2014 Episode 9 - Patisserie Week - Semi finals

Last week: Richard’s advances in dough won him star baker (again), though I think Luis’ garish food colouring overload éclairs were well robbed - though possibly, mainly, as I've got Luis in the sweepstake.  The child Martha left and it was really sad.

This week: Ah oui, patisserie, where the challenges are all about beautifully decorated, elaborate teeny cakes that take painstaking hours and perfect eyesight to craft and are then wolfed down in greedy, greedy seconds.  And, of course, it's the semi-final, which is always an emotional week, as one baker has to fall so close to the final hurdle.  Poor Welsh Beca, Class of 2013 - that was particularly hard.  Though it was awesome when she turned up at the finalists' tea party with all the other Class of 2013 bakers and looked RIDICULOUSLY glam, like she was facing an ex for the first time since the break-up.

It takes Mel and Sue less than three minutes to honk up the Frrrrrrench accents to talk about patisserie. We wouldn’t have it any other way.

There’s a rundown of the final four’s prospects: Luis is the designer, Chetna is flavours lady, Nancy is the experienced old skool baker, and Richard’s the regular star baker.

Blazer watch: Mary’s in fuchsia and Mel’s in a mulberry evening jacket, but sartorially it’s all about Chetna’s tangerine Converse matched with a denim skirt - she looks dead cool.

The Signature bake: Baklava

In the space of a few minutes we hear at least a multitude of different ways of pronouncing 'baklava' through an array of varied stresses and vowel sounds, which make the macaron/macaroon debate positively demure.  We get something between BAKlava and baklaVA from Mel and Sue, whilst Richard is pronouncing it bakLARva, which is how I say it (go #teambakLAva!), and Paul uses the same stress, but is all northern about the A sound.  IT’S A MINEFIELD.

However you say it, know this - it is DELICIOUS.  Traditionally, it’s filo, chopped nuts and honey. Although no-one with any sense or time makes their own filo, the bakers are having to make their own.  They all admit that they wouldn’t ever bother, though they do have the decency to look embarrassed about it to Mary.

As they do have to home-bake the filo, Chetna’s taking the opportunity to add cocoa to her dough for her Chocolate Orange Baklava and Masala Chai Baklava. Paul doom and glooms that it’s hard to see when chocolate filo is cooked and when Chetna replies that she goes “by eye”, Paul warns that “sometimes your eyes can kid you”.  Mary promptly tells Chetna to ignore him - they’re never happier than when they’re in ‘smug headmaster and strict but fair school marm’-mode, are they?   The instant they're gone, Chetna starts whispering a self-doubt mantra to herself - noooooo! Hold firm, Chetna.  Channel Nancy and ignore the Male Judge.

Luis has decided to make Indian Rose Baklava and Halwa Baklava Rolls. (Rose - pffff.)  They look amazing from the illustration, like delicate little flowers - the kind of thing you might get in a Chinese restaurant, but instead of being made of raw carrot, they are made of delicious sweetness. (They also involve barberry, which doesn't seem very Bake Off, but I suppose it’s not so chavvy now that Emma Watson’s involved in the marketing, wahey!).  In typical Luis-style, there's an organisational masterclass ahead, as he has laid out his dough in perfectly divided cling-filmed containers.  Mary tells him, with some gusto, to “get pulling”.  Sue explains this is Mary’s motto, I'm presuming from that time in Ibiza.

Sue tells us Nancy isn’t one for tradition, which doesn’t quite fit with her characterisation so far, other than her disregard for the tradition of calling the judges by their given names. She’s baking Coffee & Chocolate Baklava and Breakfast Baklava, which will involve home-made muesli and apple syrup. (Mr Cad was well unimpressed with this notion and started making dry boke facial expressions.  Personally I'm all for cereal in cake form.)  Nancy admits that she didn’t really know what baklava was – she’s in store for a treat, then.  I mean, outside of the context of having to bake it competitively and under limited time constaints.

