugar bathing, where the doughnut is rolled in a bowl until it's covered with a teeth-rotting amount of caster sugar. Then it’s time for the jam injection – medical student James and intensive care consultant Danny must be at an advantage, as it literally is injected into the doughnut with a big perspex needle. Mel flirts with James over his neat injection skills. At the other end of the spectrum, Cathryn’s jam is gushing out. “DOUGHNUT DOOM!” she announces.

Do-nuts or don’t-nuts?! Paul assesses the colour and bake, while Mary is more interested in jam to doughnut ratio. It’s a fairly motley bunch, but Paul says Danny’s batch “has a bounce on it” (Mary translates that that means “it’s very nice”.) Sarah-Jane’s are “raw” (doh!) and she comes bottom, followed by Ryan (“overproved”), Cathryn (“bit flat”), Brendan (“not quite done”), with John third (though it was close between him and the B-man) and Danny a pleasing second. James breathes a sigh of relief as he takes first place.

This time the random filler animal shot is of a bright-eyed rabbit. Cute, but still edible.

Show-stopper: Celebratory enriched dough loaf

Festive brioche or stollen or the like. The dough can take twelve hours to prove, so several of the bakers are starting on that tonight and will leave it overnight, hoping it will merrily rise up in the proving drawer. The advantage of the all-night prove is a more flavoursome dough – provided it works... Those who are happy to wait til tomorrow to get their dough on start to prepare their filling instead, but they will have to compensate by adding extra flavour to the dough somewhere down the line.

Danny is making a European Christmas Wreath, which is a sort of stollen-brioche mix, with orange curd and sultanas in it. She usually leaves the dough in her outer hall to rise (I am immediately nosey about the rest of her house), but worries that she doesn’t know how that will compare to the Bake Off marquee temperature.

James and John are making a sponge starter to form a motherdough. A motherdough!!! I have no idea what on earth than means, but it is still quite simply THE BEST BAKING TERM IN THE WORLD. James’ motherdough will eventually morph into a Whisky Kugelkopf-Brioche Baba. Clearly he was drunk when he made that one up, and indeed, he gleefully tells us that he intends to put “half a bottle of whisky” in his dough loaf. Wowsers. He recognises this is unlikely to please Paul.

John’s motherdough will become a Marzipan Stollen. He again wishes his mix “good luck” as he puts it to bed in the proving draw, forgetting that really really didn't work last time. The bakers then head off to have a sleepless night of competitive baking worry. I imagine them all in a dormitory, or at least all gathered in the big house, calling out to wish each other good night, Waltons style. “Good night Brendan”, “Good night John-Boy.”

It’s the morning after and James is still not in knitwear. The bakers rush across the lawn to see if the doughing got tough or the tough got doughing. John realises he should have taken his out of the fridge earlier and he’s going to have to bin it as “the reaction to the two heats has made a stiff mess”. Johnuendo is BACK!

Cathryn has clearly just picked a random festival (Guy Fawkes) and decided there's no reason not to eat cake then – GOOD GIRL. She calls it Bonfire Night Tear’N’Share Brioche, which is clearly ironic, as it doesn’t look like the kind of cake you want to share under any circumstances.

“Is it a seventies delight today Brendan or maybe the eighties?” No, that's not from Sue! It’s Paul who wants in on the Brendan jibbing. Undeterred, Brendan replies he’s making a Black Forest Christmas Stollen. No comment. He then primly describes how he sees it as “the centrepiece for a Christmas buffet table” and, well, God knows what face Paul is making, but Brendan is suddenly reduced to giggles by his own description – I think he's twigged how the combination of 'black forest', 'centrepiece' and 'Christmas buffet table' might all be lovely, but also, well, a little dated. He stops his giggles to tell the camera he sees himself “as a bridge between the seventies and today” and that he’s “trying to give the seventies a modern twist”. He takes a shifty look to the side, where Paul was just lingering, and says “I hope he heard that”.

Whether Paul heard that or not is irrelevant, as the evidence speaks for itself; Brendan’s brought his own cake mould, designed to produce a cake shaped like a cathedral, and he plans to decorate his stollen with marzipan and apricot – frankly, we're only missing some sideburns, a fondue set and a bowl full of car keys for the whole seventies hog.

Mind you, John’s just lined up a million glacé cherries and some chocolate buttons on marzipan, so I think Brendan’s got competition.

Back in the modern day, Ryan is the only one opting for a savoury dish. “I thought I’d do something Chinese” – a Cahr Siu Bao, no less, which is pork loaf and hoi sin sauce, traditionally given at Chinese New Year. It sounds nothing short of AMAZING. I think it’s the dish I have most coveted since the start of the series, including John’s venison and haggis welly. WANT WANT WANT.

Sarah-Jane is making a Sour Cherry and Dark Chocolate Christmas Plait – which is risky, as we've already seen her admit that hairdressing is not one of her special skills. Mel remembers that too and kindly calls her a loon. Sarah-Jane starts to count aloud and visualise her overs and unders, by doing some air-plaiting. Mel joins in with the “over one, under two” mantra and accompanying hand signals – it's like baking tai chi.

I thought the hospital drama was over, but we get another scene that the squeamish will particularly enjoy, as James cuts the top off his whisky jelly and Sue likens it to slicing an enormous cornea. Sue and James proceed to each eat a whisky jelly cube and are immediately drunk; they giggle uncontrollably, repeating “goodness that is strong”. You can tell they are dying to do a whole line of cubes before hit the dance floor, but the camera pans away - I’m guessing a producer stepped in. If only to stop Mary from joining them.

