2014 Episode 7 - Pastries Week

Last week: Foreign cakes and Eurovij accents and Berrywood tiffs and NO-ONE LEAVES!

This week: Soggy bottoms: the return. We might have done pies, but apparently there are still pastry types we've yet to see baked.  A well-known scandinavian kind, for a start, prompting Mel to attempt a joke about crossing flour, butter, crime scenes and woolly jumpers, which culminates in the inevitable punchline “Danish pastries”. Macabre cracker joke writers take note. 

Blazer watch: THIS IS NOT A DRILL - it's bomber time! After weeks of garish yet traditional, Mary BRINGS IT and whips out this season's Colourful Bomber Jacket. It's shiny, it's zipped, it's fifty shades of salmon pink and it features a stork. A STORK!  Obviously, it's completely amazing.  Sadly, however, it's too late for us mere mortals to get our Mary on and model storks on the high streets of Britain - M&S have already sold out.

After that, everyone's else's outfits choices are nothing short of mundane and I don't propose to dwell on them; even Luis' Week 7 t-shirt choice (lively turquoise) seems pedestrian.

The Signature bake: Twelve savoury pastry parcels.

For example: Cornish pasties, samosas, empanadas... so all good stuff, frankly.

Out in the gardens, Paul puffs out his chest self-importantly and makes the main rule very clear: “IT MUST BE DONE IN THE TIME!”. He adds emphasising finger movements to hammer it home.  Of course, this is all aimed at the viewers – presumably the bakers themselves just have to guess the Golden Rule.

Cheta feels in comfortable 'flavour territory', which, along with mangoes, has become her trademark brand - hopefully, one week, Sue will approach her station and sing “What's your flava, tell me what's your flava, oooh” and Cheta will reply "slicker than your average" and they'll launch into a Craig David megamix.  (Jeez - MOVING ON.)  Chetna's Crispy Lentil Kachori are deep fried lentil carom seed pastries, which sounds great, apart from the lentils.

Kate's going for Spinach and Paneer Spicy Samosa.   She's using about a billion spices. Paul thinks there might be a flava ("oooh") overload. Kate coquettishly replies “we'll see”. Kate! You KNOW the game! It's a game called 'Paul Will Always Be Right'.

Luis says he was brought up on deep-fried food, but to make his Childhood Empanadas he's had to “reverse-engineer” the recipe, using his memory of the taste he remembers as a kid.  (That's like a reverse-Proustian Madeleine, for the pretentious amongst you.)  Luis is putting beef, chorizo, carrot, potato and celery into his pastry and I say ¡Si Señor! - they sound amazing.  INEXPLICABLY, Paul is worried about them being too big.

Paul then goes over to Nancy and asks her to explain “to the male judge” what's she up to. Nancy is remorselessly unflappable and simply, well, explains that she's making Spicy Duck Pasties with oriental veggies, which sounds rather irresistible.  Slightly less temptingly, the talk then turns to leakage; Nancy explains that she “did experience leakage”, but is using "a teaspoon of ground rice to soak it up".  Mary is well impressed and can't stop going on about it.

Martha, slightly missing the point of a baking competition, has gone for Mini Beef Wellingtons because they are “different”, so cannot be directly compared to the others' wares. Erm, I'm not sure that logic is entirely tight, Martha – Berrywood are still gonna judge, judge, judge, you know.  Having said that, the last memorable beef welly in the tent was Sarah-Jane's utter disaster, so provided the pastry stays on and the beef gets cooked, you'll be fiiiiine.

There's a cooking dilemma on the cards: do you cook your meat before or after the pastry bakes? Would you believe it, some DO, and some DON'T. OH. THE. DRAMA.  Richard, for example, isn't pre-cooking. Or maybe he is...  Basically, I can't remember as I forgot everything I'd heard once he announced he was making Minted Lamb Pasties, filled with sweet potato - namely, the second greatest pasty type known to the West Cornish Pasty Co stall at London Bridge station and mankind. (The best one is the seasonal Haggis Pasty – OCH AYE.)

Some bakers are crimping their pasties shut, some are twisting - Luis is doing both.  Chetna is sort of just crumpling them into a ball with her palm.

Kate lost precious time as she decided to re-do her pastry.  She's also worried that her deep fat fryer isn't hot enough - and it transpires it had turned itself off as it was on a secret timer.  Poor Kate!  That's an argh-mare.

Nancy's also up against it. She leans back and despairingly yells “come on PASTIEEEEEES” in her most Northern voice, commanding them to cook faster.  It's probably more effective than staring at an oven on all fours and pleading.

Dramatic montage #1 is sound-tracked by Martha telling Cheta she can hear the dramatic tinkly music, before humming it aloud.  Meta.  (Though it's not entirely recognisable.)

Sue calls time on the parcels. The bakers lay out their offerings. Chetna promptly demonstrates a new random noise, telling Martha her pasties look so “eeoorrrrh”. It's apparently a good thing.

Richard has achieved “good uniformity” and “consistency” and “a nice dark colour”.  The pastry flakes beautifully and the crunch that it makes when Mary bites down suggests it's the most delicious pastry the sound effects team has EVER known. He could have “packed it out more”, but the meat is "beautifully done".  Clearly Mel agrees, for she takes a pasty and puts it in her jacket pocket for later.

Martha's wellies are “tempting” and “a lovely golden brown”, though there has been some leaking. Paul thinks the flavours are good and Mary admires the seasoning, which she thinks is “just right”. Clearly Mel agrees, for she takes a pasty and puts it in her jacket pocket for later.

Paul finds Luis' empanadas a little too pale and big (crazy fool). Mary openly disagrees, telling Luis “that's about the size I like for my lunch” (the bomber jacket has convenient give too). Paul fears the bake is mildly underdone, but Mary thinks “it's very, very tasty indeed”. Clearly Mel agrees, for she takes an empanada and puts it in her jacket pocket for later.

Nancy reckons her wares needed another five minutes, but Mary says she's still very keen to try them.  Berrywood agree that there isn't enough filling, but Paul still likes the look of them. Clearly Mel agrees, for she takes a pasty and puts it in her jacket pocket for later.

Kate explains her fryer woes. Mary thinks there's “very good crimping”, but her samosa are still pale. Paul thinks the “filling's interesting”, but “doesn't particularly like the pastry”. Mary appreciates that Kate reduced the spiciness for her and seems happy with the flavour. Clearly Mel agrees, for she takes a samosa and puts it in her jacket pocket for later.

