Episode 5 - Pie Week

Last week: Desserts. Stuart (finally) returned back to the school football pitch and Brendan coquettishly pouted with pride at getting star baker.

This week: pie. The preview promises us... a broken pie crust!!!! The drama! The horror.

Mel and Sue begin by saying pi. Maths hilarity. Mel has the decency to look a little embarrassed.  And then we're off!

The Signature Bake: The Wellington.

At least 8 inches long and completely covered with pastry. The rest is up to them.

Paul and Mary, surprise flippin' surprise, are all about perfect, dry bottomed pastry. NO SHIT NIGELLA.

James Shetland is making puff daddy pastry, which is the harder kind to make (typical James! *pats his head*)  His creation is called Four Pig Wellington and is basically quattro porkio; pastry over poached gammon, prosciutto ham, black pudding and pork fillet.  I just died and went to pig farm heaven.

Manisha, also making puff, speaks for the nation when she says: “I mean who makes their own puff pastry these days? No-one.” She then remembers where she is and pretends to find the puffing process enjoyable. She is making a Lamb Wellington with Rosemary and Mint. Dear God, yum. Let the mouth-watering continue.

Basically, let's take it as read that I want to eat ALL the wellingtons.

For those preferring a slightly easier pastry route, there's the option to make rough puff pastry, which involves slobbing visible chunks of butter in the dough.  John (Man-ches-tah) has gone rough puff for his Venison and Haggis Wellington (Vegetarians wept, that's the most carnivorously delicious sounding one yet).  Paul teaches John how to bookend his pastry – not a euphemism.

Danny Intensive Care, for reasons I can't grasp, is going vegetarian with a Chickpea, Spinach and Mushroom Wellington. No meat?!!  No meat?!!  But, but... Why no meat, Danny?  (Sad emoticon.)

Brendan isn't going meaty either, but at least he's opted for a fish dish: Salmon Coulibiac in a Scandinavian Pastry. He is using quark in his pastry - that weird cheesy German fromage frais, which sounds faintly gross, but Mary and Paul look on with significant interest and the camera doesn't linger, so clearly no looming disasters here.

Cathryn is cooking a Full English Wellington, which by her own admission is “a glorified sausage roll”.  It also has all the elements of a fry-up in it, bar the beans, so is basically the best meal of all-time happily encased in pastry (I officially just fainted with greed, and that's off the back of a full portion of nachos for dinner).  Pastry-wise, Cathryn's going flaky. Filling-wise, she's wrapping and rolling mince, mushrooms, tomatoes, black pudding and eggs in some cling-film, so as you can imagine, her bake looks fairly phallic.  Certainly Sue thinks so and attempts a penis joke ("eight inches?" raised eyebrow), but Cathryn is holding a large knife and having none of it. Undeterred, Sue calls it a metre long meat mallet and advises Cathryn to create a full farm yard scene in pastry on the top.  (She settles for some leaf-based décor.)

Ryan is worrying about his liquids soggifying his Curry Spiced Seabass Wellington, which, stroke of genius alert, will be fashioned to LOOK LIKE A FISH.  I can totally forgive lack of red meat on those grounds.

Finally, Mrs Vicar Sarah-Jane is finding things tricky. She's fried a gigantic slab of cow in a pan in order to create Beef Wellington with Parma Ham and Gorgonzola Cheese, when Mary looks on and asks the question of doom: “Why have you wrapped your beef in foil?” Sarah-Jane explains that she wants to keep the steam and moisture in, which may seem reasonable, but it's clear from the look on Mary's face that hotness = notness and she should be ripping the beef out of the foil and Fedexing it to Alaska pronto. To hammer the point home, Mary then prompts “and then you're going to chill it?” But no, Sarah-Jane is not going to chill it, as she “won't know how long to cook it in the oven”.  Mel makes no attempt to disguise her expression of pure WTF?.  Surprise surprise, come cooking, Sarah-Jane's pastry slides off in the oven, leaving her beef exposed - and no-one wants a holey wellington. Sarah-Jane calls it “the worst thing I have ever baked in my whole life”. I very much doubt she's exaggerating.

But what will the judges think?

