2013 Episode 10 - the Final

Last week: Frrrrrrrrrench week: canapés, brains and opera cake. Deadpan comic genius Becaroon was just pipped at the final hurdle, leaving Ruby, Kimberley and Frances left to battle to victory.

During the week: Twitter decided it HATED Ruby. HATED HER. Even the level-headed feminist icon and general delight that is Raymond Blanc waded in, mouthing off about "female tears" and decreeing that no-one pretty or slim could possibly bake anything remotely edible. (Obviously he decreed all that in a comically French accent accompanied by lots of shrugging and pouting but in 140 characters.)

The Final itself was preceded by an hour long special about the Bake Off Class of 2012 (James Shetland's tanktop! Sarah-Jane's melty wellington! Cathryn's zebra scarf! General Brendan!) What a series that was... I've enjoyed this GBBO greatly, but 2012 was a vintage year indeed.  This, slightly unfortunately, highlighted what a tough act Bake Off 4 had to follow...  Anyway, enough blathering.

Shall we? Let's!

This week: The Final. Who will be the ultimate Ma Baker? ANYTHING COULD HAPPEN in this, erm, pre-recorded final - well, anything that involves Ruby or Kimberley winning. Surely Frances, with the style over substance cloud hanging over her, is a guaranteed bronze medallist? Though I distinctly remember thinking that very thought about winner John last year...

Blazer-watch: Mel and Sue are in red and blue (RHYMING!) and Mel has done her hair in a style best described as 'Heidi post-Alpine leg-over'.  Mary is rocking bedspread palm tree floral and Paul’s shirt is as shined and buffed as ever; I bet he measures his cuff turn-ups to the millimetre.

Signature bake: Savoury picnic pie. Shortcrust pastry, elaborate when you cut into to it, some kind of design inside and presented out of the tin. We're told it's a chance to give our lady-bakers a second go at avoiding soggy bottoms, but mainly it's a chance for the term 'soggy bottoms' to get trotted out again - hooray!

Frances has gone through a brief Mallet's mallet word play game to arrive at her concept: from 'picnic' to 'picnic weather' to 'sunshine' to 'showers' to 'sunshine AND showers' to a rainbow – thus culminating in Frances' Rainbow Picnic Pie, made of rice, two types of trout and five different types of veg, all encased in a pastry basket. She lists about three hundred ingredients and flavours that she's going to pack into her basket, as Mary looks on like she's got a headache from listening to someone giving extended road directions through Spaghetti Junction. Paul is shaking his head and chuckling.  Frances carries on listing food items.

Nosey home life section #1: Frances is the youngest of five and even though her parents are called Deirdre and Kevin, they are zooper posh and zooper well-spoken. Deirdre explains that she has no sense of smell as she was kicked in the face when she was tiny (!!!!!) but we get no further explanation, as Frances has interrupted to sarcastically explain that's her mum’s lack of bouquet is why she's all style.  BUT WHAT ABOUT YOUR MUM'S POOR FACE?!?! 

Ruby is already wary, as she's basically making the same thing as Frances, only vegetarian - which by definition makes it less good. Actually, I take that back, as Ruby's Picnic Basket Pie is filled with halloumi, mozzarella, couscous and sun-dried tomatoes. I believe the technical term is 'mmmmmmm'. Mel asks if the “battle of the baskets” is like turning up at a party in the same dress as someone else. Ruby says it is and likens Frances to a seven foot Brazilian supermodel – in truth, not an image we were expecting.

Nosey home life section #2: Ruby's in her mum and dad's kitchen in Southend-on-Sea, which makes a break from cooking in her student room using a George Foreman grill and a lighter to create her baking marvels (probably). We are then treated to a montage of pics of Ruby as a child: totes adorbs. Her mum outs Ruby as a hard-on-herself perfectionist. We are not surprised.

Kimberley is making green pastry and pink pastry, and is going to fashion piggies from the pink; it's a long way from conflict resolution world peace bread, eh? Mary looks concerned at the synthetic colouring potential, but Kimberley explains it's made from beetroot powder, so all good and middle class then.  She's making a Chicken and Pig Pie, which has chicken mousse and pork paté stuffed around a black pudding. YUM YUM PIG'S BUM, as Len Goodman would say – in this case, possibly literally. Kimberley says she's had “two and a half catastrophes” practising for this challenge, which just makes me wonder what the half was.

Nosey home life section #3: Mini-fro klaxon! Cue gorgeous childhood photos of Kimberley and her sister, Nicolla.  Middle England bristles slightly as Nicolla spells her name with two Ls and says 'we woz' Alesha-style, but fortunately she also describes the familiar childhood game of ‘Pretending To Be A Blue Peter Presenter During The Kitchen Segment’ and the home counties are duly comforted. No kitchen scenes for Kimberley, who's swanning around the South Bank with Giuseppe - sadly Giuseppe's not dressed as an aviator today. Even MORE disappointingly, Giuseppe is pure London and doesn't even have a hint of a Dolmio accent.

Back in the tent, we learn that moisture is the enemy – that's the way to avoid a soggy bottom. Ruby and Frances are therefore pre-baking their insides, whilst Kimberley's going for a pie onesie, and baking all in one - clearly only one of these can be correct.  Kimberley also places what looks like a giant pepperami inside her pie, which... I'll be blunt: it's highly phallic.

Whilst Frances has her back turned, Mel, Sue and Mary (MARY!!!) tuck into Frances' veg stash – stuffing asparagus or beans or whatever those long green things are into their gobs as fast as they can whilst she's busy at the microwave.  They seem to be saying that they don’t think Frances needs the contents of the bowl, but it's hard to tell, as their mouths are so full of food.

Ruby's pie looks perfect. She nearly faints as she assesses the damage and realises THERE ISN'T ANY. Frances' pie isn't bad either, but has a slight haemorrhage (not haemorrhoids, Cathryn Class of 2012), so she and Mel get wafting as an emergency stemming measure. In the battle of the baskets, it's actually Ruby who's produced the Brazilian glamazon basket; Ruby saw Frances’ glazed basket clasp and raised her ‘an actual pastry handle’.  Kimberley meanwhile has leaking and sticking woes.  She takes it with the clinical calm we'd accept, simply whispering “shame”.   It is a shame.

Final judging stint numero uno.

Paul likes Frances' lattice work and Mary admires the bake. Paul upps the tension by asking if it's going to ooze when he cuts it open, and... it doesn't. “Very very neat layers” in fact.  And the filling is even better - “fantastic". Frustratingly, it's about “ten minutes from perfection”. Argh!

