Episode 8 – Biscuit Week

Last week: Double jammy, as Sarah-Jane and Ryan had to say goodbye to the bake-off tent of sweet dough.  James didn't wear patterned wool (!!!) and Danny got top dog, though Brendan was right there snapping at her Star Baker Converse heels.

 

This week: Biscuits!

 

“Expect the unexpected and scream if you want to go faster, it's the rollercoaster that is the Great British Bake Off” quoth Mel, whilst Sue put her paws up like a meerkat, which I think was her attempt at pretending like she was at Alton Towers.  Anyway, let's get CRACKING! (Cracking?!  Cause biscuits crack!  Geddit?  NB: you can expect A LOT of this.)

 

Signature bake: 48 Crackers or Crispbreads

La Giedroyc sets the scene: “They can be leavened or unleavened but they must be thin and crack in two - a bit like Nicole Kidman.”  Mel, you iz wikked.  The main problem will be uniformity and producing that many identical biccies outside of a McVities factory.  Also tricky will be getting a snap noise that is music to Paul's ears.  He threatens to crack every one of the 240 biscuits to make sure they are ALL perfect.  I wouldn’t put it past him.

 

James is going leavened (i.e., yeasty) for his Smoky Cayenne, Cumin and Chilli Crackers - 'crackers' may well be the word, as that is a whole lot of spice going on.  It's my duty to report that James is once again knitwear free, but – as will become a key concern later - it's finally that one day of summer we had this year and it is therefore very, very HAWT in that tent, so I think we can forgive the tanktop being left in the suitcase.  Besides, James is wearing something arguably better than an Argyle jumper – SHORTS!  The Shetland legs are OUT!  Indeed, he's feeling frisky enough to flirt with Paul about the thinness of his pastry.  Bare legs and homoerotism!  It’s almost too much!  (It isn’t.)

 

Not to be outdone, John has also donned shorts and upped the fashion ante with what appears to be a newly pierced nose stud.  He's making Asian Spice Crackers, which involves repeatedly stabbing his pastry “like Woody Woodpecker”.  As he forks his pastry (ooh-err), he tells us that “when you prick it, you can feel if it's thicker in one part or another”.  Surely, that’s Johnuendo Bingo?  He also wants to avoid making a flying saucer.  I hope he only means in baking terms.

 

Brendan doesn't really 'do' crackers, unless he's throwing “a gathering with a buffet”, which I think means that he might deign to make a few crackers for that rude patio neighbour who refuses his towering blancmange cakes of joy.  As Brendan uses a tape-measure to determine the exact surface area of each one of his Multi-Seed Savoury Crackers, he tells us that “I bring precision to everything I do” and gives the example of his gardening – yegads, I would love to see what Brendan’s landscaping skills have produced (maybe patio neighbour is supremely jealous and that's why she spurns his cakes).  Paul wonders how Brendan's going to get the uncooked crackers off the table without losing some of the size and shape, as “a pallet knife will distort the diamond”.  Brendan's face falls – he looks like a small child who's just twigged that depositing a poo inside the toybox wasn't such a wise idea after all.

 

Cathryn's Cheese and Pickle Crackers are Ploughman's inspired.  Mary warns her that she needs super thin cheese or she'll end up making Cheese and Pickle Cookies, which sounds rather less appetising.

 

Danny thinks she’s going to struggle to make 48 biscuits, as her usual tactic for making Spiced Almond Drinks Crackers involves her scoffing every other one that comes out the oven – good girl.  She's putting a South Africa spice called Ras El Hanout in, which sounds VERY EXCITING, so I'm sure the judges will love it, but she threatens to counter the effects by admitting she's also using desiccated parmesan from a can, rather than the fresh stuff.  Her first line of defence is that she’s “taking inspiration from Brendan and the seventies” - Brendan responds with the type of glare he usually reserves for Sue - and that having gone down like a soggy bottom, she changes tack and babbles a little about how real parmesan doesn't work, even though she’s tried and tried in a whole range of ways.  Mary tries to mask her look of horror, Paul shrugs and says “it's your choice”, by which he means “it's your funeral”.