We get a montage of doughs coming out of the oven – with mixed results. Ryan points out a multitude of technical issues relating to his pork pun (noooooooo), Sarah-Jane has a bit of plait splitting, Danny's bri-stollen-oche hasn't rising as much as it does at home, whilst Brendan's cathedral mould has worked perfectly.

And so, the judging hour approaches.

Brendan brings up his creation, which is show-stopping indeed. Sure, it's straight out of his favourite era, but he has absolutely nailed his “centrepiece for a Christmas buffet table” concept, with pine cones, sweeties and a massive red candle stuck on the top of his cathedral cake. He is praised on bake, texture and flavour.

Sarah-Jane, unbelievably, has produced ANOTHER raw bake. She can't believe it. At least she “did get the flavours right”.

Ryan's pork bun looks quite sad - “it doesn't have that 'wow' and doesn't feel 'celebration' to me” admits Mary. “We have an issue” says Paul, cutting into it – it's mushy and raw inside. Mary liked the flavour and concept, but “it just didn't quite get there”.

Danny, who slurped thick white icing over her bri-stollen-oche in the name of 'decoration' claimed she wanted it to look messy and wasn't going for perfect. Well, she was successful in that, if you ask me. The judges liked it, however, calling it “festive” with “a good colour”. Mary thought “the flavour is absolutely delicious and I can taste the separate flavours”. Paul agrees “Excellent. Thanks Danny.”

John's offering “looks a little on the flat side” to Mary, which would be fine if we were talking stomachs, but is probably less desirable in stollen world. She thinks it's also “on the stodgy side”, which is good for neither tummy nor baking. Paul says “it's beginning to weld my mouth together, which is probably a good thing” - that way poor John doesn't have to hear any more criticism. Still, “good marzipan”.

Cathryn has shoehorned in some Guy Fawkes-related festivity by sticking a sparkler on top of her tear'n'share. Even though Paul had previously sneered at the excessive amount of cinnamon in her dough, he admits that the flavour balance is good. Mary is also pro - “Lovely flavour, nice and sweet, the icing's good”, but it does “feel more like a cake” and doesn't have the right “aeration”.

James brings up his whisky mist and even Mary has to concede that “the whisky flavour is a little over the top”. (James laughs, but that's because he's still pissed from the cube shots he and Sue did.) Paul isn't too keen on the structure and tells him to “concentrate on his flavours”.

Time for deliberations and the double cull. But first...

Star baker: “This week the star baker is someone uniquely qualified to offer intensive care to any flagging bun. Finally, Danny!” Well put Sue. Sadly no shot of Brendan's reaction. (Am sure he was totally fine about it.)

Leaving this week: First to be announced - Sarah-Jane, which wasn't a surprise after several raw bakes, and the second leaver is... Ryan – again, I think we were probably expecting that. It's all very sad, as it felt that all the remaining bakers had properly bonded into a merry gang. But both Ryan and Sarah-Jane are really positive about the experience – Ryan promises to continuing messing up his wife's kitchen and Sarah-Jane is delighted to have got to week seven. I also hope that taking the train alone is no longer a terrifying prospect for our SJ.

Next time: biscuits! Crackers, crisp breads and gingerbread sim city, as the bakers create an entire metropolis of ginger buildings. Also, SHORTS! James and John get their legs out - and a nation swoons. Well, sort of.

Sue's buns-watch:

“It’s a bun fight to the finish.”

“Bakers, one hour until I can sink my teeth into your buns.”

“OK, bakers you should all have buns in the oven.”

And a guest appearance from Danny Intensive Care: “getting star baker is just the icing on the cake”.

Missed pun-portunity:

Nah, she got them all in.

Episode 6 – Pudding Week

Last week: We bid our good-pies to Manisha, no doubt returning to the family to cook a giant cake feast for her brothers and father, and Ryan made the most amazing Key Lime Pie the world has EVER known. Well, until Mary intimated that she was immediately heading home to make her own – and seeing as the universe would fall in on itself if anyone ever made a better pie than Mary Berry, and the sky remains above us, I think we can safely say that Ryan’s is now second best.

This week: pudding.  Haemorrhaging strudels, steamy cloots and tablecloth pastry. Plus an uncredited cameo from the St John's Ambulance...

It's raining, Sarah-Jane has a transparent umbrella (WANT) and has decided that the rain clouds are a sign of impending dooooooom! Let's find out if she's right, shall we?!

Roll titles!

Signature bake: Two different flavoured sponges with two different accompaniments.

Individual size portions, baked, boiled or steamed. Six of one, six of the other, with two different sauces. Two hours.

No pressure then.

Essentially this task is double the trouble, as they’ve having to bake two different things at once. Another challenge will be to not abandon cooking in favour of just sitting on the floor and licking the bowl.

Ryan is making Chocolate Fondants and Sticky Ginger and Date Puddings. I shall have all twelve, please! He announces to Mary that he's using self-raising flour, bicarb and baking powder in his mix and, frankly, from the looks that Mary and Paul give him, he might as well have announced he was using an out-of-date, pre-mixed cake solution from Peckham Lidl. “Why are you using three raising agents?” asks Mary, by which, of course, she means: “Don't use three raising agents”. Ryan tries to call it 'traditional'. Paul, who clearly got out the mean side of the bed this morning replies “Last week star baker...”. No need for him to add “this week, farty noise” - it's implicit in his tone.

Danny is cutting dates with scissors, which looks a profoundly satisfying activity. She's offering up Banoffee Puddings with Walnut Butterscotch Sauce and Jubilee Chocolate Fondants. I think the appropriate response is: nomnomnomnom.