Finally, Chetna's kachori, which have “great” colour and filling, and a filling-to-pastry ratio which Mary rates (more filling than pastry, apparently - personally, I'm not convinced, as you can never have too much pastry).  Paul loves the flavour and is “staggered” by the blend and volume spice Chetna has pulled off (flava, oooh). Clearly Mel agrees, for she takes an kachori and stuffs it in her mouth, as she's run out of pocket space.

Foodistory: In eighteen hundred and mumble mumble, Cornish miners went to Mexico and introduced the Cornish pasty to the Mexicans. As the Mexicans weren't insane, they were delighted to adopt such a wondrous foodstuff, which they called “el paste” (i.e. 'pasty' in a Mexican accent).

The Technical Challenge: Kouign-amann.

A traditional Breton pastry, which absolutely no-one has heard of, and no-one can pronounce with any confidence, bar Mel, of course.  What is it? If only there were an online tool which could provide such information... To Wikipedia my friends! “Kouign-amann is a round crusty cake, made with bread dough containing layers of butter and sugar folded in. The resulting cake is slowly baked until the butter puffs up the dough and the sugar caramelises.” I think we can all get on board with that, right?

Paul stresses that it is vitally important to add the sugar “after three turns”, which means nothing to me, unless he's on about a turn in the 'Jane-Austen-let's-walk-around-the-garden-arm-in-arm-and-try-surreptitious-flirting' sense of the word. Which I doubt.

He then bangs on about something else, like the importance of putting it into the oven at the right time or summat. Mary looks well bored. “Hm” she replies.

Has Paul left the bakers any instructions about how long to prove their dough? OF COURSE NOT.  The others are getting on with things whilst Chetna's holding firm. (Not one to start a blinking competition with then, I note.) She reckons they have aaages, so isn't sure why the others have all started folding their dough.  This will go one two ways, Chetna...

Luis reads out the instructions on 'turning' (which is basically folding) and they are ambiguous at best. Luis decides they mean you should add sugar three times, during each foldy bit. But it could also be taken to mean that you should only add the sugar once, at some point during one of the three folds - not that it's clear which turn, mind. Luis, we know, is going for a three-way, whilst Nancy's adding it once, in the middle. Richard and Martha have added the sugar last. Sue whispers to Mel that they've done it right.

Nancy then totally fucks Mel up by holding up the bowl of white stuff she's spooning into her mix and saying “oh, wouldn't it be awful if this were salt”. You can see Mel's blood pressure soar, as Nancy dips a finger in to her bowl and says “no it's not”. Well, it's not salt then, but might be cocaine for all we know.

After such a shock, Mel decides to sit down for a cuppa with her old mucker Sue and Sue explains why the sugar has to go in last, which mainly involves Sue stroking Mel's face. “Don't do that to my face” says Mel, by which she means “we may have been best friends for twenty years and I love you dearly but don't you dare upset my amazing hair today”.

Dramatic montage #2: Everyone's boring on about proving things in the fridge.

Dramatic montage #3: Everyone's waiting on things that are proving in the fridge and experiencing thumb twiddling boredom. Richard is pacing around, unused to the sitting life. (Careful Richard, you might disrupt your pencil!)  Luis is quite happy on his stool. I'm with you, Luis.

Mel and Sue are still having their cuppa and discussing the origins of kouign-amann, which Mel says is from “the country” of “Breton”, until Sue points out that “Breton” is not a country.  They decide it's a province. (Boringly, I'm fairly sure this isn't quite right from a grammatical perspective, at least, but it's Mel and Sue, so ultimately no wrong can be done.) Mel then starts telling Sue about Breton lace hat flaps worn for dancing. Sue feigns important hosting business elsewhere.

That important business turns out to be chatting to Martha, who's sitting around waiting and cheekily suggesting that “three and a half hours for a bake with six ingredients” is overkill. 

Having said that, everyone's taking delicious looking bready bakes out of their ovens, with not a clue whether they should look as they do.  They are all still a teeny little bit too bored to be entirely stressed - except for Kate, who's living the bake like it's her last moment on earth, as per usual.

Berrywood arrive to sneer and stuff their gobs, and start going on about laminating, which makes no sense to me at all, unless I missed the bit where Sue explains how you have to feed your dough through some plastic.  

(Laminating once led to one of my favourite ever games of Shag, Marry, Kill, where the three options were photocopying, shredding and laminating. -You kill photocopying OBVZ, but it's a tougher call between the other two office tasks; in the end, the cathartic and destructive nature of shredding makes it a better shag, leaving the slow-burn but highly satisfying and super neat outcome of laminating the one to wed.)

Tecchie Rankings: Chetna is last, then Luis (unusually low), with Kate fourth. Martha (third), Nancy (second) and Richard (first) take the top three slots and Richard's grin returns to maximum grinnery.  "They were very, very good" says Paul. “Close to mine”, he cannot resist adding. (I'm leaving that one comment free, but be certain that I am raising an eyebrow.)

The bakers have a bit of a to-camera post-mortum outside. Richard is joyful, Luis is philosophical and Chetna says you win some you lose some. She also clearly doesn't have time for this, good-naturedly getting up from her bench before she's even finished her sentence.  I'm quite enjoying sparky Chetna.

The judges think Luis and Kate are in the highway to the dangerzone – but even Chetna is at risk.  Daan daan daaaaan!

Animal shots: They must have eaten all the sheep at this point, as the best they can do is an insect on some grass. But Sue does have a lion on her t-shirt.

The Show-stopper: Twenty-four eclairs. 

Two different flavours, twelve of each. Choux base and cream, then anything goes.

WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT, CHETA IS USING MANGO! Well, that's a turn-up for the books, isn't it? Though, talking of books, at least she's got her cook book USP sorted: Three Hundred Ways To Cook A Mango by Cheta off Bake Off. Not that her Chocolate & Mango and Lemon Meringue Eclairs don't sound lovely. They sound mangoificent. (Still working on that one.)

Kate is making Neapolitan and Lemon Meringue Eclairs. The Neapolitan are chocolate choux with a strawberry mousse inside, and the lemon ones involve basil choux pastry - errrr, sweetness and basil?  Not convinced.  Somewhere in the Highlands Norman is looking on in wonderous disbelief.