No pre-cutting comments from Berrywood about Kimberley's green striped pie – just straight in with the knife. Sadly it doesn't stand up to being moved and the sides start caving in a bit. Paul explains “the moisture has weakened the structure of the pie” and continues “it's almost like a glue, binding my mouth together”, which doesn't sound good, though Kimberley gives it her trademark giggle. Mary likes the seasoning and the mousse, “but it's spoilt by the pastry”.

Mary thinks Ruby's presentation is “very very special” and “the bake is beautiful”. Ruby is gobsmacked to see lovely defined layers in her pie, admitting “they never look like that at home”.  Paul replies “Don't tell me that!” with a twinkle in his Hollywood eye and Twitter goes mental with stupid outraged ragey rage that if Ruby wins it's only because Paul fancies her.  Mary says it's “an excellent example of a vegetarian pie”, which clearly means 'meat is best'.  Paul says it's “sublime” and whispers that it “looks like Frances made it”.  Well that's PROOF, isn't it - making a girl jealous by bigging up her rivals is a well-known flirt tactic.

Kimberley shot: Meditating in a field, reflecting on her soggy bottom and trying to keep it together. Fortunately she vacates the area before Sue sends Paul and Mary to “frolick in the buttercups”, as it's time for...

The Technical Challenge: Pretzels. Six savoury, six sweet. Oh yes – I lurrves me a pretzel. On my year abroad in Cologne, I used to buy them from my local U-Bahn station. Sure, they were full of lovely doughy dough, but really it was the giant grains of salt that made them so good. You can't beat massive chunks of salt on a bread product. Fact.

Mel and Sue describe what they have to do. I predict it will KNOT (yessssss) go well. Even Kimberley’s not made them before. As she kneads her dough, Frances says that Paul always encourages the bakers to use their hands, so this will show more skill. Paul isn’t there, Frances! You can totally get your blender out! He’ll claim to know, but he really won’t! Frances then claims she has unusually strong hands: “I give friends massages and stuff” implying she's possibly a secret baking X-Man. Elsewhere Kimberley is also kneading with purpose – Mel asks her if she’s taking out the morning’s frustrations on some innocent dough. Kimberley goes a bit quiet adolescent and whispers a ‘maybe, yeah’, but quickly bounces back with, yep you've guessed it, a giggle.

Mel is keeping herself amused with a series of accents (Noo Yoik then German), as the bakers spend a good few hours attempting to twist and knot their dough in such an unnecessarily complex way it should be part in the World Rhythmic Gymnastics Championships – my very favourite preposterous Olympic sport. They then have to drop their pretzels in boiling saline solution (confession: I might have misheard the details on that one, but there is definitely 'boiling' and 'solution' involved). Sue tells us “they only need seconds in the solution”, but Ruby has left hers in for a good minute. “Hey, they’ve been in a while” says Sue to Ruby, sub-texting AAARGH SCREAM DEAR GOD HINT HINT TAKE THEM OUT FOR THE LOVE OF PRETZEL GOODNESS.  Frances’ pretzels look a little like a dog turd after it’s eaten... actually, you don’t want to know what it would have eaten to produce that little message.

The judges re-appear, buttercups in their hair.  Paul drones on about shape, colour and texture and Mary mainly gets on with the eating.  Frances’ dog doos come last, Ruby takes silver and Kimberley wins the last technical. Before she can get too excited, Paul says “it’s the closest thing to a pretzel, but don’t clap”. OUCH!

Shot filler: A beautiful timelapse of the sun rising through the trees. It’s not quite a comedy ewe, but I’ll take it.

Show-stopper: A three-tiered wedding cake. Any size, but it must have an “immaculate design” and an “incredible finish”. They have six hours, which may sound like an age, but a cake-maker extraordinaire I trust said on Facebook that making that cake in that time is madness.

Of course, the ultimate wedding cake is one made entirely of cheese. (Tier one: giant brie, tier two: giant Camembert, tier three: decorative goat’s.)

Frances is making a Midsummer Night’s Dream Wedding Cake. The bottom tier is rhubarb and ginger, the middle a lemon Vicky sponge filled with raspberries and cream, and on top is a carrot, apricot and orange cake. The décor is falling confetti. Frances starts listing a billion more ingredients; beetroot hearts, mango and sweet potato, pineapple flowers... Mary takes a deep breath and starts to wonder if she overdid it on the style over substance chastisement, seeing as Frances is now going for EVERY SINGLE FLAVOUR in everything she will ever bake.

Kimberley is using a cake pop tray to make decorative polka dots. I only discovered cake pops this year, and they are truly delicious, even though they are so sugary they make your teeth vibrate. Kimberley's cake is called, and I kid you not in the slightest: Kimberley's Languages of Love Wedding Cake. Amazing. It will be decorated with the word “love” in 28 languages – Kimberly has commissioned her own stamp for the purposes. Kimberley to rule the world, please. Mel reads out the different words in indeterminate languages – it all sounds a bit like Lord Of The Rings-esque chanting. (Somewhere in Morrrrdrrrr, a volcano is awoken and an avalanche about to destroy an hobbit village - that's the essential plot, right? Course the real mystery of the Ring is how such a ridiculous wig didn't dampen Orlando Bloom's beauty.)

Kimberley's raspberry-flavoured cake pops will be hidden inside a chocolate fudge cake on the bottom and the middle layer is an orange and pistachio checker-board sponge (well *someone's* vexed that there was no 'pattern concealed inside a cake' challenge this year).  The top will be a lemon and elderflower cake with poppy seed buttercream. I'll be frank, if I were the bride, I'd not be massively pleased with that top layer, but I'd also have had a LOT of fizz come cake time, so it would probably be ok.

Mel asks Kimberley if she has someone in mind when she bakes her WEDDING cake, you know, someone with whom she might want to plan a WEDDING. Kimberley, you will not be surprised to hear, responds with a tinkly giggle, then says “I haven't got somebody in mind, in particular”, which must be a bit of a shock for Giuseppe. She quickly saves things by saying “The bottom tier is my boyfriend's favourite flavour”. Good thing she included 'tier' in that sentence.

Ruby is doing some speed whisking to make passion fruit curd and lemon curd, which is “an easy way to get flavour into something without having to use loads of buttercream”. Cut to Kimberley heaping ginormous spoonfuls of buttercream into three separate bowls.