We cut to Brendan waffling on about strawberries and ginger at his kitchen station and then, out of nowhere, we cut to Brendan walking in a sunny park, accompanied by a dashing dark haired gentleman and a sprightly labradoodle!!  Before we have have time to even think “WELL DONE BRENDAN YOU DARK OLD HORSE!!!” the camera jumps back to his gingery waffle and no more is said, but at least now we know who has (probably) inspired his Rhubarb, Strawberry and Ginger Puddings and Sticky Toffee Puddings (flavoured with rum, yum yum) - and it ain't that gorgeous doggie, oi oi!  

Certainly, Brendan won't be seeking inspiration from Sue, his least favourite Bake Off official and, to date, the main recipient of the Brendan lip purse.  This week she peeves him by talking modern - Brendan starts sucking up to Mary by saying he wants to create “authentic flavours in an authentic way” and so Sue cheekily checks that he’s sure he doesn't want to attempt “molecular gastronomy using nitrogen oxide”? Sue gets the full cat’s bottom and the curt response “Heston Blumental has a lot to answer for”.  Mary is so pleased she gives Brendan a flirtatious wink.

Elsewhere, the Johnuenndos continue “Everyone likes a good sticky toff”, he says, referring, OF COURSE, to his Spicy Sticky Toffee pudding, accompanied by Raspberry and White Chocolate Puddings.  John's marinating his dates in Lady Grey tea, which is not an innuendo, but sounds... well, a bit gross.  Mel pops over for a bit of a goss, as is her wont, and gets him to mildly slag Brendan and call him the Terminator. “He's the Bakenator” whispers Mel.  A nickname is born.

Sarah-Jane is in her usual state of rosy-cheeked flummoxed flux – she’s baking Sticky Toffee Puddings (well, who doesn't like a sticky toff?) along with Granny's Saucy Lemon Puddings. Ooh-err - where’s Sue for filth when you need her? I would have welcomed a full Sue interrogation on how saucy Sarah-Jane’s Granny might be, though we can all imagine that the chances of Sarah-Jane having a filthy-mouthed chain-smoking randy old bird of a Grandma are slim to nil.  Sue’s granny however – anything is possible.

Cathryn is pouring, mixing, dipping and baking simultaneously, which is rather impressive, but she has two small children, so this probably seems like a breeze. She’s going to offer up Chocolate Walnut Whip Puddings and Elderflower Sponges.  Elderflower? Really?  Fortunately, Sue informs us that clotted cream rice pudding is going on top of the sponge –  look, I’m happy to take one for the team and just scoop the rice pud top off and eat that, so someone else can ‘enjoy’ the elderflower.  I know, most generous of me.

Who else but James Shetland could be making Banana and Clove Puddings (with home brewed beer) and Clootie Dumplings? But before we discover exactly what a clootie dumpling is, let's deal with a more important issue: on the knitwear front, I can report that James is in grey and brown, with clear sleeves in evidence – so that's a negative on the tank top. James says that clooties are the safe option, which can only be a recipe (ha!) for disaster, right? And problems ensue – his cloots end up skinless, which is apparently a bad thing, and the puddings are also causing issues – sticking to the pots.  Not James' finest hour.

However, wet clooties and pot sticking is not the worst thing to happen this week. We watch on with horror as Danny tips her AMAZING looking fondants out of the oven.... and on to the floor. GAH! Chocolate mush goes all over her electric blue Converse trainers and two fondants have to be declared DOA and taken to the Cake Morgue, leaving her short for judging. It's gutting, especially as you can tell from the way they splashed on her shoe they were perfectly gooey inside.  She is convinced she's going home.

Two hours up, it's time for judging.

Brendan has over blow-torched his sticky toffs, but “the strawberry's really worked” and “the ginger is lovely”, with “good sponge” and “a perfect crème anglaise”.

Mary thinks Sarah-Jane's saucy lemon “isn't coming through strongly”, whilst Paul, still wearing his mean pants, says “as a soufflé it's very good, as a sponge...” he trails off (it's clearly not). Her sticky toffee puds are “a little on the dry side” for Mary, but Paul, manhandling a pud and sticking his finger in, disagrees! Disagreeing judges!? Goodness me! Careful now – let’s not go all X-Factor!

Ryan's fondants look “indulgent”, but are “not as light” as hoped and have “a dry texture”. Mary says it's “bitter” and, surprise surprise, there's too much raising agent in there. Ryan politely concurs, but later makes clear that he doesn't think she'd have even known if he hadn't told her. OOOOOOOH! HANDBAGS! (Goodness me! Careful now – let’s not go all X-Fact-etc.)

Paul says Cathryn's sponges look “impressive” (wait until he discovers they're yucky elderflower), but “the rice is undercooked”. However, Mel, yes MEL, defies her role and disagrees with him! And, then, so does Mary! (I’m throwing in lots of exclamation marks to denote drama, but, as you can imagine, it’s all said in calm, polite, middle class tones of lovely sweetness.) Cathryn's puddings are cut in half to reveal meringuey cream inside, which looks hugely appetising, but Paul finds them too dry, whereas Mary thinks she's “getting away with it”. More disagreement! (More exclamation marks.) I'm not sure I can handle such a divided front! Please don't fight Bake Off mum and dad!

John's fruity puds are “a bit solid” and “the sponge is bland” – not satisfied with that level of critique, Paul meanly adds “you might as well be chewing on a piece of card.” John, taken aback, suggests “that's a bit harsh”. “No, honestly.” replies Paul, Captain Mean of the Mean Ship HMS Mean, bound for Meaneapolis, Meanland. Fortunately, his sticky toff is “very moreish” - so much so that Mary doesn't even finish her mouthful to tell him. Even Paul cheers up: “that's kicking with flavour.” At least Paul’s now wearing his mean hat at a jaunty angle.

