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in his mix and, frankly, from the looks that Mary and Paul give him, he might as well have announced he was using an out-of-date, pre-mixed cake solution from Peckham Lidl.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”?