Ruby's Raspberry, Lemon and Passion Fruit Wedding Cake is made of Victoria sponge with passion fruit curd on top, the middle will be filled with fresh raspberry and mascarpone cream, and the base layer will be a lemon Victoria sponge filled with lemon curd, all decorated to represent sunset on a warm summer's evening. Sue asks Ruby what kind of wedding cake she would want and Ruby replies with a soundbite designed to send the Daily Mail into apoplectic fury: “quite often, weddings are just an exercise in narcissism. I can't be bothered”. Saying you can't be bothered with something when you are happy to spend six solid hours baking an intricate three-tiered cake is a little unusual perhaps, but I get your drift, Ruby. 

Sue asks Frances how she'll feel if she is announced as the winner. Frances is suddenly VERY silent, but her breathing goes short and rapid fire and there is serious risk of hyperventilation with no trained intensive care consultant/amateur baker on hand to sort it out. Frances then pretends the question wasn't asked and says “I'm going to go in the oven”. NO FRANCES NO! Oh, she doesn't mean literally.

Whoop! It's time for the ex-bakers to grace the Bake Off Final Garden Party with their presences. Hot Ali is serving cake; Engineer Rob has brought his gadget-tastic camera; Glenn is an “excited groupie”. Christine thinks it's too close to call and “I would hate to be judging it myself”, which means “STAND BACK MARY, I WANT IN ON THE DECIDING FUN” - so much for their Surrey Boarding School love-in now Christine's been kicked out. Becaroon then appears looking Glam As Fuck - the power of the kohl pencil and some hair straighteners - and announces she's firmly Team Kimberley. No-one else gets quite the same level of support: Howard (HOWARD!!! HELLO!!!) seems to be Team Frances, as “I love her to bits” and Glenn's cheeky face tells us “I've got a feeling it's going to be Ruby”. All of this is interspersed by shots of a coconut shy, a concept I've never really understood – a game where your reward for winning is a coconut that's been on the floor? No.

Paul bangs on about how amazing Ruby's shonky shed was. Cue another Twitter melt down. Mind you, I love Ruby and all I'll say is this: it must have tasted amazing.

Back in the tent it's tiering time. Sue has fifty panic attacks. She ineffectually hovers near the baker's cakes, Perkins hands ready to catch any tumbling tier, but if any layer did take a knock, she'd not be in a position to do anything more than break the cakey fall and end up with sponge pieces about her person. A bit like when my boyfriend and I were moving house and he was dislodging heavy items from the top of the wardrobe whilst I unhelpfully stood behind him saying things like 'you ok?' and 'have you got it?' as he wrestled alone with a ten tonne suitcase full of my winter shoewear. Good times! Ruby has over tier-ed and layer #2 is too high. She plugs the gap with butter-icing. We used exactly the same tactic to neaten out our skirting boards.

And time, gentlewomen, please. That's it! Baking Romeo Done. The camera pans the cakes and their makers, all pensive. Ruby's cake is a bit pallid and Kimberley's offering is unfortunately a mite underwhelming. Frances' cake looks more the part – even if the confetti has something of the damp autumn leaves on the windscreen about it. It seems a slight damp squib after all the incredible creations we've seen during the series, but it was a tough challenge, looks aren't everything and I'm sure these cakes have 'great personalities'.

Ruby's up first. Paul isn't sure that the colour of her cake works (admittedly anaemic pink and pale Institution Yellow aren't the greatest, perhaps) and Mary wishes she'd incorporated more of the skills she'd learned though the weeks. Berrywood then tuck into the passion fruit layer and Mary proclaims it tastes "absolutely scrumptious”. Not even scrummy – SCRUMPTIOUS! That's like a Hollywood Handshake, surely? “It's the sort of cake that you could serve as the luxury pudding at a wedding” she continues. Paul gets his forensic fork into the raspberry layer – and thinks Ruby has overfbaked it. He thinks she's overbaked her lemon layer too, whilst Mary wanted it to be more “lemony” (la Berry loves her lemons, doesn't she? Lemon and booze. Basically, if Mary's coming over - limoncello gateaux and you're fine). Paul says to Ruby “I know where your skills lie in baking but on this one...” It's meant to be complimentary I think, but I doubt Ruby even hears the rest, as she's very upset and on the brink of tears. It's not surprising – I'd hardly be beaming if someone said accurately negative things about my work, even in the kindest way. TEAM RUBY!

Frances, despite her strangler's masseuse's X-Man's hands, is too weak to carry her cake, so it falls to that bastion of bulging muscle masculinity to move it... Mary Berry. I jest, Paul picks it up and shuffles it across, breathing a leeeetle more heavily than his vanity might like. “You can do it, big boy” says Sue, supportively. It does look lovely, close-up, down to the Aardman-esque bumblebees (what accent would you give a Creature Comfort bumblebee? Old skool south Lahndan would be my preference). Mary thinks it looks “original, so pretty, so effective” but wishes the décor had gone over the whole cake and not just the front – a bit like that temptation just to shave the front of your legs, as you can't see the back yourself (oh, just me?). Frances' carrot top has “all the spices right”, but it's just too sweet for Mary. The lemon sponge is “moist and well-baked” and “very good”. The ginger and rhubarb tier is “a nice ginger cake”, but neither Paul or Mary think the rhubarb actually adds to it. However, Mary goes a bit glazed-eyed at the thought of how surprised and happy the bride would be to see this “lovely centrepiece” at her wedding. Of course she'll be happy - after several months on the Wedding Dress Rivita diet it's 'HELL YEAH CAKE TIME!'

In fact, Kimberley might want to seek solace in the thought that a starved pissed bride, and indeed a starved pissed groom, will be happy just to sugar and carb-load regardless, as Mary basically tells her that the newly married Mrs X would be well upset if she got Kimberley's offering on her wedding day and would probably throw a Bridezilla mega-strop. At least Mary kindly follows that up by saying that she is looking forward to tasting it. Mary says the poppy seed inside “does look tempting” and Paul agrees “it looks good”. He thinks it “tastes good” too. Kimberley's orange and pistachio checker-board layer is deemed to “certainly have worked” and is “well baked, nice and moist”. Paul says he's “beginning to feel that the outside doesn't reflect the inside”. The bottom layer, a choccy fudge cake with raspberry spheres inside, is “on the dry side”, but “the flavours are very good”.

AND THAT IS IT. Tension and waiting ahoy. Sue gives red-eyed Ruby a maternal kiss on the head. There's a brief sojourn to the coconut shy where someone wins a coconut (big deal), before the whooping begins and Frances, Ruby and Kimberley carry their bakes across the lawn, ready to get family hugs and await their fates. The judges gather in the tent and say lovely things about all three bakers, then announced that they both have someone in mind. “Is it me, Mary?” says Sue. “No” is the reply. It's blunt. “Might be Mel though” Mary deadpans. CLASSIC BERRY. What a gal. Sue throws her head into her hands, whilst Mel perks up meerkat style and cocks an eyebrow. Mel and Sue 4EVA! I MISS THEM ALREADY *WAAAAAH*.