Nancy is making a savoury lot and a sweet lot: Smoked Salmon & Horseradish and Raspberry Ripple Eclairs. Mary is pleased to hear there's going to be a salty option; I mean, judging is all well and good, but it's only practical to think of how that fits in with one's dietary preferences for the day. Nancy's brought her own horseradish from the garden, which the judges will lurrrve, but then undoes all that good homegrown work, by saying that she had tried making savoury and sweet choux pastries, but couldn't tell the difference, so was just going for the same batch this time. Mary has a slight cat's bum about it, but she likes Nancy, so it's probably ok.

Richard is using blueberry and lavender in one lot of eclairs, whilst the others will be raspberry and rose flavoured. Lavender. Ugh. And, rose - even worse! (Why always the insistence on using rose? It's not like it's a REAL flavour.)  At least Richard has the honesty to admit that his show stopper could taste like soap if he gets the amounts wrong.   Mind you, in a sense, who cares, as the really exciting news is that Richard is using a chicken coop staircase to present his bakes, a Stair of Eclairs, as he's calling it.

Martha reveals that for her AS Levels, she did a dissertation on profiteroles, which are essentially the same thing as eclairs bar the shape. I fear this will be like when the masses find out that someone on Strictly went to stage school and turn to the Digital Spy forums to spew bile and pickforks of hate. Martha's using her chou-perior knowledge (eyethankyew) to make Rhubarb & Custard and Maple Syrup & Bacon Eclairs. Bacon on an eclair? Sounds like a waste of good bacon. Especially as it turns out she's adding nougar on there.  So No Thanks, to quote 55% of Scotland. 

The bakers pipe out their eclairs. To be blunt, there's something of the animal turd about them at this point. It is impressive to see them come out of the oven though, large and puffy and highly edible.

Luis' Stars and Stripes Eclairs will contain blueberry cheescake (MMMMM) and peanut better and jello (also mmmm, but not quite capital letters level). They will be bright blue and bright red – it remains to be seem whether Mary will furiously interrogate him about food colouring.

Nancy announces she is “traditional with a contemporary twist”. Kate pisses herself laughing, but wholeheartedly agrees.  Nancy is then sets out about inject the filling with a giant eclair needle, which is highly exciting!  I did not know that, unless it happens every year they make eclairs and I had entirely forgotten, which seems likely.  Elsewhere, Martha hasn't got thick enough cream and fears oozing.

Dramatic montage #4: Steady-handed cream application and Martha panicking about being so behind. Richard chivalrously arrives to help a panicked Martha break her nougat – not a euphemism. What a lovely man.

Kate announces “I'm so a goner”.  Eyes on Kate and Martha's critiques then.  I guess we shall see...

Mary deems Nancy's presentation “simply beautiful”. Paul thinks her savoury ones are “light, delicate and crispy”, though Mary wants more seasoning. The sweet ones have a slight soggy bottom and are a “bit sickly” - but clearly not too much.  Paul tells her “you're just that (teeny finger gap) from perfection”.

Richard has decorated his pink and purple eclairs with hashtags; Paul thinks they're not quite sheeny enough, whilst Mary admires the uniformity of size.  Both sets get good flavour reports.

Luis' eclairs look INCREDIBLE; brightly coloured and funky and awesome. Mary says they look like “a party”. The red ones are "different" - in an obviously good way - and Luis is told “you've really cracked it” on the blue.  “You've nailed it on all counts” adds Paul.

Mary says “I wouldn't know there was basil there” of Kate's eclairs. “It comes late” promises Kate, which sounds dubious: mmmm, a delicious sweet eclair with basil aftertaste. Paul is smug: he got the basil and liked it, so Mary tries a second and, again, deems it basil-free. Uh oh – don't have another row, guys!  However, basil or no basil, “the chocolate ones are a mess” and “the shard hasn't worked”.

Chetna has produced “a lovely display” of thirteen eclairs - she's not penalised for it, fortunately.  It's a praise diatribe instead: “The flavour inside the lemon meringue eclairs is fantastic”, the chocolate and mango combo is “unusual” and “indulgent” and the overall effect is “well thought out and executed”.

Martha is just happy she's served something up. “I don't think they look good at all” admits Paul, though the rhubarb and custard flavours are enjoyed. As for the bacon... “it doesn't go”.  I'm floored *rolls eyes*.

Tense times in the Berrywood backstage pimp lounge.  Richard and Nancy both had a strong week and they think Luis and Chetna have done enough to stay safe, but Martha has fallen into a risky position and Kate too is in danger.  (Mary takes that opportunity to have another pop at the lack of basil, which she still hasn't got.)  Paul makes the point that everyone's so good at this point and that one mistake can therefore make all the difference.  Mary and Paul both think they know who's going home though...

Oh!  Sue's just got the basil!

Ma Baker: Richard. For the THIRD time! Worth building the eclairway to heaven, as one Twitterer called it.

Mel and Sue Sandwich: Kate! Oh she's so sad. She lives it so deeply, but is “overwhelmingly pleased” to have done Bake Off.  Good luck lovely Kate, though you're in the Green and liberal utopia that is Brighton, so you should be ok.

Next time: Quarter finals. Fruity signatures, massaging an extended pastry length and taking the oily plunge with show-stopping doughnuts.

Oh!  I just got the basil!

2014 Episode 6 - European Cakes Week

Last week: Pork pie domination.  And a moment of silence, please, as we tip our hats to the glory of Norman and his lavender meringue.

This week: European cakes and Mel and Sue's full range of Slovscandiwegian accents.  We're immediately greeted by a Eurovision pastiche in which Sue plays 'Crajjy Dutch Jury Representative' giving everyone “twelve pointshh” and Mel plays 'Glamorous Presenter of Indeterminate Nationality Who Cannot Hear Very Well' .

(Inevitable Eurovision aside: You may be forgiven for thinking it's Mel's first foray into the role of Eurovij Euro-cougar, but you would be WRONG, because a few years back she was in a Eurovision-inspired show called Eurobeat (with Les Dennis of all people, I know, I know).  It was a total Westend flop, but it was bloody fabulous and the world is a sadder place without it.  I saw it, loved it and thought it deserved to run forever; then again, my love of Eurovision is probably “above average”, so I accept that might be a minority view.)