Mary is glad that James has again used his Scottish influence, but Paul says the clootie dumpling “texture's not right”. Fortunately his other pud is “a beautifully made sponge with all the flavours coming through”.

And finally Danny and her squashed fondants. Mary assures her that “accidents happen, even in my kitchen” (no-one believes THAT) and Paul declares that he likes her Banoffees. We are then treated to an array of sombre glances over the fondants and prolonged chewing. Mary breaks the silence: “THAT is a VERY moist sponge” she says. “Both of them taste extremely good” agrees Paul. Danny breathes a mahossive sigh of relief.

Foodistory: the confectioner

In all honesty, I didn't pay that much attention to the history bit this week, as I'd just discovered that most of the bakers were on Twitter and was too busy following them all. I think we learned that confectioners were celebrity pudding chefs employed by the super rich in the olden days (like 600 BC, eh John?), and then Sue went to a castle and ate a very ornate ice cream cake made of “ginger and old sponge”, the making of which used to involve picking ice from the lake in the grounds of your mansion (obviously), but can now be recreated with a simple freezer. It looked at first like it completely disgusted her, but she then claimed that it was just the cold making her eyes water and it was in fact “delicious”. Hmmm...

The Technical Challenge: Queen of Puddings

Layers of baked custard and jam, topped with a chewy meringue.

An original Mary Berry and BLOODY HARD. Again, the recipe has been heavily redacted for no other reason that it enables minimum comfort and maximum perplexity.

Brendan says “there's always an element of dread that you're going to make a total pratt of yourself in the technical challenge”, a perspective based on never having made a total pratt of himself. Ryan, however, has oft stayed at Hotel Disaster during this task and, this week, declares that he has never made custard or jam before, so that bodes well.

We run through a few vignettes of bake prep, and are all settling down to enjoy some M&S-esque 'this is not just any...' food porn shots, when Mel bluntly announces that “egg protein changes shape when heated”, which may well be true, but way to kill the mouth-watering mood, Giedroyc. Though, to be fair, watching custard bake was never going to lather the taste-buds into much of a frenzy.

With the custard baking away and the egg protein busily changing shape, it’s time to make jam, for which the instructions read as follows: “make jam”. "Thanks Mary" says John. Brendan, however, reflects that “there are some advantages to being older – you learn the setting point of jam”. And it’s true that his fruit concoction looks pretty bang on.  Sadly none of them get over-excited about the jam making process and say “jam is my new jam” which is totes what I would go for in such circumstances.

And then (prepare for more mild sex metaphor for, yes, I am going there) it’s time to send the jam down the aisle, to wed and lie atop the cooked custard – but will the custard be solid enough to take the jam or will there be seeping? For John, unfortunately, there’s seeping (er, from his custard). “Mary is going to slap me in the face” he says, in no way over-dramatically.

Finally, the meringue-a-tang. Johnuenndo is going to “whip it until it's quite stiff” to get the peaks Mary is so enamoured off (perhaps this is also how you get a ‘sticky toff’). The top is supposed to be crunchy and golden brown, but Danny's is staying resolutely cream. It transpires that starring at the oven does not help.

“Please be good” asks Cathryn of her pud as she puts it in the oven – asking a dessert to behave itself seems a new tactic, but why not give it a whirl? If it’s bad, it’s straight to the naughty step. Meanwhile Ryan is resorting to threats and Brendan is standing back, all done, casually wafting himself with a dishcloth.

Time’s up.

Up step Dredd and Judy and it becomes immediately apparent that Mary has designed this task purely so she can get her spoon out and tap/crack the meringue on seven different occasions. Personally I like to shred old letters or pop air pockets, but I can absolutely see how smashing meringue would be an equally satisfying home-based therapy. The judges test meringue crisp and crunch, marshmallowyness, jam consistency, layer heights and custard thickness.

It’s actually custard thinness in poor James' case (plopadops all over again) and he ends up bottom of the food chain this week, with Ryan and John next. Sarah-Jane is Prince Harry, Cathryn is Wills, Danny is Charles and it's Brendan who is the Queen of Puddings. He looks highly chuffed - and well he should, because Mary says his pudding has “really good volume and height, a perfect colour on top, beautiful layers, is sheer perfection and a joy to eat”. Wowsers.

Back in the judges’ marquee, rain splattering down, they discuss who's in danger this week. Turns out it's James, Ryan (Mary's still banging on about the raising agent), John and Sarah-Jane. At the other end, Brendan is excelling again; “like a stuck record” bitches Sue. However, there is still more disagreement - about Danny's fondants this time. Paul thinks even her good ones were wonky, whereas Mary does not. Stalemate. And then, in lovely Bake Off style, they decide that the arguing is a reflection of how close it is and how hard it will be to decide, rather than because THEY HATE EACH OTHER. Phew! They all hope for a standout show-stopper to help them decide, but – cue evil glee in Mary's eyes - “it's a really difficult one this week”.

Show-stopper: the strudel.

Or as Sue as actually says it, complete with cod Austrian accent: "ze strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll". (It's a basic level of humour, but I'm not embarrassed to admit that I heartily and xenophobically had a right old chuckle.) Our bakers have to make one large strudel with either sweet or savoury filling (meat mallet #2 Cathryn?) and the judges expect delicate pastry with a professional finish. Three and a half hours. Bake!