It's time. The girls gather in a proper hug to hear the outcome.

And the winner of the 2013 Great British Bake Off is: Frances!!!! She almost collapses into Ruby. It's bloody lovely, as it would have been had ANY of them won – these are excellent women, with excellent talent who have carried themselves excellently throughout. Rrrrrah! Frances is wearing an expression on her face like it's 3am and she's found herself in the Glastonbury after-hours field that is Shangri-la, after a pretty intense festival time of it, unsure quite what's just happened and what is currently going on or where the hell her wetwipes and left welly might be, but certain that it's all still mighty mighty good, whatever it is. “I hoped, you know, I dreamt it, but I don't think I truly believed it”. Congratulations Frances. You can believe it now.

Roll credits, but not before we are treated to the “Since The Great British Bake Off” montage, which is one of my FAVOURITE bits of the whole thing.

“Toby has started a fitness regime and has been running to raise money for cancer charities.” Translation: “I'm too disillusioned to ever bake again.”

“Lucy has started writing articles encouraging people to grow their own baking ingredients.”

Translation: “You wouldn't have dissed my tomato cake if I'd grown it all from scratch including the plate.”

“Mark is enjoying baking for friends and family. They are less critical than Paul and Mary!”

Translation: “Paul and Mary know nothing. NOTHING!”

“Deborah is hoping to get involved in community projects to improve people's confidence in the kitchen.”
Translation: “I am still atoning for Custardgate”.

“Ali is working with university baking societies to encourage Asian and Muslim men to bake.”

Translation: “HOT Ali is working with university baking societies to encourage Asian and Muslim men to bake.”

“Rob has turned his forensic attention to detail to chocolate. He is now engineering elaborate chocolate creations”.

Translation: “I will not rest until I have created a chocolate dalek. An ACTUAL chocolate dalek.”

“Howard has been inundated with requests to make cakes and for Paul, the polar bear. He has not made custard since....”

Translation: “Truth is, I hate jogging.”

“Glenn has to leave longer to walk between classrooms because he is stopped so often by students. He is still making giant cakes.”

Translation: “Mmmmmmm cake.”

“Christine is now hosting a weekly baking spot on her local radio station.”

Translation: “It's just one more amazing part of the exciting, glamorous, sexy life I've led and continue to lead. If electric guitar cakes could talk...”

“Beca is relieved to be baking for her daughter again – who thinks every bake she makes is amazing.”

Translation: “Ain't no party like a Becaroon party”.

“Ruby got a first in her exams.”

Translation: “I winged it a bit, cause I was playing with my cat, but philosophy's just thinking out loud, isn't it.”

“Kimberley is now baking for charity and is trying out new recipes on the other members of her boxing club.”

Translation: “THAT'S RIGHT, BITCHES, SALSA *AND* BOXING”. (Seriously, Kimberley for PM please.)

“Frances is still in a state of shock. She hopes to continue designing recipes with both style and substance.”
“SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!”

Next time: That’s all folks, bar the Masterclasses, which don’t have the requisite level of innuendo and cake trauma for me. For more Bake Off words, please go read Ruby's fantastic Guardian article to all the haterz. I hope it’s clear that, for all the mildly bitchy nonsense I spout, I have nothing but respect for all the amateur bakers who took part and put their head above the parapet because they love making delicious foodstuff, are bloody amazing at doing it and wanted to learn a bit more in the process.  It's televised cake baking, people, there's no need for internet fury! Just let them eat cake.

Take care people and roll on 2014!

Mini blog. Week 10 - The Final

Winner: Congratulations to FRANCES! Style *and* substance - which will surely be the name of her forthcoming cookbook. She overtook favourites Ruby and Kimberley by baking the least-worst-looking wedding cake.  Of course, the ultimate wedding cake is one made entirely of cheese.  (Tier one: giant brie, tier two: giant camembert, tier three: decorative goat’s.)

Living up to über-competitive stereotype: For her wedding cake décor, Kimberley commissioned a special stamp which printed “I love you” in twenty-eight languages.  Mary still slated it.

Random ingredient of the week: I'm sure Kimberley put a massive pepperami in her Pig Pie.

Most traumatised ex-baker: “Toby has started a post Bake Off fitness regime and has been running to raise money for cancer charities.” Translation: I can never bake again.  At least Howard can pass on some jogging tips.

Best revenge return: Becaroon: I'M BACK – WITH A GLAMOROUS FRINGE, BITCHES.

Blazer of the series: Mary’s floral bedspread jacket.

Mel and Sue: Just wonderful. So wonderful I'm going to 'like' them on Facebook.  It's the ultimate.

Until next year, cake fans...

2013 Episode 9 – French week - Semi-final

Last week: 'free' week and Lady Christine's departure, in spite of making an electric guitar cake mounted on a flashing plate. Ruby won Star Baker with her leaning shed of Somerset.

This week: La demi finale and FRRRRRENCH week. Mel presents in a husky French, which is definitely more than school girl (this is no surprise - she was excellent in Eurobeat).  Sue tackles 'dégeulasse' with comedy levels of gallic accent.

Blazer-watch: Hot pink for Mary, electric blue for Mel, a white tuxedo jacket for Sue. Paul's gone for the shiny black Burton shirt variation today – he's tucked in and ready to go.

Signature bake: Savoury canapés.  Three types, one choux, one pastry-based and the third is baker's choice, but there have to be twelve of each. The golden rule, if I remember from previous years, it that each canapé must fit in Paul's mouth.  He gets angry if he has to bite.

Frances is making a vegetable garden of canapés – no doubt smarting after shed-gate. Her Legume canapés will be made up of Chantenay Carrots, Choux Pastry Tomatoes and Cauliflower Cheese Scones. Basically, they'll look like vegetables, but will taste like cakes - FIVE A DAY PLEASE. Mary warns Frances off making rabbits to decorate the outside. Frances says she's definitely not going to make rabbits – no doubt because she thinks that's a shit idea, creatively-speaking. Paul reiterates “not style over substance” and Frances looks him dead in the eye. “I'm going to put the style ON the substance, Paul.” she asserts, with a confidence we've not seen in Frances before. Hollywood says nothing. He is clearly turned on.