 

The biscuit baking is a bit of a minefield – mere minutes make the difference between perfect crackers and burn baby burn.  Most bakers stick to one oven shelf and run batch after batch, to ensure a consistent temperature.  Not James though - he's whammed them all in at once; sure, he ends up with a range of colours and crispiness, but it’s his 21st birthday and he’s in a fab mood, so doesn't seem to be too worried.  He happily shows us a burnt and twisted cracker that “looks like a mouse”.  (Possibly Fingermouse, in a certain light?  Perhaps he's been at the whisky cubes again.)

 

Cathryn is yakking with Mel whilst making up her final batch when she suddenly remembers she should have taken her penultimate tray out.  Panic ahoy!  Her biccies are, of course, fairly burnt.  “Heavens to Betsy, what am I doing?” she cries in a classic bout of mum swearing.  Little Alphonse isn't here now, Cathryn - you can totally say “**** ****ing **** you total ****ing ****** piece of ******** *****, for ***** ****.  ****!!!!”  It will probably be mildly more therapeutic, if less broadcastable.

 

The tinkly music of judging doom plays and the camera pans round to each baker standing by their crackers looking pensive.  Over to Mary and Paul for the breakdown.  (I so need a portmanteau for these two.  Hollyberry?  Berrywood?  So basically, my options both sound like archetypal country cottage names.  Heavens to Betsy – is there anything un-middle-class about this show?)

 

Brendan's crackers are “beautifully even”, have a “nice break” and “are all equal”.  The seasoning is “just right”.  All in all “really scrummy.”

 

Danny's have a good crack and consistency and “an interesting colour”, making them “so inviting”.  At first taste, Mary finds them a bit bland and salty, but then discovers “a fiery flavour”.  Paul thinks she has over-salted: “it has tipped them over”.

 

Mary finds James' crackers “beautiful, wafer thin and full of flavour”.  Paul concedes they “just about” crack, although he notes that consistency is an issue, destroying James' neatly arranged cracker pile and delving in to find the slightly-less-perfect Fingermice hidden under the lovely top layer.

 

Over to Cathryn's self-declared “car-crash crackers”.  She tells the judges she's “really sorry and embarrassed” about her batch – which is also two crackers short of the requisite Bake Off criterion.  Paul admits they “don't look very good” (Cathryn interrupts by calling them “shocking”), because “they’re thick and thin, with irregular colours”.  On a positive note, Paul finds a “lovely crack” on some and says they have “great flavour”, but he also demonstrates that there's at least one he can bend to a curve and he's clearly very disappointed by the poor execution.

 

Finally, John offers up some darker crackers, but generally “it's breaking well” for Paul.  Mary thinks they are “lovely and crisp, with a hint of curry” although there is a bitterness in the few that are under-baked.  Paul wishes they were bigger, Mary points out he could just have twice as many.

 

Foodistory #1: Aberffraw biscuits.

Well, they tried to sex them up with some historical facts about mysterious origins, St James and Santiago di Compostela, but aberffraw biscuits are just Welsh shortbread shaped like a scallop shell.  Don't me wrong - they look delicious, but I think this package was mainly an excuse for the production team to take a trip to Anglesea to stalk Prince William.

 

The Technical Challenge: Six chocolate tea cakes.

Tea cakes, Tunnock's style.  MOTHER OF YUM! Three stages of goodness, three potential pitfalls: digestive biscuit base, layer of marshmallow, all topped with a chocolate dome.  Major problem – they have to make it in 30 degree tent heat, so setting the choc will be tough.  Or “hell, on a plate” John predicts in his usual undramatic way. 

 

Also, controversially, not technically a biscuit.