They think the pastry around Manisha's welly is “underbaked”, but the lamb is “just right”. (Honestly, it was the most beautiful shade of pink I've ever seen.)  Paul agrees, but it's “let down” by "the key”: the pastry.

Danny's meatless welly has “no soggy bottom” (!!!!), but “there's not much substance running through”.  WELL DURRRRR. THAT'S BECAUSE IT HASN'T GOT ANY MEAT IN IT.

James Shetland does have a soggy bottom, but “the interior's delicious”.  No comment.

Brendan's “quite different” quark pastry is deemed “decent” with “a bit of a crisp” and “a lovely flavour”.

John, who has made what I thought were pastry rabbits (they're apparently antlers) to top his welly, is told “it tastes great”, but “the pastry is a bit too thin and can't flake”.

Ryan, also in team Soggy Bottom, has made a welly with “a great texture” and “a beautiful flavour of fish”.  More praise for his blend of spices.

“It's quite impressive that, Cathryn” said Paul, presented with her pastry meat mallet. And hooray, for they like her “massive sausage roll”.

And then there was Sarah-Jane, part pastry, part beef slab. Mel kindly calls it coquettish. Paul, less kindly, says it looks like the Alien film. Mary tells her it's because she didn't chill it. At least she doesn't add “and I told you so, you total idiot”, because, let's face it, that wouldn't have been entirely unjustified.

Sarah-Jane valiantly says that it could have gone worse. She then pauses and decides that, actually, no it couldn't have. Bless her.

Foodistory: The history of eels

Mmmmm, shiny, squirmy, bucketfuls of eels slithering all over each other. I KNOW, LET'S STICK THEM IN A PIE! To summarise, they were popular for a time because they were the only creatures that were robust enough to survive when the industrial revolution got dumped in the Thames. We then watch Mel eat a whole eel pie in two forkfuls. I thought her face might burst.

Education bit over, so what now?  Well, I can totally stand the heat – let's get back to the kitchen!

The Technical Challenge: Hand-raised Pie

A hand-raised pie with chicken, bacon and apricot filling, made with a hot water crust - a pastry that “defies all the rules of pastry making”. Two and a half hours. GO!

So if I've understood correctly (and that's like fifty-fifty), hand-raising pies involves using a dolly, which is an old-fashioned utensil that looks like the end of a super fat rolling pin. They have to oil up their dolly, tease the pastry up and around the dolly, and then ease the dolly out (I know, it sounds totally suspect). They should be left with a little pastry pot to stick the filling in, but if the pastry is too fat or thin, the filling won't play ball.

So, that's the theory.

The practice. Well. Hmmm.

Basically, they all have a mare with their pastry dollies; first they can't get it up and then they can't get it off – it's like the worst night of passion ever. (Not wishing to dwell on the sex/dolly metaphor, but there's definitely something of the condom on a banana about the whole process...) John sums up everyone's view of dolly-usage when he says “why use this, when we can use tins. We're not in the 1600s”.  I mean that's quite a random era to pick, but the point stands. You can tell Paul had a right old chuckle when he thought this one up.

Eventually, Sarah-Jane gets hers out!  Danny, however, fails to release the dolly, so has to jigsaw puzzle her pastry into shape, freestanding.  I'm not sure Mary is going to appreciate the rustic look.

The next challenge is to pour gellatin in through a little hole in the top, to make sure there's jelly inside (for the record, I find jelly a slightly repulsive and unnecessary pie ingredient – what's wrong with animal flesh and pastry in its purest form?). Anyway, just as Destiny's Child warned, no-one was really ready for that jelly and everyone's pies start to leak (James Shetland has an entire loch on his kitchen surface). Everyone looks thoroughly depressed and, to make things even meaner, they won't be judged until the next day. The pies hit the fridge and, back at the hotel, the bakers hit their fridge mini-bar. Probably.

The next day, judging is tough – a stream of criticism, with little pie-based praise; the distinct lack of jelly particularly vexes Mary.  Ryan comes last (“it's a pasty”), Danny second to bottom, a relatively poor sixth place for James Shetland and a comparatively positive fifth and fourth for Manisha and Sarah-Jane. Brendan is third (he was ready for AND could handle the jelly), John is second, which means Cathryn is top techy! “It looks the closest to mine” says Paul. A compliment indeed.