Ruby is going for Beetroot Jelly on Poppy Seed Biscuits, Spinach, Parmesan and Quail's Egg Tartlets and Choux Buns with Goat's Cheese and Caramelised Onions. Mmmm hmmm. That's a party where I would want to make sure I was strategically placed (for example, by the kitchen door) to ensure maximum canapé consumption and tray presentation from the cater waiters.  Paul asks about Ruby's “little tart shells” and Mary smirks 'cause Paul just said “little tart” to Ruby.  Yes, it's come to this.

Kimberley's canapés are Pea Purée Tarts, Crab and Wasabi Profiteroles and Steamed Buns with Barbecue Chicken.  HELLO STEAMED BUNS WITH BARBECUE CHICKEN!  Sod strategic placement, that's a party where I would be literally following the trays around.  Kimberley then announces that she's using green tea powder (urgh, the waiter can take those party trays away), before explaining that it's just for colour and doesn't add much flavour. (“Waiters! Come back!”)

Finally, Beca is making Stilton and Walnut Macaroons, Beetroot and Salmon Choux Puffs and Welsh Rarebit Tartlets. There's a bit of passive-aggressive 'I say macaROOOOONS, you say macaRON, let's call the whole thing off' where Beca is team Roon and Paul is Team Ron, which culminates in Mel calling Beca 'Becaroon', which is an EXCELLENT nickname, regardless of how you pronounce it.

Animal shot #1: bleating sheepsies.

The bakers watch as Frances takes out her pastry 'carrots'. They look amazecarrots and Mel gushes that they look like 'strange talons' - in a good way.  Beca says that Frances “takes it to another completely different level. It goes to Planet Frances where nobody can hitch a ride to”.  Frances nervously whispers that she *thinks* that's a compliment and, in any case, “it's better to be a mentalist than boring”.

Beca is using local ale which is from a place which is basically F's and phlegm noises, which is near a place which is basically L's and phlegm noises, which is in West Wales.  Beca isn't sure what rarebit means, but thinks it's “an olde-worlde term for something thy spread on thy toasts, with cheese”, which is the best description I have ever heard of ANYTHING.  You know what, I'm off to Beca's party – it doesn't even matter what she serves, it would still be the dog's bollocks of drunken fun.

Penultimate signature bake judging ahoy...

Kimberley gets “ten out of ten for originality” and her canapés look “most tempting".  She even gets a Mary "mmmm". It's compliments galore from Berrywood: “beautiful”, “scrummy”, “crisp”, “lovely”, “ingenious”.  The only critique is that her buns were too big.   Oi oi!

Ruby's collection looks “so attractive” and “quite different” according to Mary. Paul thinks her tart shells (smirk) aren't quite full enough and Mary thinks there is a lack of seasoning. The other canapes aren't quite right in shape, but the taste is a big hit.

Beca's presentation “hasn't got the wow factor” and her canapés are deemed to “look boring”. Mary says she isn't finding the beetroot “memorable” and that's not quite good enough at this stage.  Ouch.  Even though Mary outs herself as Team MacaRooooooon and likes “the very clever idea”, there are concerns: Paul thinks the stilton should have been melted with a blowtorch.  He also says “everything is dominated by the ale” in the rarebit, and “I can't taste anything else”. Mary stays resolutely silent on that point.

Frances' canapés are beautifully arranged on green astroturf and really do look like a mini veg garden.  Mary says they look “stunning” and “your presentation is what we were looking for”.  Paul agrees: “fantastic”.  However, Frances' has overdone the paprika; meaning “you'd have to serve a lot of drinks at your party, because you're going to be very very thirsty”. (Sure, sure Mary, you'd be thirsty cause of the 'paprika'.)  On the other hand, Frances' cauliflowers are then deemed “lovely, lovely, lovely” by Paul. So lovely, lovely, lovely, in fact, that he leans over for a handshake, making it clear that this is the ultimate Hollywood accolade. It's probably the most pompous thing I've ever seen, and Newly Confident Frances laughs in Paul's face, taking the hand whilst pissing herself. She is chuffed though: “I got a Hollywood handshake!” snigger, snigger.

Beca's a bit frustrated because she didn't manage to “smack them with flavours between the eyes”.  Maybe she should be aiming for the tastebuds.

Animal shot #2: More bleating sheep. Sue then refers to Paul as having “un derrière comme une pêche”.  The two events are unconnected.

The Technical Challenge: A Charlotte Royal. Wah tha? Well, slices of swiss roll that form a dome around a set fruit custard, called a bavarois (which sounds to me like it might have come from the French for dribble-y king – indeed dribbling is the only appropriate way to react to a Charlotte Royal, I'd say).  Sue's only other clue is that “it looks like a brain”.

Ruby's face is the embodiment of “what the ACTUAL fuck”. She says she knows what it looks like as she's seen it in a book and thought 'that's the kind of thing I don't want to mess about with' so turned the page... “And now look what I'm doing.”  Kimberly thinks the challenge sounds like “fun, actually”. Of course she does.

Mary shows off her Charlotte.  It does look like a delicious brain, if you were constructing human insides in cake form.  Paul demands that Mary makes it for him next time he goes round to her house. Mary replies “we shall see”, which means 'HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, like YOU'RE ever coming over! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

The bakers have to make the jam, rolls and bavarois (“a delicate cream made with custard that's thickened with gelatine” - MMMMMMMMMMMMMETC) in the evening, then set it all overnight before finishing up the next day.

Ruby's forgotten to line her bowl, so she has to take out the swiss roll lining and repot her brain base, causing damage to the “frontal lobes”, so says Sue.  She's on the edge of tears and snot, but Sue nips it in the bud, by prodding her beautiful nose with an icing sugar dusted napkin, mum to toddler-style.  Mel asks her if she wants another slap.

It's the morning after, and Ruby decides her Charlotte “is not a looker” - we've all been there, love.  Her tactic is to disguise with décor – trouble is, the final stage involves applying glazed wallpaper paste to the Charlotte and plonking some strawberries on top, which has minimal disguising potential.

The judges are generally happy with the attempts – apart from Ruby's, which “has issues”. She comes last, with Beca in third and Frances in second. Mary says that the judges “couldn't find fault” with Kimberley's Charlotte, which is “perfection”. Blimmin' heck! Nice job that lady.

Show-stopper: Opera cake. Traditionally seven even layers of joconde sponge with buttercream, ganache, syrup and glaze – no wonder it inspires such loud and expressive singing in the larger-lunged lady.

“Ready, set BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!”

Ruby is making Chocolate, Almond Praline and Saffron Opera Cake. Her self-esteem is rock bottom, so Paul kindly helps her out by telling her that saffron is a stupid idea. Scurrilous gossip time, by the way - it turns out that Hollywood doesn't fancy Ruby after all. He's more a Kimberley man.

