2013 Episode 5 – Biscuit Week

Last week: Howard sobbed and Christine threatened murder as Hot Ali got the Mel-and-Sue sarnie because he hated fruit pies and had never heard of anything remotely connected to baking.  Kimberley was the deserved Star Baker, having made the best pie Paul had eaten in “some time”.  Course, that would have meant more coming from Mary, proportionally speaking.

 

This week: Biscuits and tray-bakes.  And some CRACKing puns for us all to DIGEST.  So (bour)BONne chance, bakers!  We wish you good FORTUNE (cookie).  May your offerings be RICH (tea) and may you all get a slam DUNK.  Let's hope Mary's comments don't (chocolate) CHIP away at your confidence, that you don't have a TIFF(in) with Paul, that you are always JAMMY and DODGE(rs) the bad reviews.  Don't pull up SHORT(bread) and etc etc etc.

 

It's always better when wordplay is forced, no?

 

Bakers on the bridge alert.  Here they come!  It's the halfway point and Beca's mum and husband have supportively told her to “man up”.  Kimberley lies that no-one is acting competitive - least of all herself you understand - and Howard is... oh he's just lovely, isn't he.

 

Mary's in a hot pink suede biker jacket.  Paul's grey cuffs match his, um, his hair.  They match his hair.

 

Signature bake: Favourite tray-bake.  Brownies, blondies, rocky road, millionaire's shortbread, nom, nom, nom, nom.  Biscuit, cake or pastry bases are all fine, but the tray-bake must be baked in one tin and the pieces cut to identical size with the elements all made from scratch.

 

Howard is making a Breakfast Traybake, which is apparently a bit like grapefruit-flavoured flapjack (hmmm - not mmmm).  Howard says he has a rustic approach to baking.  Translation: I care not for precise or neat presentation.

 

Beca has opted for “pimped up” Chocolate, Cherry and Hazelnut Brownies - the pimping seems to come from adding cherry, which is not quite the level of installing a small aquarium between the rear seats of your car.  She wasn't sure whether to make that or Pear and Walnut, so tested the options by literally feeding an army – her husband’s barrack chums.  The army unhelpfully liked both options.

 

We see Frances moulding dough with her fingers and telling us that she is “playing with my food” - my God, even her comments are getting conceptual.  Mel conspiratorially whispers that “Frances has had one of her ideas”, in a voice she probably reserves for when Granny's farted or said something racist and everyone just has to nod and pretend it's fine.  That 'idea' is Millionaire's Banoffee Bonus and - stand by for the concept - the pieces are going to be set up like a game of Jenga. Actually that is goooood. Political. *nods sagely* Course, Mary's unimpressed and just worries about the banana and toffee setting. 

 

It's a Blackberry and Lemon Bakewell Slice from Ruby, who has taken her Grandad Cardi back from UCL's laundry room but hasn't really had much time to practice, again.  She confirms that the exams required to obtain a Philosophy degree from a highly respected, world-class university are way easier than Bake Off.  A comparative piece of cake, you might say.  (Yes, I went there.)

 

Christine is also making a Bakewell, a Mixed Berry and Almond Crumble Traybake, and so is Kimberley who seems to be using plastering tools and tupperware for her Cherry and Almond Bakewell Florentine Slice, which doesn't seem very bake-y.  Kimberley tells us she is using FIVE types of cherry.  (Surely that can’t be right – after cherry and glacé cherry, what’s left?  Tinned cherries? The cherry bits in a cherry yoghurt?)  She lists dried sour cherries, maraschino cherries, normal glacé cherries, black cherries and damsons.  So really, that’s four types of cherry and one fake-type-of-cherry.  A mere four types of cherry then. Yeah, I totes knew there were four different types of cherry.  Totes.

 

We cut to Rob muttering “mascapone, double cream, vanilla bean paste” - YES, I WILL EAT WHATEVER YOU ARE TRAYBAKING, ROB.  Rob is traybaking a Tarte di Santiago, which is a Spanish Frangipane cake, so to tickle the tastebuds he has temptingly named this exotic, foreign dish: 'Rob's Blueberry and Orange Traybake'.  Way to sex it up Rob.  We learn that Rob met Mrs Rob in Spain (sadly no At Home shot for us to rudely, nosily and entirely unnecessarily compare her with Mr Glenn and Mr Kimberley) and is 'confident'.  Oh Rob.  Famous last words.

 

Glenn is making a tray-bake that involves an entire giant saucepan of chocolate.  I don't really need to know any more – yes, please, hand it over.  Apparently, it's Apricot and Pistachio Tiffin, with marshmallows that are supposed to take six hours, but he'll be fashioning them in two.  Paul is concerned that Glenn has too much chocolate (say WAAH?) and warns him not to waste any of his ingredients. Glenn looks shit-scared.