Sarah-Jane says they have been making strudel “since the second century BC or something”. (A quick glance at Wikipedia suggests that paper and tofu, yes TOFU (!!!) were invented around that time, so... well, who knows?!)  Either way, it’s surprising that such a tricky technique has survived being handed down the generations all the way to the 21st century, as strudel pastry is INSANE to make, and even Mary admits she buys it.  It basically involves slowly stretching a sheet of pastry thinner and thinner, without breaking it, until it covers a whole table – which just sounds like the worst party game ever.  Before the stretching, however, comes kneading, which does look like fun – imagine someone you hate (Brendan imagines Sue, Sue imagines Brendan), project on to pastry and start pummelling to the death, for example, by smacking it against the table. Repeatedly.

By the way, John's nicked his finger on the magi-mix, but he's applied a plaster and is soldiering on. Hmmmm. That doesn’t sound ominous AT ALL, right?

As Sarah-Jane is tackling kneading in a slightly timid way, Paul comes along and starts hammering her pastry on the table until it’s long and snakey and in danger of hitting everyone in a five metre radius. He explains that this is the official and best way of doing it. On the other side of the room, James whispers to Sue that the “smashing thing” is actually “utter rubbish - traditional, so you can’t slag it, but it’s rubbish.” Sarah-Jane, meanwhile, has embraced the snake and smash and is teaching Cathryn the technique – WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG? Yes, that’s right – PASTRY DISASTER. As Sarah-Jane reassures Cathryn that her kneading smash action “looks really good”, Cathryn accidently throws her pastry across the room, narrowly missing Danny’s one remaining clean shoe and landing on the floor, now covered in grass green carpet fibres.  Sarah-Jane is MORTIFIED.  Cathryn takes it with charm and good grace and a fit of giggles, but what the hell does she do now?! “I can’t serve Mary green carpet!” she, not unreasonably, points out.

James is now injecting teeny raisins with... well, there could be anything in that needle. It’s something to do with combating the ooziness of his strawberry and rhubarb. He then tells us “the last time I made this my girlfriend said it looked like a plate of sick.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ATTENTION PLEASE, JAMES SHETLAND HAS A GIRLFRIEND.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We cut to Cathryn sounding queasy – no, she’s not just found out that James isn’t single, but is actually describing John’s glove as “being full of blood”, which is “running down his arm.” Cue close up of said glove - indeed full of blood and indeed running down poor John’s arm. Unsurprisingly, John looks faint and freaked, but Danny Intensive Care is right on it, sitting him down, reassuring him and telling him not to look. We, however, all get a high definition view of what is one properly bloody red dripping horror hand. John’s now worrying about his strudel, but Danny tells him in kindly, but no uncertain terms that clearly he can’t bake any further. We watch him walking into the sunset (rainclouds) holding his (bandaged) middle finger aloft.

Back to pastry stretching and Sarah-Jane’s opting for the rolling pin, whilst Brendan, who takes the greco-roman wrestling approach to making strudel pastry, has rolled up his sleeves and oiled up his arms: “the rolling pin doesn’t achieve the same result” he sneers. Anyone want to hazard a guess at who’s right here?

Then it’s time to get the fillings in – James nearly gives Sue a heart attack as he uses a sheet to roll his strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll, but everything stays in and it looks alright. We get a few more rolly shots, set to dramatic music, all of which work, then move to Brendan who has, again, gone one further and made an intricate lattice for his strudel top. Sue, standing by, grudgingly recognises great work: “oh Brendan you are a clever sausage” she says, before adding “you’re basically dressing your strudel in a string vest” (she just couldn't resist!). He responds with a sharp intake of breath, which could just as equally be a snigger or more of The Purse.

Cathryn thinks her strudel has a “haemorrhage or hemorrhoids”, and Danny, once again being called on for her medical analysis, confirms a haemorrhage; “it’s got a proboscis for sure”. She’s not alone – James too has “strudel rupture” and, for Sue, the strawberry dribble hole looks “just like John’s finger”. Ooooh yummy.

So, let’s get ready, ready, ready, let’s get ready, ready, ready, let’s get ready, ready, ready to (judge) strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll.

Ryan’s Apples, Sour Cherries, Raisins and Mixed Nuts Strudel's “layers are a bit think” and it's not quite cooked, but Paul likes “the flavour” and Mary “the chunky fruit”.

Cathryn's Roasted Vegetable and Couscous and Sheep's Cheese Strudel is shaped like an S and the shape and pastry receive compliments. It's “full of interest” with “all the colours coming through". An “unusual” but “delicious” strudel.

Sarah-Jane is offering up a Sweet Strudel with Sour Cherries, filled with ricotta and custard. It's “pale and soft”, neither of which are positives, and “looks more like sweet pastry” - basically the pastry is too thick and so it isn't really a strudel.  But at least “the filling's lovely”.

James' Strawberry, Rhubarb and Ginger Strudel is “nice and thin”, but the oozy leaks can't be ignored; Paul notes “it's a bit of a mess in there”, but he does like the taste.

A Leak, Potato, Pistachio and Gruyère Strudel from Danny, which somehow did end up with “a nice colour” and extremely thin pastry. Mary comments that “the filling is solid and beautiful and very lovely flavours”, which isn't bad, eh?

Brendan presents his Spinach, Courgette, Three Cheese and Walnut Strudel, with feta crumbled over it. It's “a bit pale”, but the flavouring is “very good”, as are the layers. It just “needed a bit more colour”, which is a brave thing to say to a man wearing a neon orange shirt.

Judging over, James reflects on the comments – and thinks it's between him and Sarah-Jane to go. Cathryn reflects on John's “grim blood glove” - and is sad he didn't get to make his strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll.   Sarah-Jane reflects on the clouds of DOOM again.  She still has that umbrella I covet.