Frances' quest to pun through the medium of baking continues; she's producing a Great British Soap Opera Cake, which will look like a giant bar of old-fashioned soap. Fortunately, it will taste of white chocolate, lemon and, less fortunately, lavender. Unprompted, Frances performs a Frank Butcher impression and sings the Eastenders theme tune.  It's excellent work.

Beca's offering is a Banoffee Opera Cake.  HELL.  YUM.  Banoffee is one of my favourites, and this is banoffee with chocolate ganache: FEED ME IMMEDIATELY THIS IS AN ORDER NOT A REQUEST.  Doomsayer Paul's concerned about the lack of texture and flavours.  Beca attempts a defence, but uses the phrase “banana essence” - Mary's face is not a happy one. Mel comes over to cheer her up by singing all of Beca's ingredients. It's a beautiful strange duet.

Kimberley has opted for a Passion Fruit and Lime Opera Cake. She's baking in a flared denim mini skirt, which is somehow unexpected. She has a billion stages to do, including fashioning decorative truffles for the top, so it's going to be touch and go, even for Kimberley.  Mel calls it “uber-tasking”.

Foodistory: A French patissier, with an accent that is SO FRENCH it is almost unreal, tells us about the original Opera cake. Turns out it has the practical purpose of being stuffed with caffeine and sugar, so the opera guests didn't get their snore on during a performance – though how you can sleep though a fat lady in a viking helmet with enhanced lung capacity singing at the top of her voice is beyond me, FORTISSIMO! Mel has a go at writing 'opera' on the cake and it looks like when you write something in Microsoft Paint (i.e., child scribbles). The patissier proves that the accent WAS fake and he's not really French by kindly saying “it's fine, the most important question is you can read it. Job done” - a real French person would give you 3 out of 20 and criticise your accent. (I can say this, for I am half-French.)

Frances does beautiful writing, Beca's is a little more MS Paint.

Animal shot #3: More bleating sheep.  Yawn.  Let's move on...

Judging time.

Frances' presentation is praised; she's managed a shiny ganache, the layers are visible and the edges are sharp. The flavour is only “ok” and “could do with more sharpness”. Bit of a familiar chestnut there – but at least we didn't hear the S-words this time.

Kimberley's polka-dotted opera cake has “unusual decoration, sort of modern” which is deemed “very effective”. Will Paul be ready for Kimberley's lime jelly? Not really, as it's overwhelmed by the dark chocolate. Mary does like the “lovely textures” though.

Mel asks Ruby what opera her cake is and Ruby asks her to name a tragedy. It's true that the presentation isn't strong – one corner has collapsed (she's stuck some almonds on the corner, but it's not hiding nuffink) and the layers aren't sharp enough. However, Mary likes the praline and Paul acknowledges that the “saffron does come through”. The flavours are “very good”, but it doesn't have the finish Mary wanted to see.

Beca hopes the judges will love the flavour, but sadly they aren't convinced. Mary finds it “very sweet” and Paul thinks it tastes of “artificial banana” and “gravelly banana” (?!?).  Not a great outcome for our Welsh lovely.

Ma Baker: Kimberley! I think there would have been a one-woman riot if she hadn't got it.

And then it's time to announce who is off.  Ruby is shaking like a leaflet (just a little inside joke for all you Strictly Come Dancing diehards there) and is practically having a nervous breakdown, using all she has left to stop from sliding off her stool and collapsing into a heap of curl, mucus and salt water.  But it's ok, as...

Leaving: Oh Beca – so near and yet so far. Harsh, harsh stuff.  Too sad for a proper Mel and Sue sandwich even, as she hugs them one by one.  She's gutted and so are we – but it would take something pretty special to beat out a triple Star Baker at this stage.

Next time: The final! EEEEEK!  I'm calling it now: Ruby. No, Kimberley. No, Ruby. No, Kimberley. No, etc etc etc....

2013 Episode 8 – ‘free’ week*

*as in 'gluten-free', 'wheat-free', 'dairy-free', or, in Frances' case 'decoration-free if you know what's good for you regardless of how unfair that might actually be

 

Last week: Ciao to Big Glenn, he of the over-sized cakes – good man.  Mary got over her Frances-hate for a few hours and gave her star baker.  This seems unlikely to last.

 

This week: an all-female quarter final, where the theme is baking things which aren’t allowed to include the things they should include and therefore have to include things that shouldn’t really be included anywhere near a cake.  I’m thinking of you, butternut squash.  (Not you, beetroot – you are AMAZING in a chocolate cake.  AMAZING.)

 

Ruby proclaims that she’s not going to slag her own bakes off to Berrywood.  We do not believe her.

 

Jacket watch: Mary’s in bright yellow, with a multi-coloured floral scarf, lest the eye-watering canary shade wasn’t statement enough.  Sue points out “there’s not a sniff of a Y-chromosome in the tent. And that includes you, Paul”.  Oddly, Paul doesn’t protest in the slightest.  I suspect he’s scared of Sue.

 

Signature bake: A loaf made with ‘unusual flour’; spelt, chestnut, rye, rice or grandfather grain.  I feel like ‘grandfather grain’ is an Only Connect-style red herring thrown in there to make fun of those of us who don’t know our unusual flours, but Sue makes a joke about it telling war stories, so I can only conclude it must be real.  And probably musty.

 

Everyone but Christine is using spelt.  Frances has plenty of spelt experience, as her friend Elle has “a slight wheat intolerance”, so they have oft made spelt hot cross buns and the like - this scores at least a nine on the Middle Class Scale, don’t you think?  She’s making a Chelsea Flour Show Bun Bouquet, which FLOORS ME (flours me) for pun fun.  Actual pun in bread title = winner.

 

Ruby describes spelt as “an ancestor of conventional wheat flour” but it’s hard to tell whether she thinks this is a good thing or a bad thing.  She’s making a Mango and Nigella Seed Spelt Cob and we are now at full 10 on the Middle Class Scale (the Food team at the Guardian are already having a crisis meeting to determine why this bread hasn’t previously been featured in the weekend magazine - Yotam Ottolenghi himself could get fired).  Ruby tells us that the Bake Off has improved her stress tolerance - it’s a wonder she was able to function before, frankly.

 

Beca is using mash to make a Potato, Spelt and Rosemary Focaccia.  Mash in bread – really?  No wonder those ‘unusual flours’ haven’t made it mainstream.