 

Beca speaks for an entire nation as she brandishes a giant ladle covered in cake mix and says “I literally want to shove this spoon in my mouth”.

 

Frances and Mel are peeking into Frances' fridge.  They speak in hushed tones: “Ooooh, she looks good” says Mel, of Frances' tray-bake.  Frances agrees that tray-bakes are, like ships and, erm, women, always feminine.

 

Foodistory: “The Quakers decided to move to more rural areas, like Tottenham” (!!!) and there they apparently invented pink icing on a sponge cake cut into squares: the Tottenham Cake.  For reasons I didn't really listen to, we are treated to excellently atmospheric footage of the 1901 FA cup final, when footballers played in Simon Cowell-waisted trousers and full moustaches; a look that even Beckham might struggle with.  (Oh, what am I saying?  Of course he'd pull it off.  I mean, that face!)

 

Back in the tent, the bakers are popping things in and out of the oven, except for Kimberley who's seemingly done with half an hour to go.  Howard explains that he's going for a play on words and will be presenting his Breakfast Traybake on, get this, a breakfast tray.  Why Howard, with that high-concept concept, Frances must be quaking. (I STILL HEART YOU, HOWARD!)

 

It's maths-time, as the bakers attempt to slice their tray-bakes perfectly equally.  Kimberley asks Howard: “are yours 4cm square?” and Howard's chin drops to the floor: “Gosh Kimberley you've done that by eye!”  He then reveals that his measuring method was *shrugging noise*.

 

What will the judges think of that, I wonder?

 

Well, they think Beca has produced even-sized bakes, but she has an issue with her undercooked middle.  Sue, however, is practically crying with Brownie inspired delight.

 

Mary thinks Christine's flavours are “lovely” and “the textures are nice as well” according to Paul.

 

Paul deliberately goes for a precariously-placed piece of Frances' Jenga biscuit tower, but fails to make it fall (ironic – more on that later, viewers).  Mary admits that her fears about Frances' banana cooking were unjustified and that “this time” Frances has managed both look and bake.

 

Glenn's tiffin is far too thick (oh behave) and the look, according to Paul, is “grotesque” - which is a bit much!  Sue takes umbrage on Glenn's behalf.  Paul does not even begin to care.  But the judges do love the flavours.

 

Mary likes Howard's “strong grapefruit flavour”, but it's too “stodgy” for Paul.

 

Rob's  Tarte di Santiago is “quite raw”.  Mary likes the fruitiness, but “the actual mixture is quite soggy”.

 

Ruby shuffles up, looking suicidal, and offers up an apology, pre-empting any judging by listing the faults she has already perceived, which is apparently EVERYTHING.  Paul confirms Ruby has a soggy bottom, but the flavours are “excellent”.

 

Kimberley gets more typical praise – on both flavour and look: “pretty and well thought-out”.  But she still thinks she could do better.  “The Japanese have a word for it” she says, then suddenly collapses into giggles at the realisation that she's about to demonstrate a serious level of smug pretention, before thinking “oh sod it, I'm going to embrace the pretension - I have a boyfriend called Guiseppe, for fuck's sake”, and telling us “The Japanese call it 'kaizen', which means 'constant and never-ending improvement'.”   (This is sadly not a theory I apply to my blogging style, which is something closer to 'constant and never-ending repetition of “X baked dish X”/terrible baking pun/something bitchy about Paul”.)

 

Berrywood leave the tent, but not after Paul has been roundly mocked by Mel and Sue for his “salsa class” shirt of utmost sheen.

 

The Technical Challenge: Eighteen Tuiles. Half of them shaped in the traditional manner, with pipped chocolate concentric circles, and the other half rolled like cigars and dipped in chocolate. (I have a feeling that poor Ali would have fainted after hearing that impenetrable set of instructions.)  It's basically a very thin biscuit named after a French roof tile.  An hour and a half, go! 

 

Beca's never made tuiles.  Glenn has, but didn't pipe NUTTIN' on to them. Ruby made them (once) and they were “horrible”.  Kimberley made some last week, “so...”, she grins, a little haughtily.

 

(By the way, to date, there have been NO animal shots – just garden views and an 'artistic' portrayal of the top of the marquee.  It saddens me.  When I criticised the sheep clips last week I didn't mean we should eschew (eschEWE! BOOM!) all creature footage altogether.)

 

Mary hasn't provided a piping bag or instructions to make one, which is meanly old skool. Ruby's face is contorted with frustrated irritation and the humiliation that “Grandmothers up and down the country” will be JUDGING HER.   Mind you, even Kimberley admits she never bothered to learn how to DIY a piping bag and is duly dissatisfied with the size of her nozzle.