Blazer watch: Mary's bang on trend in navy and white polka dots – would we expect anything less?   I don't usually do a boob-watch, but I have to say Sue’s got quite a push-up bra on.  Seriously, where did they come from?!  The power of horizontal stripes...

The Signature bake: “A cake inspired by the great cakes of Europe”.

Mel lists some European countries and Sue specifies that baking powder is out and yeast is in.  That's pretty much it... Letsch do diss!

Luis is making an Apple and Cinnamon Kugelhopf with Honeyed Apples, which Wikipedia spells Gugelhupf, so I don't know WHAT to think, other than 'YUMelhopf/hupf'.  He's got a special mould which will make the whole thing look a bit like a bee hive and is adding Calvados (for Mary, let’s face it).

Chetna has chosen to bake an Orange Savarin with Cinnamon Cream – you will not be surprised to hear that I have no idea what the heck a ‘savarin’ might be, other than I now know it can be orange.  (Honestly, I struggle enough with terms like 'sponge' and 'crust' without having to deal with all these foreign baking words.)  I catch that the orange comes from the involvement of orange syrup, but can't tell from the illustration whether that's a pool of syrup encased in sponge or just the flavouring.  I think it's a fairly safe bet to go to go for the latter, but I'm not 'Pub Quiz Sure', and continentals can be a crazy bunch.  

Mel is worried Chetna's mould looks like a piles cushion.  She appears to be alone.

I learn that Luis' thingy-hopf was Austrian, whereas Richard's thingy-hupf is German, and THAT'S the one they call a gugelhupf – a Fruity Gugelhupf with an Orange Glaze in this case.  Ahhhhhhhhhh.  Zee Austrians say Kugelhopf, zee Germans say Gugelhupf, but let’s not call the whole thing oupf, eh?  (Is this a good time to mention that I've got a degree in Modern Languages from Oxford University?  Clearly I missed the tutorial on regional Germanic cake expressions...)

Nancy's European cake is actually Caribbean, which sounds a bit off-topic, but she could totally get round that by pointing out that Guadeloupe and Martinique are legit part of the EU.  It's another savarin (still no idea) – a Rum Punch Savarin with Coconut Cream and Tropical Fruits to be exact – which she's going to decorate with a cocktail umbrella, Club Tropicana Drinks Are Free-style.  If her plan is to have Mary mistake it for Sex On The Beach and be overly pleased at the impending booze levels, then maybe she'll get away with it.  Paul comes over to chat bananas and gives a Nancy a stark banana warning, leading Mel to ask “do you feel the danger of the banana?”.  Nancy says she does, but will not let it get to her.  Bravo Nancy!

Martha tells Paul she is going to first prove her Dark Chocolate and Almond Liqueur Savarin dough, then add four tablespoons of butter.  This literally (not literally) BLOWS HIS MIND.  Martha toughs it out, but once he’s gone, she admits to Kate that she doesn't really know what a savarin is.  Kate responds by telling Martha not to worry, as her bake, a babka, isn't really European, as it’s Israeli - though she does make the point that it is in Eurovision and they agree that “that counts”.  

(It's actually in Eurovision because it's a member of the European Broadcasting Union rather because of any form of strict UN-sanctioned definition based on geo-political criteria, and that actually means that... hello?  Helloooo?  FINE, I'LL GO BACK TO TALKING ABOUT CAKES THEN.  SHEESH.)

In fact, Kate's Pecan, Chocolate and Sour Cherry Yeast Cake, inspired by the time she spent in Israel as a teenager, isn't even that Israeli, as she admits that she didn't really like Israeli cakes, so has adapted the bake.  Hmmmm – so Kate’s making a 'not-really-in-Europe and not-even-really-from-Israel’ cake.  Do we think Mary will be happy about such risky rule bending?  (No, we do not.)

Mel does a 'sexy German' accent to announce “one hour left” and Chetna responds with a totally unprompted bizarre 'oorrreuuhhh' sound, which is the most interesting thing she's done since she arrived.  It is presented without fanfare or comment, but I urge you to check it out, then use it in day to day life.  Ooorrreuuhhh.

Dramatic montage #1: Has the dough risen enough to leave the proving drawer and hit the oven?  NO-ONE KNOWS. There follow some shots of dubious dough-sniffing, as the bakers anguish over that call.

Sue then does a TERRIBLE Dutch accent – she clearly wanted to make a spliff joke, but panicked halfway through and only dared go as far as making a reference to ‘mellow’.

Nancy lists the ingredients she's using.  I only catch “100ml of rum”, but what else matters anyway?  She’s not impressed by her cake, which is “a bit sad” and thinks she’d be doing everyone a favour by dropping it on the floor.  (Just out of shot, Sue, still fresh from her powerlessness in the face of bingate, no doubt starts legging it over to catch any cake fall.)  Fortunately Nancy isn’t being serious and, experienced baker that she is, totally cheers up her cake with a syrup of some kind and by stuffing fruit in the middle – she seems to have wrangled her dangerous banana.

Mel suggests that Richard “Check his Hopf” and says “oooh, he’s risen”, appreciatively.  At first, I thought she’d said “Check the Hoff... oooh, he’s risen” which would have been a WHOLE other show.

We then get a time warning from Mel in a Lithuanian accent (apparently), before she moves to a different accent, which I'm informed by the subtitles is “Scandinavian”.   Then just when I was getting quite impressed by the subtitlers’ ear for comedy Euro accents, they call Sue’s attempt at Russian, ‘Dutch’, which is a bit ouch.

Hopf to it judges!  So what do Berrywood think?

Luis’ offering looks AMAZING and gets compliments on both presentation and texture.

Slight disagreement from Mary and Paul (uh-oh!) on Kate’s cake.  Mary likes the flavours, but Paul thinks they’re “wrong” and that the bubka is “quite dry inside”.

Chetna’s cake is deemed to have too much liquid in, but it’s moist and the flavour and texture are “very, very good”.

Mary is disappointed that Richard’s top has crystallised and doesn’t like the texture either.  She’s into the flavour, at least.  Paul doesn’t think it has enough variation in it.

Nancy’s savarin really does looks like a 1980s beach shack cocktail; it's a look Mary doesn’t favour.  She’s over-proved it too.  Nancy pleads ignorance, though I reckon she knew and is toughing it out with faux-naivety. She achieves “fantastic flavour” though. 