 

Christine’s Multi-seeded loaf with Pumpkin, Sesame and Sunflower Seeds is made of “completely gluten-free flour” formed of tapioca, rice and potato - this may seem like she’s going above and beyond, but it turns out it’s entirely acceptable just to whack your gluten-free dough in a blender and avoid all manual kneading.  Christine tells us that when she practised in the week, she wasn’t sure what the loaf was supposed to look like, “so I went up to see my baker at the local mill and asked him”.  (Middle Class Scale 11!!!!  Though, we’ve discussed this statement at work - at some length - and there is considerable support for the theory that, in reality, Christine went to her local Waitrose, picked up some gluten-free flour from the shelf and had a quick chat with the man in the Waitrose tabard behind the bread counter, who may or may not have been wearing a baker’s hat.)

  

Kimberley is spreading what looks like green pond scum over her dough, then whacking parma ham on top, which must be the worst sandwich filling ever.  Fortunately the pond mildew is actually pesto - for her Wild Garlic Pesto and Parma Ham Spelt Loaf.  There’s a brilliant interlude where Kimberley rolls up her dough, splits it in two, plaits it and rounds it into a tin whilst the other lady-bakers look on with mix of confused, nervous, mildly bitchy, and (in Ruby’s case) utterly vacant expressions.

 

Foodistory: A lady with regrettably wonky drawn-on eyebrows tells us how GB won the war by eating uniformly stale brown bread promoted as wartime viagra.  Another lady says “rough and course and hard” in a way that you might not expect in reference to bread.

 

Sue spells F-I-V-E-M-I-N-U-T-E-S (‘SPELT’ geddit?!?!) and Mel calls Kimberley’s loaf “a beautiful cabbage”.  Kimberley accepts that praise, even though she had been hoping it looked like a rose.  Mel is suitably embarrassed.

 

In the background Beca is singing some classic Diana Ross to her loaf, as it “comes out” the oven.  Christine joins in with some ‘du dah du dah-ing’ - her voice has not improved since she sang her delight at being Star Baker a few weeks ago.  Beca is delighted with her gay bread, welcoming it out of the closet/oven by saying ‘ello cheeky”.  Christine is having a far less gay old time of it, as her crust has stick to her tin.  Sue advises her to just balance it back on.

 

Judge Berrywood in da house.

 

It’s broken record time for Frances, as Paul says the “style is amazing, but it’s got to taste good.”  Mary thinks it is “full of flavour – great to tear and share”.  But it could have done with more proving.

 

Beca’s foccacia is deemed “pretty good” by Paul.  Mary translates that that means “BLOODY EXCELLENT”.  Paul adds that “it melts in your mouth”.  HELLO CHEEKY!

 

Having said she wouldn’t pre-empt the judging with cries of doom, Ruby immediately tells Paul and Mary “oh, it’s going to be so bad, it’s under-baked, it’s under-proved, it’s horrible”.  (Where’s Mel to administer that promised slap?)  For once, Ruby is right – well, to a degree.   It is under-baked and proved, but Paul still praises her technique and Mary thinks “it’s a winner for flavour”.

 

Mary likes Kimberley’s wet ham (ew), whilst Paul looks at Kimberley with ‘the eyes’ and she duly giggles.  He says “I actually love the flavours” but thinks the wholemeal, twisting, cutting and filling means “there’s nowhere to go” and it’s too dry inside.

 

Christine’s loaf is “a mess around the sides, but the bake looks pretty good”.  “Good” is the general consensus, in fact: “It’s a tricky thing to do, but it’s been done well”.   Christine is pleased, as she can now feed her gluten-intolerant friends a homemade loaf.  “It will save me touring the supermarket for them” she says in a way that heavily implies she is gluten-intolerant-intolerant.  But really - how big is an Oxfordshire village Waitrose really going to be?

 

No animals, but we do get Union Jack Bunting shot. 

 

The Technical Challenge: A gluten-free hazelnut dacquoise.  Layers of nut meringue and rich cream with hazelnuts in and some chocolate ganache swirls and praline on top.  TAKE ME STRAIGHT TO THE DACQUOISE FACTORY, DRIVER!

 

Although the instructions are typically limited, Beca decides to ignore the instructions she has got, and make the ganache before the custard.  Bye bye cheeky – surely that’s a suicide mission.

 

Some other stuff is then shown, but now we’re down to the last five, so there’s far less “ARRRRGH NIGHTMARE I DROPPED THE ENTIRE THING AND SOMEONE’S NICKED MY CUSTARD” and lots more techie advice about how to actually and properly make the cake in question, which... well, it’s beyond me, really.  If you want more details about how to bake stuff, this blog is probably not the best port of call - though I’ll happily act as cake taster.

 

The judges are rather impressed by the Technical Attempts, although there’s disappointment at sloppy custard and thin meringue.  You won’t be surprised to hear that Beca’s ganache/custard swap was not a success - she’s second from bottom, after Christine in last.  France is third, Kimberley second and Ruby first.  She wears her usual expression of confused beautiful disbelief.

 

Show-stopper: A 3D vegetable dairy-free novelty cake.  Surely there has never been a more ridiculous challenge – it's novelty, it contains vegetables and has no butter, cream or milk. HUH?  For the shape, Sue suggests “a shoe, a cat or a pair of Paul Hollywood’s Budgie Smugglers” – good thing Glenn isn’t there, as he’d struggle to make such a tiny cake BOOM BOOM!

 

Christine is making a 3D sweet potato cake in the form of an electric guitar.  OF COURSE SHE IS.  More specifically, it’s a Sweet Potato Guitar with Passion Fruit Icing and Marshmallow Fondant.  Paul and Mary ask some boring questions about how she’s making and baking the cake, before Mel interrupts to get to the nub of the matter: which rock guitarist is the inspiration?  Mel begins to list “Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Brian May, Jimmy Hendrix…” and Christine butts in with utter conviction “Brian May. Everytime.”  Who’d have thought Christine liked a man with larger hair?  Paul claims to be a Jimmy Page man, but I think he secretly likes Brian May best too. 

 

Beca is making a cake in the shape of wooden board with a massive chunk of cake Emmental on top.  I’m not sure that’s the best plan – I suspect I’d be disappointed that a cheese board cake wasn’t actually a cheese board full of, well, CHEESE.  Beca hasn’t actually practiced her Spiced Butternut Squash and Pecan ‘Cheese’ Cake, which seems unwise, but she’s utterly breezy about it.