 

Obviously the ones on Paul's platter look bloody amazing – shiny enough to reflect the cameras and monitors.  Because of the heat, Mary warns Paul that he's going to have to be “really, really kind” to the bakers come judging.  He screws up his face in such a way that suggests he really, really doesn't want to, but really, really knows not to cross the Berry on this one.  He has however managed to be really really mean with the recipe – typically short on useful information like, say, how to make tea cakes.

 

“Brendan's just a machine, look at him go” observes John, with a hint of sadness, as they all get going on the digestive front.  Biccie base prepped, it's over to the chocolate.  They have to heat the choc to 45 degrees, then rapidly cool it to 32 degrees, but the tent temp is 35 degrees, so, well, you do the math.   The correct answer can only be 'fridge', even though that runs the risk of matt tea cakes, rather than the chocolate glossiness Paul is expecting.

 

On the plus side, at least they don't have to shape their own tea cakes, as they've been given moulds, which look like three pairs of perky red boobs – John's looking very dubiously at the six mounds in front of him, but it turns out that’s because he’s having chocolate setting troubles.

 

As for the marshmallow, John thinks that everyone is finding it tricky, then reflects he's not heard from Brendan and “that guy can do anything”.  Turns out Brendan is typically enjoying his “first encounter with marshmallow” and thinks his attempt looks rather nice. 

 

The judging hour approaches and Cathryn, the only one who opted not to use the fridge, is having mare #2.  Her chocolate just hasn't set and a freezer rush job may not prove fast enough (as anyone who has ever brought warm corner shop beer to a party and is desperate to start drinking well knows).  Everyone is merrily and satisfyingly popping out their tea cakes, but Cathryn's just aren't ready and are sticking to the red mould.  She goes into meltdown and cries “I don't know what to do!”   This (rudely) interrupts Mel and Sue from stuffing their faces with John's leftover choc and a surprised Mel asks “What the HECK?” – for once, she’s less than keen to put down the chocolate and get back to soothing stressed bakers.  Sue quickly rushes over to help; she assesses the situation and offers the only advice she can: “Fridge and pray. Fridge and pray”.

 

Time's nearly up.  Cathryn is clutching the door of her fridge in denial and desperation.  Sue gently coaxes her down and gets her to de-mould her tea cakes.  They aren't great, with a lot of choc sticking to the mould.  Poor lovely Cathryn.  James gives her a proper manhug.  A nation swoons.

 

Hollyberry inspect the spoils. They're in his'n'hers shirts tucked into jeans today – Paul in blue, Mary in hot pink.  Paul, heeding Mary's earlier words that he'd better be nice or else, says that it's generally a good effort, given the heat, but they can't ignore that Cathryn's domes are terrible, and she takes bottom. Danny is fourth, due to problematic marshmallow; John's meringue is a little liquidy so he comes third; Brendan's rocky bases means he's second, although he did get “the best shine”, which means our James is first again.  Paul says he's “ticked all the boxes”.  James beams.

 

Short interlude whilst Sue wishes James a happy 21^st birthday by telling him he can now “become an MEP or go to adult prison - your choice.”

 

Show-stopper: Gingerbread structure

Not a mere gingerbread house, oh no!  They've been tasked to Go Big this time - a full-on tourist attraction or something brash and palatial; the kind of building a nouveau-riche Borrower might fancy or that a teeny tiny Kevin McCloud would enjoy slagging off.  But out of gingerbread.

 

Cathryn is making a Gingerbread Buckingham Palace, flavoured with chocolate and orange.  Mary gives her a motivational pep-talk: “you're upbeat about this and it's going to be good”.  Yay - go Berry!  And come on Cathryn – I want to see that zebra scarf again. 

 

Danny is also taking inspiration from London Town for her two foot tall Gingerbread Big Ben, with cinnamon and pomegranate molasses.  I wonder if she'll also make a furious gingerbread Londoner angrily knocking slow-moving gingerbread tourists out of her way as she tries to get into or out of the tube, which is not a suggestion based in any way on my own personal experience of walking around the Westminster area.  Ahem.