Turns out that it didn’t matter that Martha had no idea how to make a savarin – she’s managed one so “beautiful” that even Paul likes the booze element.

Foodistory: To the Danish Embassy my friends, where there’s sadly no sign of Brigitte the PMILF from Borgen or an array of Sarah Lund jumpers.  We learn instead that Danish revolutionaries in the 19th(?) century used secret Resistance style meetings to get incredibly competitive about baking, which has turned into a rather impressive tradition where Danes gather to eat an entire table of cakes in fours hours.  No-one is allowed to leave until it’s all eaten.  It sounds AWFUL.

The Technical Challenge: Prinsesstårta, which, would you believe, is the Swedish for Princess Cake.

Tarty princessing is achieved by making three layers of Genoese sponge, adding another layer of crème pat and jam, and putting that under whipped cream and green marzipan to form a domed top. As if a giant green cake wasn't odd enough, a little rose is then “plonked on the top”. 

Wikipedia informs me that the original recipe first appeared in the 1930s "Prinsessornas Kokbok", which I’m telling you because: well ‘KOKBOK’.  I’m amazed Sue didn’t proclaim that info to the tent – it’s not like her to miss a blatant penis joke.

None of the bakers have any idea what the hell is going on.  Paul calls Mary "cruel" and they promptly sit in the backstage area cackling and eating the most giant piece of (Princess) cake known to Bake Off history – even Glenn would shudder at that the size of that one.

Dramatic montage #2: Frenzied whipping from Luis and Kate with wooden spoons.  Chetna breezes past with the electric whisk.

Nancy whispers that she doesn’t usually make marzipan and gets it shop bought – shhhhhh, they'll take you to the tower for that one on Bake Off, my dear! Don’t forget Enwezor’s fate!  Nancy’s used to green marzipan though – she made a football cake for her grandson, who was delighted, even though Nancy was repulsed by the thought of eating something green. She's therefore wary of adding too much food colouring now.

Once again the bakers have to split their cakes – this time into three.  Chetna’s cake is waaaay too thin.  Martha measures hers at 5cm and is forced to divide 5 by 3 in her head, deciding on “one and a bit” as the helpful measurement.

Dramatic montage #3: layering cream and jam, and general stress and confusion about the fact that the recipe is SO DAMNED COMPLEX and they are ALL behind.  They sort of lost me a bit here, to be honest.  I was too impatient for massive green cake.

Though my interest did pick up when Nancy asked Sue: “what did the male judge say?”, clearly drawing a complete blank on Paul’s name.  Even though Sue then reminded her that "his name is Paul", Nancy blithely, and brilliantly, carried on “yes, what did the male judge say?”, clearly not giving a crapola that she'd forgotten it - I mean so what if Paul Hollywood is a ledge amongst bakers, there's only so much headspace for random blokes' names when you're Princess cake-ing. Sue collapses in a heap of giggles – she’s probably still laughing now.

Mel meanwhile mops Richard’s brow with a red cloth.  She does not disturb the blue pencil.

The bakers line up their P-tortes. 

Tecchie Rankings: Kate is last and winces. Richard is second-bottom, with Martha in fourth. Luis then Chetna take the bottom two tiers of the podium with Nancy on top. Basically, her green food colouring-phobia meant that her cake was a rather pukey shade of browny/olive, but she did have the best dome action and her princess was "perfect", if not quite brightly coloured enough. A perfectly anaemic Prinsesstarta.

In their special area lurve tent, the judges trail who's looking safe and who's in danger. Richard and Kate are in the relegation zone... It's tense stuff. I don't want anyone to leave!

The Show-stopper: Dobos torte.

Which is a Hungarian sponge, layered with cream and caramel.  For the Bake Off version, Sue explains that the judges require two tiers and "an emphasis on sugar work and all things caramel".  Sue then goes several minutes without breathing as she lists all the scrumptious things you can make with sugar and caramel.  Her eyes start to glaze and her voice gets increasingly robotic, but she’s caught in a caramel-frenzied trap and can’t stop until she has listed all the caramel by-products known to man and womankind. Fortunately Mel intervenes before Sue’s caramel love overcomes her need for oxygen.

Paul and Mary make VERY CLEAR that the bakers should be using their five hours to go caramel-crazy and create some stunning wow-factor caramel structures.  We're expecting caramel dilapidated sheds as an absolute minimum.  Ideally an ornamental caramel bird table and caramel love birds.

Luis is going architectural, with The Cage on Rocky Hill, a two-tiered cake shaped like his wife’s favourite local sight, a tower.  It will be formed of hazelnut, vanilla, salted caramel and coffee buttercream, so HELLO - that is certainly a combo I mightily approve of.  Luis describes his caramel work to Berrywood, which involves him making the sides of the tower and a flag out of caramel.  Mary’s her eyes widen in impressed disbelief

However, it’s Richard, who gets Mary’s mouth to drop, as he’s planning ten layers in his two-tiered Sugar Forest Dobos Torte, which will have raspberry, apricot and white chocolate in it.  His sugar work will be a nest and some trees, which is a very clever way of allowing deliberate messiness.

Martha isn’t sure whether her bake has two or three tiers, as she’s planning on cutting into one layer, to hide a chessboard pattern inside.  Yowsers, guys!  You are going for it!  Her Chess-Themed Chocolate and Salted Caramel Dobos Torte will be full of ganache and the layers will be made of salted caramel Swiss meringue buttercream.  Food hubba hubba.  Paul looks like he’s lost in an utterly filthy dream world at the very thought.

Chetna’s using a classic Vicky sponge as the basis for her Almond Liquer Dobos Torte with Chocolate Caramel Buttercream.  How many sponges is she planning? 14.  FOURTEEN!!!!?!  She explains how she’s going to use grapes to shape her caramel.  Sue and the judges each respond by openly stealing Chetna's grapes.

Luis has organised his cooling sponge layers in an in-tray he’s borrowed from the office.  He admits to Mel that he loves organisation.  (You keep at it, Luis!  My sweepstake investment is feeling very safe just now.)  Richard’s also behaving to type, spreading his mix on to a circular surface with a trowel.  At least I’m fairly sure it was a trowel. That's a legitimate bake tool, right?

Nancy is also on to a winner, with a Chocolate and Caramel Dobos Torte.  Ultimately, it's an objective truth that chocolate is always best.