 

Having previously used bread to stop war in the world’s best known conflict regions, Kimberley has now turned to dealing with sibling rivalry through baking: “this toadstool cake is the cake that my mum made for my brother when he was little and I remember being quite small and fascinated by it” (for ‘fascinated’ read ‘incredibly jealous’) “and I thought it would be quite a nice little kind of tribute” (for ‘tribute’ read ‘in your FACE mum and bro’).  Her Butternut Squash and Spice Cake Toadstool House is flavoured with maple syrup and non-dairy buttercream.  Something about toadstool houses really freaks me out.

 

Hairstyle watch: Kimberley’s hair is smaller this week; confined to under her scarf.  Perhaps she heard about Christine’s big hair fetish.

 

Ruby is making a Carrot Cake and Pistachio Garden Plot, which is in the shape of an allotment, complete with shed and veg patch.  She’s not made such a big cake or ever really done much cake decorating – so I can only guess at how unutterably crap she’ll think it is at the end.

 

It takes Frances a good five minutes to list all the things she’s making as décor for her Hidden Carrot Cake in the shape of a horticultural garden – pots, plants, bulbs, soil, etc, etc, etc etc.  What *is* cool is that when you cut into the cakey ‘soil’, which is brown-coloured sponge, you get cakey ‘carrots’ which are orange-coloured sponge.  Less cool is Mary bitching to Paul that “I just hope she doesn’t spend too much time on…” YES WE GET IT MARY, SHE MUSTN’T CONCENTRATE ON THE DÉCOR BITS, SHE MUST CONCENTRATE ON THE CAKE ITSELF.  STYLE OVER SUBSTANCE, YADDA YADDA SHEESH!

 

Ruby is admitting that she’s a bit of a mucky pup in the kitchen, as the camera pans down to show a fine layer of icing sugar covering every one of her implements, and right on cue, a piece of her blender breaks off.  She’s so embarrassed she can hardly breathe, which seems a slight overreaction in the circumstances - shit happens Ruby!  It's not like you purposefully broke it or nicked Howard's custard (the embarrassment benchmark in Bake Off). 

 

Beca’s using ready-made fondant icing for her cheese and modeling paste for the mice she’s putting on her cheeseboard, like edible playdough.   Christine is making her own fondant icing, which involves a cloud of icing sugar permanently hovering above her work surface.  Sue arrives to pretend she’s in a Kate Bush video, minus the leotard.

 

Elsewhere Frances has made a microwave oven smoke and burnt some chocolate.  Whilst such a feat would probably make Ruby pass out with humiliation, Frances smirks guiltily and admits the burnt pieces probably won’t make the final cut. 

 

Beca’s also having a good time of it - despite having never made her cake before.  She admits that she thrives “massively” in a competitive environment.  Remind me to never play hockey with Beca.  Also, remind me to never play hockey.

 

Last minute décor prep.  Christine: “oh, me little knobs fallen out”.  No need for a Perkins eyebrow raise, even.

 

Sue blows the metaphorical time’s up whistle and Ruby looks crestfallen: “Oh Frances, what have you done?” she asks.  “I’ve gone crazy” replies Frances.  But it turns out that Frances has gone crazy with AMAZING decorating skills and Ruby is super supportively impressed.  It’s a touching moment.  They co-compliment, which leads Ruby to lament that her cake has “a lopsided shed” which “is going to fall over”.  I’ll be honest – this is a fair assessment.  The shed is at quite an angle.  If it were James Shetland, he’d claim that this was entirely what he was attempting in the first place, and it was just supposed to be windswept – as all Shetland sheds are.  (I’ve been there and that could well be true.)

 

Crunch time.

 

Paul thinks Kimberley’s toadstool “looks great” and Mary says that the cake is “quite close-textured” (Kimberley looks confused and unconvinced) “but it’s a good flavour”.  She doesn’t find it sweet enough though.  Paul however thinks it’s been “executed perfectly”.

 

Over to Frances’ magnificent-looking super-groomed lady garden, which Mary IMMEDIATELY slags because she’s not made some of the pots from scratch.  Paul slices open the turf to see the ‘carrot’ sponge inside.  Mel is well impressed.  Mary is resolutely silent.  Paul says that the inside is dry and the outside is dense and thinks “your mouth would seize up if you had more than a thimble-full.  It’s too bitter.”  He then deals the death blow: “style and substance may have come into play again”.  ARGH!  Frances, my love, just slop down a décor free slab and call it a breezeblock.  They’ll find it delicious, I guarantee.

 

Ruby admits that she’s never done decorating before, so, for her, it’s a personal best.  And I’m delighted to hear such positivity from Ruby (forrealz), but… well, it is a rustic creation.  Mary, however, decides to rave about it; she’s never seen a caramel roof before and “that’s what we’re always looking for, something original”.  As you’d expect with Ruby, the flavour is great.  Mary likes “the excess of pistachio nuts”.

 

Beca’s cheeseboard looks awesome; like a cartoon cheese, with cartoon mice feasting on it.  One mouse has even got totally pissed on Emmental and has fallen over – the cheese dreams he’ll have tonight – pheweeeeeeeeeeeee!  Paul finds it “simple but effective” but warns that the cake therefore has to “taste fantastic”. Sadly, Mary doesn’t think that the cake has much flavour and Paul doesn’t think it has ANY flavour. Ouch!  He even says “I’m not convinced you weighed everything up properly” before going on, at some length, about the blandness.  Mary channels Miranda’s mum by saying “it looks such fun” but calls the taste “really rather sad”.  It’s harsh, man.

 

Christine thinks her cakes came out superbly and, frankly, the whole thing looks exactly as you would expect a peach-coloured electric guitar made of cake to look, namely AWESOME.  The judges agree that the outside, including her marshmellow fondant icing, is “beautiful”, but what of the taste?  “Too bland.”

 

Clearly that was a tough judging sesh and we see our bakers in a group hug, toughing it out.   Beca says it was "brutal".  Back in the tent, Mel and Sue tell Berrywood off a bit for being so mean.  Paul points out that they did praise “where praise was needed”, but “were critical where criticism had to be placed" and defend their criticism of Frances, especially.  This serious conversation is carried out in front of table containing a giant cheese, two miniature gardens, a giant toadstool and a peach electric guitar mounted on a board with flashing lights (“boogie sponge-a-land” as Mel calls it).  All made of cake.  It’s special.

 

Ma Baker: It was between Ruby and Kimberley, and Ruby nipped it – wonky shed victory!

 

Leaving: Christine – tears all round.  It was mighty close and Frances is red-faced in her relief and grief.  Relgrief.  Christine says “it’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life by a mile....  And I haven’t had a boring life.”  We can only imagine.

Next time: Semi-final time and it’s Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrench week.  Mel’s Rs are gettin’ ROLLED.  Aiiii.