 

Rob freely admits that he fully intends to cheat and watch how long Beca cooks her tuiles for.  He holds up a timer and smiles in a faintly disturbing way -  he's timed Beca's bake to the second.  It's evil genius!  Well, unless Beca's messed her timings up.  Beca tells us she's messed her timings up.

 

Glenn's tuiles are melding into each other. Mel observes that they are actually having a five-way love affair. “Jesus wept” says Glenn. Well, yes.

 

Time for the HSE to look away, as the bakers pick up oven-hot biscuits with their bare hands and wrap them around rolling pins and wooden spoons whilst wincing in pain. Oh apart from Beca, who has “asbestos fingers”.   And then it's done.  Rob shrugs and laughs, Kimberley looks utterly furious and ready to kill whoever introduced her to tuiles and/or Japanese schools of thought.

 

Mary's quite pleased with the offerings, but Paul gets immediately stuck into testing the snap so he can look happily disappointed when they bend.  Howard places last, a 'shock' seventh for Kimberley, who retains her look of outright fury.  Next is Ruby, despite a good snap, then fifth for Beca, fourth for Rob and Frances comes in third.  It's Glenn who just misses out on the top spot, so Christine wins the challenge.

 

Christine improvises a musical-style song to express her joy, where the lyrics go “I’m feeling ecstaaaaaaaaaatic!  Really really thrrrriiillllllllled” and is accompanied by a head swaying dance.  I’ll be honest - her singing voice is not as good as her tuiles.  Kimberley says, through gritted teeth, that she has learned something about tuiles now.  Sub-text: I WILL NEVER MAKE THEM AGAIN. Alternative sub-text: I WILL MAKE THEM OVER AND OVER UNTIL THEY ARE UTTERLY PERFECT THEN I WILL TRACK MARY DOWN AND MAKE HER ADMIT THEY ARE THE BEST TUILES SHE HAS EVER TASTED.

 

(We are treated to a shot of a wilted daffodil in the sunset.  I feel somehow responsible.)

 

The judges speculate about Star Baker and Baker Danger – Frances is in a good position, as is Christine.  The usual swots, Kimberley and Ruby, have had a rubbish technical.  Rob too is struggling after a very strong start in the early weeks.

 

Show-stopper: A Biscuit Tower.  At least 30cm high, which is about the height of the longer clear plastic rulers that never fitted into your pencil case at school, unless you had one of those mega-sized pencil cases with all the timetables up to 12 printed on the back.

 

It's basically an architectural task, so time for the bakers to show their building skills as well as their cooking.  Ruby has written the recipe on her hand – let’s hope she doesn’t need to be blue-plastered at any point, thus missing a key recipe instruction.

 

Kimberley is risking a tower of crumbly biscuits: a Black and White Viennese Swirl, in the shape of a wedding cake.  She claims that her bottom layers have been fine in practice. Mary and Paul look concerned.  Noted.

 

Howard is pouring the insides of a teabag into a small container.  He’s making a Japanese Pagoda Tea Tower with four different tea-flavoured biscuits.  He says that when he’s made it in the past, people were impressed.  He pauses, and admits that ‘people’ is his parents.

 

Christine is channelling the spirit of Brendan’s Fantasy Gingerbread Birdhouse and is making a Shortbread Bavarian Clocktower, complete with clock.  The retro-revival continues!

 

It’s a Dropped Ice Cream Biscuit Centrepiece from Ruby – with butter-cream providing the foundations/melted ice cream look.  It’s a very cool idea – Frances won't be happy.

 

Glenn is moulding a salami, which turns out to be shortbread dough for his (red) Shortbread and Macaroon Helter-Skelter.  He pronounces it ‘macaRON’, which is probably more authentic, but far less satisfying than macaRRRROOOOOON.  Paul starts to tell him off for making too much macarrrrooooooon/RON mix and Glenn explains that it’s in case he needs to make a second batch if the first fails.  Paul grudgingly accepts that’s not a bad idea.

 

Rob is making a biscuit Dalek and Sue does an EXCELLENT ‘exterrrrminate’ - Rob reacts like she's just said 'MacBeth' and wished him luck instead of broken legs.  Rob’s Dalek design paper is highly professional and appears to feature a computer-generated design.  Meanwhile Beca has ripped something out of an old liner pad and added some biro scribbling to denote her Tiered Macaroon and Sugar Dough Biscuit Centrepiece.  We learn the swirls are the tiered macaroons.

 

Frances’ Biscuit Buttons and Beads will look like a haberdashery box – surely she could have just recycled the Jenga tower?  I mean, that was, already a TOWER.