Kate’s going three tier, as she thinks “two tiers look like hats” which confuses me, to be honest, though I'm not au fait with Brighton's current hat styles.  Her three tiers look like a terrifying medieval instrument of torture, as there are lots of pointy sharp caramel sticks poking out in a rather aggressive way, but at least her Trio of Dobos Tortes aren't hat-like.  Unless you’re at Ascot where... well look at this lot.

At this point I really fancied a cup of tea, but they'd already done the Food History bit and, in spite of my better judgement, I actually watched the lot because it was about A TABLE OF CAKES.  A lesson learned...

Dramatic montage #4: Layering up.  Luis no doubt has a chart to help with cream, sponge, cream, sponge etc.

Mel and Sue have stopped doing accents, which is a shame.  I was hoping for Frrrrrench and Oirish, at the very least, as well as roping Luis in to do Spanish.  (Did you know Luis was Spanish?)

There are a fair number of sugar and caramel disasters, as the bakers need to time things exactly to get the right consistency, and, well, that’s hard.  Nancy declares “me pulled nuts are rubbish”.  Oh Nancy!  No need to be so hard on yourself.  Mind you, Kate’s also having nut woes, “I haven’t done enough of my nuts”, she worries, before being forced to add “curly ones that have died in the heat”.  And I thought Pie Week was rude-puntastic.

Dramatic montage #5: Painstaking caramel decor.  Luis’ flag is rather good and Chetna seems to have created a small caramel Dalek with her grapes.  Meanwhile, Nancy’s layers look a bit like a ham and mustard sandwich – which isn’t a criticism, as that’s one classic and delicious sarnie.

“No more tiers” cries Sue – for it is judging time.

Nancy is invited to present to “Mary and the male judge” – Paul’s having a right old chuckle about that (on the outside, anyway).  She has “beautiful edges” and Mary likes the “rich taste”.  Paul’s delighted with Nancy’s nuts.  “Very well made and very well executed.”

Richard’s cakes “look sad” and are “a little dry”, but he has incorporated a lot of caramel in there. 

Visually, Mary thinks Luis’ offering is “a monumental effort" - it’s what she calls a Showstopper.  However, it’s “far too sweet” and he “missed it slightly on the flavour”.

Kate’s dobos is lacking in spikes, which means it’s severely lacking in caramel – I suspect time was an issue.  She has “two winners with the top layers”, but the bottom one is less successful. 

Chetna’s dalek, however, is caramel overload.  Paul is impressed with the definition and flavours.  Mary’s happy that the Victoria sponge thing worked out.

Martha’s chess board “looks a bit uneven”, but has a “great flavour”.  It reminds Paul of an opera cake and there’s “nothing wrong with an opera cake”.  However, Mary sticks her oar in a bit, dissing the caramel chess pieces “it doesn’t demonstrate much skill, as you used a shop bought mould”.  Probably she thinks Martha needs to find a husband who is skilled in woodwork.

Deliberations in the Berrywood tent boudoir are fraught.  They’re stuck between kicking out Kate or Richard.  Richard did a lot of sugar work and followed the brief.  Kate’s cakes were lovely, but she only showed one caramel skill.

Last minute animal shot: Sue tells us it’s NEVER been so close and a cow gently moos in supportive acknowledgment.

Ma Baker: Chetna!  What a sweetheart she is.  She looks humble and delighted.

Mel and Sue Sandwich: NO-ONE!  IT WAS TOO CLOSE! The hugs are particularly reserved for Kate and Richard, bursting with relief that they both get to stay.  

Paul and Mary explain that it was neck and neck and they had a total tiff, disagreeing about who should go.  (Clearly Paul was Team Kate and Mary was Team Rules Iz Rules). 

Yes, it was highly convenient that there was always going to be a week without a loser, after Diana left of her own accord, but this is a lovely happy ending – and what is Bake Off about, if not overly dramatic fluffy conclusions? 

Next time: Complex pastries (artistic and tortured, no doubt) and someone is definitely leaving.  Definitely maybe, anyway.

2014 Episode 5 - Tarts and Pies Week

Last week: #BINCIDENT. Somewhat unfairly Diana became a national villain, after Iain threw his Baked Alaska in the trash in a fit of pique-nique. Never has the social etiquette of limited freezer space during a televised baking contest been so thoroughly dissected by people on the internet. Never!

This week: Tarts and pies week. AKA puns and mmmmms week; we're talking maximum opportunity for smut and cravings.  (Mainly, as there are just so many things that rhyme with 'pie' and because meat and pastry is an ever-winning combo.)

Blazer watch: It's a neon-off, as Mary pits a hot pink biker jacket (tastefully matched to hot pink paisley foulard) against a blazer from Mel which balances the fine line between florescent lime and florescent lemon.  They both look wonderful.

Hair watch: Sue's fringe has got its trademark Elvis swagger, whilst Mel is sporting a bun; admittedly that's the wrong recipe for pie week, but who cares, for it looks magnificent.

Cuffs watch: The Hollywood look and stance in its purest form: baby blue sheeny cuffs against dark blue sheeny shirt, modelled with the trademark pose of hands in pockets with legs dangerously akimbo.  He's back to full strength, people!

Animal watch: horny sheep – as in 'with horns', rather than... well we all remember that confident squirrel.

Watch watch: that's probably enough watches for now.

Mel lets us know that Diana has taken ill and won't be back to the tent. They don't go into any detail, but the reports suggest that Diana had a fall and has lost her sense of taste and smell, which is very, very sad news indeed. The bakers say nice things about Diana (no comments on over-zealous freezer use), then it's swiftly to business...

The Signature bake: Family-sized custard tart.

Mel sets out the ground rules: Please don't throw your tart in the bin.  HahaHA.

Paul says he wants silky custard.  Really, Paul?

Norman is going exotic!!! Well, sort of.  Well, not at all, really.  He's making Tarte au Citron which he “first had in France twenty years ago” so is exotic to him.  Broken record-style, the judges murmur something about simplicity and Norman tells them that he's not stretching himself today, as he's stretching himself tomorrow.  Oh Norman!  I appreciate that might feel like a giant concession to you, but Berrywood will take that as a personal slight. Paul duly reads Norman the lemony riot act: his tart must be “beautifully level, no cracks in sight and just about set”. “Yes” says Norman out loud. “I'll do what the fuck I like, Paul” says his facial expression.