Around the judging table, Mel says she feels “slightly drained and hysterical, after the strudel dramas”.  They name the star baker potentials as Brendan and Danny, then the ones in trouble – Sarah-Jane, James and, quite harshly, John, on the basis of his first two tasks. “It's tough” says Paul.  You're telling me.

But it's time.

Star baker: they start with the positives and focus on “the person who Paul and Mary feel has really stood out and who has shown consistency, great flavours and cracking latice work” - of course, it's our Brendan. He gives a little regal wave, whilst Danny looks over so slightly peeved (she did save a life today, sort of, *and* she got brown on her shoe) and Sue throws a grudging “well done Brendan” out there, but a few seconds after everyone else, giving it a delightful hint of sarcasm. I think they love each other really.

Leaving this week: Sue then explains that she and Mel take it in turns to announce who is going each week, as it's a hard and onerous task, especially as they get to know the bakers better and better. She looks truly sad and then braces herself to announce that the journey will be ending for...

Nobody! Nobody's going home, as it was just too unfair. Yay!!! (Two of them will go next week instead. Booo!) Anyway, there is lots of teary hugging and relief and everyone seems drained but glad. Given the John situation especially, it does seem the right call.  He'll be back next week, ready to do baking battle and innuendo to his heart's content.

Next time: “THE TOUGHEST BAKE OFF EVER!”. Well, until the next one. Sweet dough, signature sweet buns, "doughnut doom" and show-stopping sweet loaves. Two bakers to go, and it feels like it could be pretty much anybody.

Bring. It. On.

Sue's puns-watch:

On the Queen of Puds rankings: “Now rank this royal family of puddings from lowest to her Highness”.

Missed pun-portunity:

Bah - no need for puns if you get to stand in the middle of a room, do an accent and shout “STRRRRRRÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜDELLL”?

Episode 5 - Pie Week

Last week: Desserts. Stuart (finally) returned back to the school football pitch and Brendan coquettishly pouted with pride at getting star baker.

This week: pie. The preview promises us... a broken pie crust!!!! The drama! The horror.

Mel and Sue begin by saying pi. Maths hilarity. Mel has the decency to look a little embarrassed.  And then we're off!

The Signature Bake: The Wellington.

At least 8 inches long and completely covered with pastry. The rest is up to them.

Paul and Mary, surprise flippin' surprise, are all about perfect, dry bottomed pastry. NO SHIT NIGELLA.

James Shetland is making puff daddy pastry, which is the harder kind to make (typical James! *pats his head*)  His creation is called Four Pig Wellington and is basically quattro porkio; pastry over poached gammon, prosciutto ham, black pudding and pork fillet.  I just died and went to pig farm heaven.

Manisha, also making puff, speaks for the nation when she says: “I mean who makes their own puff pastry these days? No-one.” She then remembers where she is and pretends to find the puffing process enjoyable. She is making a Lamb Wellington with Rosemary and Mint. Dear God, yum. Let the mouth-watering continue.

Basically, let's take it as read that I want to eat ALL the wellingtons.

For those preferring a slightly easier pastry route, there's the option to make rough puff pastry, which involves slobbing visible chunks of butter in the dough.  John (Man-ches-tah) has gone rough puff for his Venison and Haggis Wellington (Vegetarians wept, that's the most carnivorously delicious sounding one yet).  Paul teaches John how to bookend his pastry – not a euphemism.

Danny Intensive Care, for reasons I can't grasp, is going vegetarian with a Chickpea, Spinach and Mushroom Wellington. No meat?!!  No meat?!!  But, but... Why no meat, Danny?  (Sad emoticon.)

Brendan isn't going meaty either, but at least he's opted for a fish dish: Salmon Coulibiac in a Scandinavian Pastry. He is using quark in his pastry - that weird cheesy German fromage frais, which sounds faintly gross, but Mary and Paul look on with significant interest and the camera doesn't linger, so clearly no looming disasters here.

Cathryn is cooking a Full English Wellington, which by her own admission is “a glorified sausage roll”.  It also has all the elements of a fry-up in it, bar the beans, so is basically the best meal of all-time happily encased in pastry (I officially just fainted with greed, and that's off the back of a full portion of nachos for dinner).  Pastry-wise, Cathryn's going flaky. Filling-wise, she's wrapping and rolling mince, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding and eggs in some cling-film, so as you can imagine, her bake looks fairly phallic.  Certainly Sue thinks so and attempts a penis joke ("eight inches?" raised eyebrow), but Cathryn is holding a large knife and having none of it. Undeterred, Sue calls it a metre long meat mallet and advises Cathryn to create a full farm yard scene in pastry on the top.  (She settles for some leaf-based décor.)

Ryan is worrying about his liquids soggifying his Curry Spiced Seabass Wellington, which, stroke of genius alert, will be fashioned to LOOK LIKE A FISH.  I can totally forgive lack of red meat on those grounds.

Finally, Mrs Vicar Sarah-Jane is finding things tricky. She's fried a gigantic slab of cow in a pan in order to create Beef Wellington with Parma Ham and Gorgonzola Cheese, when Mary looks on and asks the question of doom: “Why have you wrapped your beef in foil?” Sarah-Jane explains that she wants to keep the steam and moisture in, which may seem reasonable, but it's clear from the look on Mary's face that hotness = notness and she should be ripping the beef out of the foil and Fedexing it to Alaska pronto. To hammer the point home, Mary then prompts “and then you're going to chill it?” But no, Sarah-Jane is not going to chill it, as she “won't know how long to cook it in the oven”.  Mel makes no attempt to disguise her expression of pure WTF?.  Surprise surprise, come cooking, Sarah-Jane's pastry slides off in the oven, leaving her beef exposed - and no-one wants a holey wellington. Sarah-Jane calls it “the worst thing I have ever baked in my whole life”. I very much doubt she's exaggerating.