We’re getting Rose & Pistachio Baklava and Walnut and Almond Baklava from Richard. Paul seems to taking a particular interest in the baklava shape (hmmmm, this sounds like an unspoken rule to me).  Richard’s going to make a long tube, which basically looks like a snake made of Labrador wrinkles - truth is, that’s not a terrible thing in baklava terms.

(All this talk of baklava and I was THIS CLOSE on my Thursday lunchbreak to popping to Hiba to get a fix.  I’d love to see the Thursday profit figures on items featured on the Bake Off.  They must be sky high... Hint hint, Vix, my financial journo friend.)

Dramatic montage #1: filo stretching and cutting.  You start with a small pile of dough and spend boring boring moments rolling it until just before it's so thin it's about to tear, but with no safeguards against what happens if you miss the moment and get ripped sheets.  It's a basically like attempting to recreate Cassandra off Dr Who’s face with a rolling pin.  Indeed, Sue wants to use Nancy’s filo as a natural botox.

Nancy has made a small wrinkled phallus. Sue doesn’t think it will make it past the relevant regulatory requirements.  Speaking from a position of relative regulatory expertise in relation to broadcast media, she is right to express concern.

On the final approach, there's lots of oven staring - Nancy is convinced her honey has curdled, whilst Richard is wondering about the correct baklava colour. He reckons Paul has established a secret Dulux style colour chart for the perfect shade - I'm sure he's right, but Richard is typically relaxed about the outcome, pointing out that he'll learn what was right when Paul tells him. Right on cue, Paul stalks up behind him and peers into his oven, wordlessly.

Signature Berrywood verdict: Nancy's baklava is pale, but Mary rates the crispiness sound as the knife cuts into her muesli baklava.   Paul adds that it “tastes good” and admires the texture.  The coffee ones are “a bit soggy”, but “the flavours are good”. Nancy has “got what baklava is” and “has been very original”.

Paul isn't convinced that Luis' baklava cups (which look INCREDIBLE by the way) are really baklava. Channelling Nancy's stand-up-to-Paul spirit, Luis says he researched baklava and had seen little cases made of filo. Mary's not convinced either, but “it's meticulously done”. Sadly, it's “bone dry”. The other lot have great flavours, but “the pastry is just wrong”.  (GAH! I can't lose my sweepstake person so close to the end!)

Richard's proximity to Green Lanes (or thereabouts) has clearly held him in good stead - the compliments flow, and that's just the first batch.  His baklava look lovely, “slice well”, have a “traditional” flavour, Mary especially enjoys the “big nuts” within (oi oi), are “bang on” and “a winner”.  Blimey.  The second batch are unfortunately “underbaked”, but still have “excellent flavour”.

To me, Chetna's baklava have something of the pork product about them – one lot look like pork pies, the other like glazed sausages.  (Not that that's necessarily a bad thing...)  Mary thinks they look “heavy” and bemoans the lack of layers and syrup ooze, but Paul mentions the “good colour”. The chocolate ones “taste delicious”, but again no layers. And clearly, no layers = bad.

Animal shot: Bee truffling a flower.

Post-challenge, Nancy admits she doesn't like baklava.  What the WHAT?!?!?

Animal shot: That white horse again.  This time it's snorting.

The Technical Challenge: Schichttorte

“But they might make a good one” says Sue. It was inevitable.

It's Paul's recipe for a grilled German cake.  Each shit torte (let's get that over with, eh? Not that it's not hilarious - I mean 'shit torte') has twenty layers, light, dark, light, dark, made of simple batter, grilled one by one over an hour.  AN HOUR.  The key to the challenge is 'watching the grill' and 'not losing the will'; it's basically a concentration challenge for those who favour focused over chuck-it-all-in-slap-dash, so Richard and his pencil and Luis and his organisational baking in-tray should have the edge.  (Mind you, it's not one for those who are dodgy of knee, eh? Sadly, the BBC budget doesn't seem to stretch to face-height ovens on this occasion.)