Martha isn't fully hugely confident about her Pistachio, Apricot & Honey Custard Tart. She doesn't enjoy making pastry, because she's young and apparently pastry-making is an old person's game. “Like Nancy”, announces Martha.  I appreciate that at 17 everyone over 25 appears ancient, but still... ouch.

Then again... the camera immediately pans to Nancy, who, true to Martha's ageist prediction, reveals that she "absolutely loves" making pastry, which, in this case will form the base of a Chocolate Crusted Passion Fruit Tart.  

The following conversation then takes place:

Paul: Is that your ring?

Nancy: Yes

Paul: It's very shallow.

Snarffsnarffsnarffadinfinitum.  Smut smut smut smut smut.

No word on Kate's ring, but we do learn that she's making a Rhubarb and Custard Tart with almond pastry. It involves complicated rhubarb swirling mid-bake, which sounds highly impressive.  Kate is typically cool about the whole thing.

Luis is making a Tropical Manchester Tart; the 'tropical' comes from coconut and mango, and the 'Manchester' because it's being made by a Mancunian.  You've got some work to do on your puns, Luis.  And hang on – I thought Luis was Spanish.  Confusing.

Richard is getting figgy with it, making an Fig & Orange Tart (though I also heard something about peppercorns, which sounds highly dubious).  Chetna meanwhile is making a Rice Custard Tart with Mangoes and Raspberries; I'm starting to wonder whether Chetna is sponsored by mangoes, as they make a frequent appearance...

Kate has got an amazing roll mat for her dough, which includes lots of helpful info like conversions and a pie size guide which looks like planets orbits/constellations. I entirely covet it, even though I never make pastry (because I am not an ancient crone, eh Martha?).

Nancy has written her name on her extremely shallow ring. This is not her first rodeo; she saw last year's #custardgate.  There'll be be no Deborah-type stealing her goodies, oh no. 

Luis explains blind bakes. I'm afraid I do not pay attention.

Mel and Nancy then discuss the perennial 'tart v pie' question, which isn't half as tough as 'daddy or chips', as Nancy and Mel happily agree that they're tarts, the pair of them.  They decide their excellent hairdos are definitely "tart hair".  In that case, tart hair for all!

Luis' pastry is OCD neat. Norman's is more... rustic.

Dramatic montage #1: the pouring of the custard into hot pastry crust.  Most of the bakers do this in the oven, but Richard goes for the additional drama of pouring it on the counter, then carrying it down to the oven, the levels lapping precariously close to the edge.  It's watching-behind-fingers-time, but he just about makes it, with just the merest hint of custard dribble.  He celebrates by downing the rest of his custard from the measuring jug.  I'm surprised we don't see more licking of the bowl montages, to be honest – that's basically the best bit of baking.

Dramatic montage #2: Knocking the metal bit off the edge – will the pastry crumble or stick? Martha's having a mare, but Kate comes over and helps her ease her pie out of its casing.  THAT'S the Bake Off we know and love – co-baking and all round love.  None of this ambiguous freezer-space controversy.

To the judgemobile...!  Time for Mary and Paul to 'pie' up the offerings.

Norman's “looks a mess” and is “just baked”, though the “flavour’s fantastic”. Oh Norman.

Nancy's is “very attractive” and “original”.  Indeed Paul is so taken, he gives Nancy a Bezza eye-twinkle: “I like that, Nancy”.  (There was no need to worry about her shallow ring, was there, Paul?)

The judges like the look of Chetna's tart, but the rice is undercooked and for the first time she has “missed the flavours”.

Kate has “lovely pastry and beautiful decoration” but it might be slightly short on the rhubarb flavours.

Richard's has had leakage and “very little orange comes through”. They seem quite happy eating it though.

Martha's “needs glaze or a shine” (HELLOOOO, after that eggwash trauma I'm not surprised she's gone sheen-free).  Paul's “not convinced about the flavour”.

As Martha does her best to keep the tears at bay, Luis is told his pastry “looks perfect” and that it's “very difficult to critique”.

A good one for Luis and Kate, trouble for most of the others...

Foodistory: In the olden days, a successful wedding wasn't one which served up sausage baps at midnight, featured a photobooth with accompanying fancy dress, or ensured that Buffalo Stance was on the disco playlist, but was defined by offering aphrodisiac pies containing lamb's testicles.  After trying the baw pie, Mel is so overtaken with the aphrodisiacness that she tries to marry the food historian, even though he is non-committal at best.

The Technical Challenge: Mini pear pies. 

A poached pair surrounded by spirals of golden pastry, then baked until brown. It's one of Paul's recipes, so you can guarantee it's a total bitch to make.

Martha and Norman demonstrate the two ends of the blind challenge approach; neither has made it before and Martha is highly nervous, whilst Norman thinks it sounds entirely straightforward. Though Mr Cad believes that Norman would feel confidence in the face of having to repair a nuclear reactor about to let rip, so...

The bakers first have to make rough puff pastry, which is the bravest of all the pastries and likes a street fight. Shortcrust is the one with the Napoleon complex. Flaky is the one who cancels last minute. Etc etc.

Luis explains ideal pastry temperatures. I'm afraid I do not pay attention.

Animal shots: A horse!!!

We first get to watch pears poach, whilst the bakers all fret about the length of poaching. It's like taking the oily plunge, only backwards.  It's then time to “mummify the pears” as Martha puts it. At this point the air of deliciousness is limited, as we're talking slimy peeled pears covered in raw dough.  But I suppose there's potential.

Judging by Paul's example pears at the start, they should be completely covered in pastry, but Richard's pies are a little less demure than that and have slowly and saucily shed their pastry coverings – pears out for the lads, eh?  Sadly a pastry bottom isn't quite what was required.

It's the gentle padding sound of lady-moccasins, as the judges return.  You won't be at all surprised to hear that Paul looks delighted that the pear pies aren't all perfect. He particularly enjoys being unimpressed by Richard's “mess”.

Tecchie Rankings: Richard is last, of course (“I think I got a full house of what-can-go-wrong-will”, followed by Luis and Norman (oh Norman).  The girls take the top four spots: Nancy, Kate and Chetna are fourth to second, with Martha coming out on top: “this one shows it can be done” says Mary. From sniffles to smiles – good for you, Martha.