 

Most bakers are using icing sugar to stick the biscuits together, Rob, however, has found edible glue (edible EWWWW, amiright), which he refers to as “a microwavable malt mix” (this does not help the sound of its appeal).  Elsewhere Beca advises Glenn not to use “dried raspberry powder” as, in her experience, that burns.  She too advises edible glue.  Come on guys, all this talk of edible glue is putting me off your biscuit towers! 

 

Glenn and Beca have devised a handless high five where they point fingers at each other and click.  It’s charming.

 

Sue announces the end is nigh and, mere seconds later (or so the edit would have us believe) DISAHHHHHSTER.  Just as Mel okays the height of Frances’ button biscuit stake, it all goes a bit Pisa, then BOOM! Or maybe CRACK! - it falls to the side.  Poor Frances.  Mel metaphorically and literally helps her keep it together with some comforting words, and then by standing there, holding up the stack.

 

Uh oh.  What will the judges say?

 

Well, to Glenn, they say that his helter-skelter “looks quite impressive” and they love his macaRONS, which Paul calls “exceptional”.

 

Berrywood revert to gender stereotype when assessing Beca's tower; Mary thinks it would be “great for a little girl's party” and Paul notes it's “quite stable”.  He's not into the biscuit, though Beca also has made “exceptional” macaroons.

 

Kimberley's tower has cracks throughout, vindicating Paul, who – would you believe it – is delighted to point it out.  Mary likes the colours; I fear this will not boost Kimberley's self-loathing morale.

 

Howard brings forth his pagoda.  Mary calls it “meticulous” and sounds truly impressed.  Paul too; he calls it “a work of art”.  There is an unnervingly long silence punctuated only by the sound of Paul and Mary crunching.  Then... “I love that.  That's clever” from Paul.  Mary, however, finds the taste boring.  Oh DOES she now?!

 

And to Frances and her collapsed pile.  It's painful.  The judges like the tastes and shapes, but quite simply, the brief has not been fulfilled.   As Paul says “It's like, four hours... and you made a load of biscuits.”

 

Time (TIME!) for Christine to bring up her Bavarian Clocktower (TIME! GEDDIT?) – it looks fresh from the Christmas Market.  Mary loves it and Paul calls it “cute” (in look) and “excellent” (in taste).

 

Dalek alert! Dalek alert! Well, it does look like a Dalek – the turquoise one, from that rubbish new colourful Dalek range.  Mary, not unfairly, calls it “clumsy” and is fairly repulsed by the edible glue: “now that I would not like to come across”. I AM WITH YOU, SISTA.  Paul calls the biscuits “ok”.  The judges accept that it was the right structure for what it was, but the eating bit duly suffered.  Rob takes it impassively.  No hint of a smile and inner samba party from him today.

 

Once again, Ruby believes she's made something rubbish, but Mary says she immediately wants to pick up the upside-down ice-cream and lick it, which sounds positive to me.  There is another crazy long crunch-filled pause, and Ruby's eyes almost pop out of her head in stress (she still looks gorgeous).  Then Mary announces she's made “a lovely textured biscuit which works well with the white chocolate” and Paul says “they tasted lovely, really good”.   Ruby smiles and we note she has perfect teeth.  We should all be filled with crippling envy and hate talented, beautiful, smart Ruby, shouldn't we?  For the record, I really don't.  She's my third favourite after Howard and Christine.

 

The bakers all squash up on their line of stools, primary school class photo-style but without a line of children sitting on the floor crossed-legged (oh PLEASE have them do that next week).  Who's up, who's out?

 

Ma Baker: Mel is happy to announce that she wants to spend a few weeks in a Bavarian Alpine House made by.... Christine, of course!  Christine, like most of the others, looks too shattered to be truly overjoyed, but you can tell that she is singing another made-up song on the inside.

 

Leaving: Rob – our rocket engineer.  He eagerly jumps up for his Mel and Sue sandwich – keen to be the ham to their sliced bread.  Kimberley looks aghast, well, unless it's trapped wind – in her mind, the fact that she had baked something ok, and not entirely winningly perfect, was a definite one-way ticket home.  Sure, she's annoying sometimes, but no-one should be that hard on themselves, Japanese philosophy or no Japanese philosophy... 

 

Rob provides an emotion-free scientific analysis of his time in the tent.
Evidence: he won Star Baker, he won a technical, he not leave in the first round and he also had some FUN.
Conclusion: he is therefore HAPPY.

He leaves us with a little joke: “I'm going to take a few days off from baking. I suspect that's fairly normal.  I'm going to home and boil something. And it won't be suet!”  Oh Rob.

Next time: Sweet Dough – and someone's accidentally baked a bum.