Interestingly when Mary tries Paul's shit torte, whilst she's full of admiration for the technical achievement, she emits zero “MMMM DELICIOUS” sounds. There doesn't seem to be any cream filling, which tends to be key to pleasing Mary, well, if there's no booze to take the edge off.

Chetna's freting and trying to peer at what's going on elsewhere. “She's a bit competitive, is our Chetna” giggles Luis. “WHAT?” replies Chetna – the twinkle in her eye suggests she agrees though.

It's a mere fifty grams of batter per layer, so the bakers are having spreading issues in their tins, as it has go soooo thin. Richard's wondering whether to add more mix instead, but Mel advises he “spread it out with the old spatch” - no-one abbreviates like la Giedroyc, do they?  She just fantas, isn't she? (See, I can't do it.)

Dramatic montage #2: Luis and Chetna bend up and down in perfect unison.  They're having to judge the cooking timings by eye, squatting up and down to check whether each layer is now sufficiently dark, or light, to take out in time.  IT'S OK, THEY ONLY HAVE TO DO THIS TWENTY TIMES.

Sue does her best Gestapo to announce halfway.

Foodistory: Mel goes to a small German town to pour batter on a spit, helped by a German man standing right behind her, which she notes “is very much in the style of Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore”.  A cake on a spit... Hmmmmm. I think I'd prefer a whole sheep, please.

Dramatic montage #3: Counting layers. Luis has written it down and knows he's on number 17. Richard has lost count.  Chetna only made it to 18 and has decided to stop, lest she doesn't get her glaze on in time.

It's judging time. Paul, in his absolute element of jobsworthness, meticulously counts the layers in each schichttorte. Mel and Sue do whatever the opposite is of cheerleading is from the gingham sidelines - booing and groaning that he's actually bothering.  Both Luis and Richard have hit twenty layers, but Paul is delighted to see Nancy and Chetna only made it to 18 and 17 respectively.

Tecchie Rankings: Chetna’s last, then Nancy, then Richard, with a Luis victory!  (Hooray!  I'm back in the sweepstake game!!!!)  “Pretty faultless” says Paul - more impressed than grudgingly.

Richard is happy to “take second and never cook that again”.

The Show-stopper: Entremet

I'M SO FANCY. YOU ALREADY KNOW-OH.

But in case you didn't know, entremets are those super high-end pretentiously elegant little cakes that you see in the windows of Parisian bakeries. Paul says he's seen “pastry chefs crumble at making these things” yet NO-ONE RAISES AN EYEBROW AT SUCH AN IMMENSE USE OF THE CRUMBLE PUN.  Clearly there's no time for fun, when you have horribly complex mini-patisserie to construct.

Even the names are an elaborate mouthful - I refer you to Luis' Chocolate Mousse & Cherry Entremets and Pomegranate, Fig & Pistachio Sponge. Luis' sponges somehow involve pomegranate molasses, which sound more like a swamp monster than a posh foodstuff.

I'd half hoped Nancy would make Salt Of The Earth Entremet and A Spade's A Spade Entremet, but, probably more wisely, she has opted for Raspberry Nonnettes & Lime and Passion Fruit Entremets.  In the fancy ingredients stakes, Nancy takes Luis 'pomegranate molasses' and raises him 'verbena jelly'. (Somewhere over the border, Norman's head explodes.)  Paul says he is "surprised" to hear that Nancy is covering up the colourful content of her entremets with a chocolate coating which will hide the inside - obviously, when by 'surprised', he means 'trying to shit Nancy up in true Paul Hollywood tradition'.  Mind you, even Mary seems up for exposed layer action.  Uh oh...

Indeed, when Richard, off the back of a Mary interrogation, reveals that there will be open layers in one set of his entremet, Mary literally purrs with delight.  And just to show that he can do covered stuff too, Richard's other lot of entremet will feature dots in the sponge.  Yes, people, Richard is making DOTTY SPONGE.  Forget your molasses and your verbana, cause Richard is ALL OVER THIS.  I'm not sure which of his Hazelnut Mocha Entremets & Pink Grapefruit Entremets are open layered and which are spotty, but it all bodes well, even if he is using grapefruit, the most 'refreshing' of all the breakfast fruits.