The judges tell Mel and Sue that, Cathryn and Brendan aside, everyone's in trouble. “It will all rest on the show-stopper” says Mary.  So, on that note...

The Show Stopper Challenge: Sweet American Pie. 

Family-sized.  No lid. Three and a half hours. Bake!

Ryan's making Key Lime Pie and needs to get his pastry right, or he'll face the chopper. He's adding some ginger, which isn't traditional, but he thinks it goes well with the lime. Mary and Paul look optimistic. Once again, however, Ryan has to start a new batch of pastry from scratch halfway in and finds himself racing against the Smeg timer. He has also managed to cover his kitchen in every conceivable utensil and foodstuff again - he even accidentally throws some flour into Brendan's kitchen and tries to clean it up by stamping it into the carpet (I bet that made Brendan purse).

Cathryn's brother lives in the States and has apparently advised her to use mucho peanut butter (I'm thinking he might've said something else, but the Skype connection beachballed at the wrong moment). She's making a Chocolate and Peanut Butter Pumpkin Pie. She dares to dream that she might be star baker this week, but knows it rests on her peanuts.

Danny also has American family and has a memory of 'disgusting' pumpkin pie, so she's attempting to make one that she actually likes, which involves some salted caramel and a fair amount of spiced rum. She's calling it Trick or Treat Pumpkin Pie. Sue points out that, while Mary loves a tipple, Paul gets angry at the taste of booze in puds – so what's her strategy? Danny seems confident Paul will like it, but maybe she's had a few shots of the rum already.

Sarah-Jane has piped the US flag in cream on the top of her Chocolate and Banana Cream Pie. It looks pretty calorietastic and she gets my first show-stopper “want”.

James is making a Sweet Potato Pie. TATTIE PIE?  Really...?  I'll admit I'm more a savoury lady on the pie front and am not a huge fan of the sweet pie concept – I prefer my cake to be CAKE – but sweet spud pie sounds the worst of both worlds?  Not convinced.

Manisha is going for a Banana Scotch Pie and the illustration looks fabulous – meringue swirls galore!  However, as Manisha lists a billion creamy ingredients which she just intends to pile on top of each other, Mary frowns and probes her on setting agents and baking techniques – her facial response to Manisha's answers can be loosely translated as “ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE”. And, of course, Mary is right.  And not only is the top a liquid mess, but Manisha's pie crust subsequently breaks. James sweetly suggests she could glue it back on with some caramel.  She rushes to make sugar Uhu.

Brendan, looking to hold on to his Ma Baker badge – and not without good reason – is making an All American Chiffon Pie, which will have red, white and blue in it. He also adds some raspberry pink - imagine the most garish of Dulux's colour charts - a less traditional flag colour, but his piping is incredibly neat and I'm seriously impressed. Yee-haw.

John is also opting for American cliché, with a Star Spangled Pecan Pie. (Helpfully, the diagram has “pecan” and an arrow pointing at the pie topping.)  It's good to finally see liberal helpings of chocolate being poured on. This episode's been high on fish products and low on cocoa – not a ratio I hope they pursue.

And then it's time for the baking to stop and the eating to start.

First to be judged is Brendan. He's done well again, with “an elegant looking”, “crispy” and “well-baked” pie.

Next, John: there's “a lot going on” (yes there is Paul - nut and excess choc gorgeousness) and “sleeve problems” (no idea), but it's a “nice idea, well executed”.

Sarah-Jane has “a little bit of weeping”, but “it's not overpowering” and “overall, it's a nice pie”.

Mary's first impression of James Shetland's pie is that “it doesn't look very appetising, if I'm going to be honest”. But, after a lingering chew shot, in which Paul and Mary look faintly constipated, Mary announces that she “rather likes it”.

Manisha offers up her gloopy pie, which looks like a classic pie-in-your-face pie (like it's been specially created for children's TV show where kids get to smash pie into teachers' and/or celebrities' faces). “It's a big mess.” whispers Manisha. “It is.” agrees Mary, not unkindly.  Paul praises the pastry, but then “it's all downhill?” offers Manisha. “Yes” replies Paul. They list the errors and it's harsh, but credit to Manisha - she takes the criticism well.