 

Most bakers have drawn out their templates, but John, quite rightly, got his graphic-designer-who-works-for-an-architect boyf to print out the shapes for his Gingerbread Roman Coliseum, with peanut praline gravel.  (Mmmmm.  Bet you never thought you'd crave delicious gravel?)  There are over a hundred pieces in his Italian construction and the flavour is going to have some fiery ginger in it, to reflect the fighting heritage of the original structure.  (Symbolism. Like it.)  Mel wishes him good luck in latin, which is apparently “Brian Fortuna”.

 

On a seemingly slightly less grandiose note than building a gingerbread palace, tower or amphitheatre, James is making a Gingerbread Barn.  But this is James we're talking about, so there's no shortage of ambition – he's designed a full on gingerbread foundation and structural framework, including a roof with cake for cladding.

 

I did wonder if Brendan would stick with his usual theme and make a 1970s Gingerbread Housing Estate – personally, I was gunning for a Gingerbread Heygate Estate in Elephant and Castle, which Wikipedia kindly describes as “neo-brutalist architectural aesthetic of tall,concrete blocks dwarfing smaller blocks, surrounding central communal gardens”. Imagine that in gingerbread!  Anyway, although I'm sure he toyed with the idea, Brendan ultimately opted for something a little more romantic – ladies and gentleman, I present to you Brendan’s Fantasy Gingerbread Bird House, with green desiccated coconut lawn, Shredded Wheat thatched roof and a fondant icing bird pool complete with birds.  HELL TO THE YES.

 

Foodistory #2: Gingerbread

Gingerbread was the lovehearts of its day, as knights would give it as a love token to ladies before jousting, and before, you know... *jousting*.  Intricate gingerbread people were also given as a gift at Dutch weddings back in the day, presumably by those who got to the list late and whose only other choice was to get the matching John Lewis towel set.

 

Back to the baking, and James is munching on gingerbread, which is an ideal time to quote an instructive article from the Shetland Times which firstly lets us know that we could have stalked James at Lerwick’s Peerie Shop Cafe this summer (dammit!) and then adds that James “gained two stone over the series” - as he talks to camera with his mouth full of ginger, we get a sense of why.  But don't fear for fatty James!  He's subsequently quoted as saying “As soon as it all finished, I went with my girlfriend on a tandem bike to France to cycle for two weeks.”  James + girlfriend on a tandem?!  Too.  Many.  Emotions! 

 

Brendan's just announced that his Fantasy Bird House is going to be placed in a “cute Walt Disney setting, with lots of flowering clemantis all over it, climbing up the sides and across the roof, with two blue birds out of icing”.  Words are not needed.  Mel predicts that “knowing Brendan” the birds will be tweeting on the hour.  She gets a beaming smile for not being Sue, and Brendan adds that the male blue bird will have a cock's comb and, as the female doesn't, he's decided to give her mascara.  They look exactly like blue Pingus.  This is not a criticism.

 

Cathryn is having timing issues, so she's had to downsize and make a lesser palace.  James is also lacking time, so has decided to cut some barn bits too, especially as his caramel isn't soft enough, so he's also low on mortar.  Argh!   As James stuffs and wedges cake into the cracks with his bare hands, Sue observes that “the barn has changed from the original plans submitted”. “It's a derelict barn” announces James, improvising by adding spun sugar spider webs. 

 

John too is going with the deliberately dilapidated tactic, deciding his Coliseum isn't as neat as he'd have liked, but that's ok as “it is an old building”.  (Both look pretty fantastic to me.) 

 

Over the other side, Danny's got a crack in her clock tower and whilst her Big Ben is recognisable, I can’t help but agree with her (gritted teeth) assessment that “it's certainly not the standard of Brendan's beauteous edifice over there”.  We cut to Brendan dabbing icing blobs on his gate posts and piping out his clematis.  He's placed a heart around the Fantasy Bird Entrance and placed the pingus in a basket, hugging.  OTT?  Oh yes. It's brilliant.