The Show-stopper: A pie with tiers. 

Minimum of three tiers.  Sweet or savoury.  Self-supporting.  Any pastry.  Go!

Paul wants a theme. Luis' theme is 'you think it's fruit, but it's actually meat' which, frankly, is the greatest theme ever, whether it be pie or party or pie party. He's calling it Four Fruity Seasons Tower and my only reticence is that I'd have no idea whether to start with the duck, venison, chicken or pork layer.  LIFE IS SO HARD.

As well as Luis' meat fest, we have Kate making Rhubarb, Prune & Apple Pork Pies and Martha making Three Little Pigs Pies, which is chorizo, pulled pork and traditional pork and apple, so basically I WILL EAT ALL THE PIES.  

(Twas ever thus.)

There's serious competition from Norman though, who is going for a venison, haggis and spinach pie as the meat course/part of his meat, fish and dessert pies. Quite brilliantly, he is calling this creation...

*drum roll* 

Norman's Pieful Tower.  

!!!!!

WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS. 

!!!!! 

Less brilliantly, perhaps, Norman has decided to make a lavender meringue. Eeek. I mean there's the exoticism of za'atar, quinoa or pesto, and then there's something that just sounds not very nice.

Richard reckons he could build a house out of his hot water crust pastry, which will form his Three Course Autumn Pie Feast. The three pies are stake and ale (yum), chicken and mushroom (yuck) and pear and apple (undecided).

Luis explains ideal pastry thickness. I'm afraid I do not pay attention.

Nancy's decided to put her shallow ring aside and go “no tins” on her Trio of Apple Pies, one of which is made of chicken and gammon (which I thought was animal rather than apple, but we have established that my knowledge of foodstuffs is limited).

Chetna's decided to use four different pastry times in her Fusion Tiered Pies which will encase different Indian dishes – I'm sure you will agree this sounds rather excellent.  It's surprising that Curry Pie isn't more of a British staple, really.

Norman is patting down his haggis. “Normski” says Mel, deciding that nicknames and poetry will be this week's medium of flirtation, “would it be appropriate to quote some Burns and address the haggis?”  Norman immediately steps up: “Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face/ Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!” he proclaims “Well are you worthy of ma grace / As lang as ma arm”.   It then appears to go “murmur murmur...” then something unintelligible, before there is a moment of inspiration and the immortal lines “I kan you're awful smelly/ but yall soon be doon ma belly”.  I have since been reliably informed the belly bit is not a Rabbie original, but entirely invented by our Norm.  Well, let me say this: perhaps it's Normski's birthday we should be celebrating, because that line is GENIOUSSE.

Norman then demonstrates his commitment to the competition by saying he really fancies a cup of coffee, but he's going to ignore that craving and crack on.  That's the spirit.

Nancy is accorded the highest of favours as Richard reaches behind his ear and lends her his pencil. He does not quite rest until it is (admittedly swiftly) returned.

There's a great deal of pie management required in the task, as the bakers all have to attend to one pie whilst their other pies are baking; from a viewer's perspective, this essentially means non-stop shots of delicious looking pies going into and out of ovens.  (And some wonder why there are millions of Britons watching a competitive cooking programme...)

Oven glove watch: A lot of the bakers have large woolly-looking oven gloves with actual fingers. None of your folded tea towel and hope you don't catch your wrist crap, oh no.  But don't try this at home with normal looking woolly gloves, kids. This is some exciting high-tech heat-proof technologising going on.

Martha is having a “plumbing issue” - there's a fair stream of liquid pouring out of a small hole in her pie.  Uh oh.  How will Martha fill her pie hole?

Dramatic montage #3: The balancing of pies. Luis has actually brought a spirit-level to ensure perfect horizontalness.  He's mocking himself as he uses it, but uses it nonetheless.  Most of the bakers are using dowling rods and pie stands, all of which have a certain vulnerability to them. Chetna, however, is just simply piling them up, pie on pie.  Good girl.

Richard's worried about the colour of his pies; they are too big to cook without burning, apparently. Luis is also having trouble - despite his spirit-level, he doesn't think his pie tower will stand up.  And lo and behold... pie down pie down!  He manages a swift rectification, just as it's 'pie' time for judging.

Over to la Berry and le Hollywood.

Kate's have a “nice colour and height”, “a good bake” and they like the flavours.

Richard's are “stable” but “a bit burned”. Mary totally negs him that at least he's "consistent", as they're “all overcooked”.  She does concede that means “crisp pastry” though.  The frangipane is not deemed a success, but the stake and ale is “stunning” and “wonderful”.

Cheta is told “the flavour queen's back – a good blend”.

Luis' pies are a success, bar the pastry which is “too thick”. (Never a problem.)

“Brownie points” for Nancy not having used a tin. “The flavours are fantastic, but it's quite dry inside”.

Are we ready for judgement on Norman's Pieful Tower? Paul dubiously pokes at the meringue - he clearly doesn't want to eat it, let alone talk about it.  So Mary starts the mauling, going on about the wobbliness of the pastry and how it's leaking, before Paul takes over, mocking and coughing at the lavender. NOT ON, BERRYWOOD, NOT ON.  Yes, lavender meringue is probably vile, but you were the ones who told Norman he had to get experimental!  You created this monster!

Martha is nervous. Pie one is undercooked.  Pie two is well-baked.  Pie three requires three of them to carry it but, despite its baking issues, is “different” and “fantastic”.

In the Berrywood Bakestage Tent, there's the usual rider of gin-soaked tea and massive bakes, as they discuss who is going this week.  Mary ominously decrees that lavender meringue should be banned.

Ma Baker: Kate finally wins out – she's a quiet contender for the main prize, isn't she?  Though, really it's more or less anyone's game now.  Well, expect for...

Mel and Sue Sandwich: Norman. *waaaaaaaaaah*

Incredibly, it was an attempt at exoticism which took him out. It's nevertheless been Norman's year – from made-up semaphore to made-up poetry, via German chit chat and the glamour of pesto, we all fell in love. Your simple approach will be missed, Norman. Fare thee well. We truly were, better together. 

(Seriously, don't go Scotland! #indyref)

A relieved Martha is taking a Hunger Games approach and tells us “can't believe I survived pastry week”, like there was a serious chance of slaughter.

Kate is chuckling that a Southerner won pie week.

Next time: European cakes, whatever they are.