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.