Chetna lists the thousands of ingredients which will go to create her six-layered Chocolate, Orange & Nut Entremets and Cappuccino Entremets. She does her best to describe how it's going to work and look, but the judges get openly bored and tell her they'll just see at the end.

Dramatic montage #4: Well, not so much a description of a dramatic montage as a description of the whole entremet process: you know when you have a million things to do and so you start them all and then you have all these spinning plates and nothing actually gets done because you keep getting distracted by having to keep that other plate spinning, then that other one, then arghhhhhhh etc etc etc? Well that, only in the context of competitive baking where you do have to finish and it has to be perfect.  Fun times!

Luis seems to have made lime green rice-cakes. Nancy sneers that he's assembling and she's nowhere near that.

Dramatic montage #5: Popping jellies and mousses out of moulds. Luis has pulled a blinder. Chetna needs more fridge time. (Thank gawd Diana's not around to cause freezer havoc.) Mel mews some reassuring words, then makes a 'holy crap not a chance that'll set' face the instant Chetna's back is turned.

Nancy pipes up “oh dear, dear, dear”, which is worrying, but it's only as her chocolate has gone all over the work surface under her entremet. No need to worry about mess, Nancy! It's the fancy we care about just now. Mind you, there does seem to be limited chocolate on the sides of her offerings, so... Hmmm... 

It's the end of the challenge and Nancy mimes a throat cut sign.  I don't *think* it's a threat, but more an assessment of her changes.

Animal shot: I couldn't quite see, but, based on the bleating, I truly hope it was a geep.

Show-stopping Berrywood verdict: Firstly, it has to be publicly stated: their bakes all look fabulous.  Just brilliant.

“The finish is very good, I can't wait to get inside” says Mary, of Richard's entremets. The dots are extraordinary - yes, it's the exact skintone sported by Mr Blobby, but dotty sponge is still really swish. The chocolate layered entremet are deemed “delicious... That is extremely good”. The grapefruit is less successful, but it's marginal: “what a professional selection you've done for us”.

Mary thinks Nancy's nonettes are “interesting”, but Paul snarks on the chocolate “not going to the bottom”. They slice away and there's a square of jelly inside: “that looks stunning when you cut in” says Mary. Even the Male Judge admits he quite likes that. "You've done well". The other batch taste great, but “fall below your standard” on the presentation.

The look of Luis' entremet is “really sensational” and “elegant”. Paul thinks the “pomegranate jelly is delicious”, but saves his real praise for the chocolate and cherry: *serious face*, *pause*, then “that's a very very good entremet”.

Mary thinks Chetna's cappuccino entremets “look bulbous”, but she says they are “the most delicious cappuccino” (did Chetna secretly Irish them up?).  Paul admits “they've got a kick” and - of course - “fantastic flavour”. The others are less flavoursome and Mary and Paul find the layers a bit blended.

In their pimp lounge, Berrywood essentially announce that the men are safe, whilst the women are in danger.

Ma Baker: There was much wrangling, but it's Richard that gets it – FOR THE FIFTH TIME. He has to win this now, surely. (Imagine the riots if he doesn't! It will make the bincident look like a drop in the ocean!)  Mind you, I'm still holding out some hope that Luis produces something so mind-blowingly incredible that my sweepstake chances turn to real monetary pounds.

Mel and Sue Sandwich: Chetna. Awww. It's not even that she had a bad one particularly, just that the others pipped her on the day. I thought Chetna was a bit dull at first, so I'm glad we got to see a cheeky, competitive side to her. 

Luis sheds a bit of a tear that he's made it, as he thinks of his family. Awww Luis - I don't know if you'd be my favourite if I didn't have money on it, but you're aces. But so is Richard. And Nancy. Good old Bake Off – only heroes here. It's just so satisfyingly comforting.

Next time: THE FINAL. The usual Bake Off tea party - with extra Norman, and an Iain/Nancy freezer-door-closing hug, I hope...