But what will the judges think?

They think the pastry around Manisha's welly is “underbaked”, but the lamb is “just right”. (Honestly, it was the most beautiful shade of pink I've ever seen.)  Paul agrees, but it's “let down” by "the key”: the pastry.

Danny's meatless welly has “no soggy bottom” (!!!!), but “there's not much substance running through”.  WELL DURRRRR. THAT'S BECAUSE IT HASN'T GOT ANY MEAT IN IT.

James Shetland does have a soggy bottom, but “the interior's delicious”.  No comment.

Brendan's “quite different” quark pastry is deemed “decent” with “a bit of a crisp” and “a lovely flavour”.

John, who has made what I thought were pastry rabbits (they're apparently antlers) to top his welly, is told “it tastes great”, but “the pastry is a bit too thin and can't flake”.

Ryan, also in team Soggy Bottom, has made a welly with “a great texture” and “a beautiful flavour of fish”.  More praise for his blend of spices.

“It's quite impressive that, Cathryn” said Paul, presented with her pastry meat mallet. And hooray, for they like her “massive sausage roll”.

And then there was Sarah-Jane, part pastry, part beef slab. Mel kindly calls it coquettish. Paul, less kindly, says it looks like the Alien film. Mary tells her it's because she didn't chill it. At least she doesn't add “and I told you so, you total idiot”, because, let's face it, that wouldn't have been entirely unjustified.

Sarah-Jane valiantly says that it could have gone worse. She then pauses and decides that, actually, no it couldn't have. Bless her.

Foodistory: The history of eels

Mmmmm, shiny, squirmy, bucketfuls of eels slithering all over each other. I KNOW, LET'S STICK THEM IN A PIE! To summarise, they were popular for a time because they were the only creatures that were robust enough to survive when the industrial revolution got dumped in the Thames. We then watch Mel eat a whole eel pie in two forkfuls. I thought her face might burst.

Education bit over, so what now?  Well, I can totally stand the heat – let's get back to the kitchen!

The Technical Challenge: Hand-raised Pie

A hand-raised pie with chicken, bacon and apricot filling, made with a hot water crust - a pastry that “defies all the rules of pastry making”. Two and a half hours. GO!

So if I've understood correctly (and that's like fifty-fifty), hand-raising pies involves using a dolly, which is an old-fashioned utensil that looks like the end of a super fat rolling pin. They have to oil up their dolly, tease the pastry up and around the dolly, and then ease the dolly out (I know, it sounds totally suspect). They should be left with a little pastry pot to stick the filling in, but if the pastry is too fat or thin, the filling won't play ball.

So, that's the theory.

The practice. Well. Hmmm.

Basically, they all have a mare with their pastry dollies; first they can't get it up and then they can't get it off – it's like the worst night of passion ever. (Not wishing to dwell on the sex/dolly metaphor, but there's definitely something of the condom on a banana about the whole process...) John sums up everyone's view of dolly-usage when he says “why use this, when we can use tins. We're not in the 1600s”.  I mean that's quite a random era to pick, but the point stands. You can tell Paul had a right old chuckle when he thought this one up.

Eventually, Sarah-Jane gets hers out!  Danny, however, fails to release the dolly, so has to jigsaw puzzle her pastry into shape, freestanding.  I'm not sure Mary is going to appreciate the rustic look.

The next challenge is to pour gellatin in through a little hole in the top, to make sure there's jelly inside (for the record, I find jelly a slightly repulsive and unnecessary pie ingredient – what's wrong with animal flesh and pastry in its purest form?). Anyway, just as Destiny's Child warned, no-one was really ready for that jelly and everyone's pies start to leak (James Shetland has an entire loch on his kitchen surface). Everyone looks thoroughly depressed and, to make things even meaner, they won't be judged until the next day. The pies hit the fridge and, back at the hotel, the bakers hit their fridge mini-bar. Probably.

The next day, judging is tough – a stream of criticism, with little pie-based praise; the distinct lack of jelly particularly vexes Mary.  Ryan comes last (“it's a pasty”), Danny second to bottom, a relatively poor sixth place for James Shetland and a comparatively positive fifth and fourth for Manisha and Sarah-Jane. Brendan is third (he was ready for AND could handle the jelly), John is second, which means Cathryn is top techy! “It looks the closest to mine” says Paul. A compliment indeed.

The judges tell Mel and Sue that, Cathryn and Brendan aside, everyone's in trouble. “It will all rest on the show-stopper” says Mary.  So, on that note...

The Show Stopper Challenge: Sweet American Pie. 

Family-sized.  No lid. Three and a half hours. Bake!

Ryan's making Key Lime Pie and needs to get his pastry right, or he'll face the chopper. He's adding some ginger, which isn't traditional, but he thinks it goes well with the lime. Mary and Paul look optimistic. Once again, however, Ryan has to start a new batch of pastry from scratch halfway in and finds himself racing against the Smeg timer. He has also managed to cover his kitchen in every conceivable utensil and foodstuff again - he even accidentally throws some flour into Brendan's kitchen and tries to clean it up by stamping it into the carpet (I bet that made Brendan purse).

Cathryn's brother lives in the States and has apparently advised her to use mucho peanut butter (I'm thinking he might've said something else, but the Skype connection beachballed at the wrong moment). She's making a Chocolate and Peanut Butter Pumpkin Pie. She dares to dream that she might be star baker this week, but knows it rests on her peanuts.