 

Gingerdread Time, as the judges step up to inspect the Bake Off RIBA.

 

Paul says John's Coliseum is “pretty good, to be honest”, with a twinkle in his eye that makes it clear he's dealing in understatement for once.  “Nooooo, the sacking of Rome” cries Sue, as Paul snaps a piece off the top.  Mary thinks “it's a magnificent creation” and calls it “spectacular”, although the flavour of the ginger isn't quite coming through strongly enough for her.  Paul congratulates John on having lifted his game.

 

Next up, Brendan's fantasy world of gingerbread twee.  It's a bit much for Paul (WHAT?!?! GEDDOUT OF HERE!) and, inexplicably, Mary is disappointed by the breakfast cereal roof.  (HELLO!? It looks AWESOME.)  Mary says “it's a very crisp gingerbread”, but “it's probably a bit too spicy” for Paul. 

 

The judges gloss over the appearance of Danny's slightly child-drawing-like Big Ben, although they make kind noises about how it's not falling down, Pisa-style.  (I would have *loved* to see a Ginger Pisa.)  It's an “interesting flavour”, but the biscuit is softening as they chew which makes it more cookie-like.  Mary likes that, but it wasn't the brief.

 

“There is no doubt that this is Buckingham Palace” says Mary when she sees Cathryn's show-stopper – and it doesn't look half bad. Paul isn't happy with the mix of chocolate, ginger and orange - “it needs to pick one flavour and run with it, but Mary does like the mix.  “Thank you Mary” says Cathryn, pointedly.

 

Paul says he thought James' barn was supposed to be finished. James, trying not to laugh, denies this vehemently and calls it “modern art”.   Either way Paul's impressed by both the structure and the taste: “the ginger is superb”.  Mary loves the cake too and says she wants to eat the whole barn.  “I wonder how many of the others we would enjoy eating to the last crumb?” she adds.  Ouch!  That is one rhetorical meow! (She's totally talking about Brendan's shredded wheat roof, right?).

 

The deliberations are brief – Berrywood already know who they are sending home this week – not that they look happy about it. 

 

So let's see how the cookie crumbles...

 

Star baker: even though Mel notes that he didn't use whisky this week, it's “barnstormer, birthday boy”, knit-wear and tandem ride loving James.

 

Leaving this week: They all did their best to draw out the suspense, but Cathryn had a dire week and at this stage that makes all the difference.  She knows it's coming and tries to hold back the tears during the dramatic silence before the announcement, but she barely manages, and nor does anyone else – weeping ahoy, as everyone's very sad to see her go.   She still thinks the Bake Off is “the best thing ever” and sweetly describes how happy her little boy will be to have her home.

 

Next time: Petit fours!  Crème pâtissière!  Ooh la la!  Vive la France!  C'est la semaine de la pâtisserie!

 

Sue's puns-watch:

Sue AND Mel were hurling puns like nobody's business today – CRACKING work ladies.

“It's crunch time!”

“Are they gonna snap?”

“Are they feeling brittle?”

“Will they crumble?”

“You've got one hour to go, so you'd better crack on.”

Etc

Etc

 

Missed pun-portunity:

Surely at least *one* of the bakers could have been 'GINGERLY' putting their construction together?  I was also hoping Mary would disagree with Paul at some point during the biscuit judging and shout "ARE YOU ON CRACK, HOLLYWOOD?!?"  Sadly, it was not to be.

 

One last highlight:

I can’t ignore Sue making punny reference to one of my other great TV, nay CULTURAL, loves: “Last week, we saw tighter buns than the Eurovision Song Contest”.   Excellent cross-referencing, Ms Perkins.  I'm not quite sure how best to combine Bake-Off with Eurovij (perhaps Mary and Paul could award each baker up to “douze points” in an incomprehensible foreign accent and the winner could be more or less determined by best hot pants and/or regional block votes), but let's hope the developers are working hard on the concept as we speak.