Danny also has American family and has a memory of 'disgusting' pumpkin pie, so she's attempting to make one that she actually likes, which involves some salted caramel and a fair amount of spiced rum. She's calling it Trick or Treat Pumpkin Pie. Sue points out that, while Mary loves a tipple, Paul gets angry at the taste of booze in puds – so what's her strategy? Danny seems confident Paul will like it, but maybe she's had a few shots of the rum already.

Sarah-Jane has piped the US flag in cream on the top of her Chocolate and Banana Cream Pie. It looks pretty calorietastic and she gets my first show-stopper “want”.

James is making a Sweet Potato Pie. TATTIE PIE?  Really...?  I'll admit I'm more a savoury lady on the pie front and am not a huge fan of the sweet pie concept – I prefer my cake to be CAKE – but sweet spud pie sounds the worst of both worlds?  Not convinced.

Manisha is going for a Banana Scotch Pie and the illustration looks fabulous – meringue swirls galore!  However, as Manisha lists a billion creamy ingredients which she just intends to pile on top of each other, Mary frowns and probes her on setting agents and baking techniques – her facial response to Manisha's answers can be loosely translated as “ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE”. And, of course, Mary is right.  And not only is the top a liquid mess, but Manisha's pie crust subsequently breaks. James sweetly suggests she could glue it back on with some caramel.  She rushes to make sugar Uhu.

Brendan, looking to hold on to his Ma Baker badge – and not without good reason – is making an All American Chiffon Pie, which will have red, white and blue in it. He also adds some raspberry pink - imagine the most garish of Dulux's colour charts - a less traditional flag colour, but his piping is incredibly neat and I'm seriously impressed. Yee-haw.

John is also opting for American cliché, with a Star Spangled Pecan Pie. (Helpfully, the diagram has “pecan” and an arrow pointing at the pie topping.)  It's good to finally see liberal helpings of chocolate being poured on. This episode's been high on fish products and low on cocoa – not a ratio I hope they pursue.

And then it's time for the baking to stop and the eating to start.

First to be judged is Brendan. He's done well again, with “an elegant looking”, “crispy” and “well-baked” pie.

Next, John: there's “a lot going on” (yes there is Paul - nut and excess choc gorgeousness) and “sleeve problems” (no idea), but it's a “nice idea, well executed”.

Sarah-Jane has “a little bit of weeping”, but “it's not overpowering” and “overall, it's a nice pie”.

Mary's first impression of James Shetland's pie is that “it doesn't look very appetising, if I'm going to be honest”. But, after a lingering chew shot, in which Paul and Mary look faintly constipated, Mary announces that she “rather likes it”.

Manisha offers up her gloopy pie, which looks like a classic pie-in-your-face pie (like it's been specially created for children's TV show where kids get to smash pie into teachers' and/or celebrities' faces). “It's a big mess.” whispers Manisha. “It is.” agrees Mary, not unkindly.  Paul praises the pastry, but then “it's all downhill?” offers Manisha. “Yes” replies Paul. They list the errors and it's harsh, but credit to Manisha - she takes the criticism well.

Danny's spider web décor looks good and it's “baked well underneath”, but there is too much booze in there for Paul. Even Mary says “it's strong”. Sue and Mel stay remarkably quiet.

With just Ryan to go, Cathryn brings over a lovely looking chocolate covered pie, with chopped peanuts and mini pies on the side. She gets an “ooooh” and is told “it slices beautifully”. So far so good - is the Star Baker trophy in sight?  Well, no. “I don't like that, at all.” says Paul and likens it to a pot of crunchy peanut butter “with none of the flavour”. “The taste is not very appealing.” agrees Mary. Ouch.

Finally, Ryan offers up his key lime pie and is immediately showered with compliments about the look: “absolutely lovely” and “fresh”. They eat and Paul looks up, blue eyes at their most intense. He pauses, then says “you nailed that one, Ryan, you've absolutely nailed that. That is very special”.  Does Mary agree? Oh yes. “Sheer perfection”. What a turn up. Great work Ryan!

And so the judges gather and fates are discussed. In the danger zone: Manisha (dribble cream pie), Danny (too much booze) and Sarah-Jane (exposed welly). Top of the pies: Brendan (attention to detail) and, sneaking in there last minute, Ryan with his outstanding show-stopper (“good enough on its own to put him in the running”).

So who will be the...

Star baker: RYAN! Against the odds, Ryan's “sheer perfection” is enough to win the pie-est accolade – he may have come last in the Tech Challenge, but his lime creation was SO GOOD (one of the best that Mary and Paul had ever tasted in the Bake Off) that he went from zero to hero in the wink of a pie. He seemed completely shocked and almost paralysed with emotion when he found out; incredibly touching after such a tough weekend for so many of them.

(Sadly, the camera didn't pan to Brendan giving it the cat's bum - he must have been silently raging at being so close to two-in-a-row.  But surely he's now the one to watch in the long run.)

In sadder news...

Leaving this week: well, lovely Manisha – she knew it was over when she served up runny shaving foam pie. Hugs all round and a Mel and Sue sandwich “whether you want it or not”. 

Next time: MEGA DRAMZ! Dropped cake mix, unidentified flying dough-mix and a rubber glove slowly filling with blood. (Guest starring the St John's ambulance, as John seems to have sliced his finger off. Uh oh.) 

Can't wait. 

Sue’s puns-watch:

“Give your pastry some welly.” 

Missed pun-portunity:
"And this week we have to say 'pie-pie' to Manisha”.