Danny's spider web décor looks good and it's “baked well underneath”, but there is too much booze in there for Paul. Even Mary says “it's strong”. Sue and Mel stay remarkably quiet.

With just Ryan to go, Cathryn brings over a lovely looking chocolate covered pie, with chopped peanuts and mini pies on the side. She gets an “ooooh” and is told “it slices beautifully”. So far so good - is the Star Baker trophy in sight?  Well, no. “I don't like that, at all.” says Paul and likens it to a pot of crunchy peanut butter “with none of the flavour”. “The taste is not very appealing.” agrees Mary. Ouch.

Finally, Ryan offers up his key lime pie and is immediately showered with compliments about the look: “absolutely lovely” and “fresh”. They eat and Paul looks up, blue eyes at their most intense. He pauses, then says “you nailed that one, Ryan, you've absolutely nailed that. That is very special”.  Does Mary agree? Oh yes. “Sheer perfection”. What a turn up. Great work Ryan!

And so the judges gather and fates are discussed. In the danger zone: Manisha (dribble cream pie), Danny (too much booze) and Sarah-Jane (exposed welly). Top of the pies: Brendan (attention to detail) and, sneaking in there last minute, Ryan with his outstanding show-stopper (“good enough on its own to put him in the running”).

So who will be the...

Star baker: RYAN! Against the odds, Ryan's “sheer perfection” is enough to win the pie-est accolade – he may have come last in the Tech Challenge, but his lime creation was SO GOOD (one of the best that Mary and Paul had ever tasted in the Bake Off) that he went from zero to hero in the wink of a pie. He seemed completely shocked and almost paralysed with emotion when he found out; incredibly touching after such a tough weekend for so many of them.

(Sadly, the camera didn't pan to Brendan giving it the cat's bum - he must have been silently raging at being so close to two-in-a-row.  But surely he's now the one to watch in the long run.)

In sadder news...

Leaving this week: well, lovely Manisha – she knew it was over when she served up runny shaving foam pie. Hugs all round and a Mel and Sue sandwich “whether you want it or not”. 

Next time: MEGA DRAMZ! Dropped cake mix, unidentified flying dough-mix and a rubber glove slowly filling with blood. (Guest starring the St John's ambulance, as John seems to have sliced his finger off. Uh oh.) 

Can't wait. 

Sue’s puns-watch:

“Give your pastry some welly.” 

Missed pun-portunity:
"And this week we have to say 'pie-pie' to Manisha”.

Episode 4 - Desserts Week

Last week: tarts. James Shetland was Star Tart and, inexplicably, PE teacher Stuart survived Head Girl Victoria.

This week: desserts. The preview promises us “a chocolate breezeblock” and what appears to be a crème brulee soup.  Stuart to go, surely, but Manisha and Ryan in the bake off danger zone.  Onwards to Task 1...

The Signature Bake: The Torte
A dessert cake with layers, filled with whatever they choose. It must be more than 20 cm in diameter.

Sue blows her starter's whistle and gives the countdown of doom, as Mary and Paul start making their rounds of terror.  First up Danny (intensive care specialist) is making her torte out of potatoes (well, potato flour – surely the same thing?).  You can tell she'll nail it.

Brendan (our older friend, who speaks like this: “yesssss”) is using chestnut flour, but that’s fine - unusual flour doesn’t faze Brendan, as he has “MANY friends who can only eat gluten-free”.  To illustrate this (roll VT) we see him offering a cake to his 'neighbour', a woman who seems to have never seen Brendan before and will only open her patio door the smallest gap that politeness and cake diameter allow.  Brendan's Bake Off torte involves clementines and verbena leaves.  Verbena is a common herbal tea in France – affectionately referred to by my cousin as ‘granny’s piss’.  I remain dubious.

Sarah-Jane (adorable rosy-cheeked vicar’s wife) is making a chocolate torte with chocolate filling, some more chocolate filling and a chocolate topping.  She’s also “bravely” adding her and hubby’s fav desert ingredient: amaretto biscuits.  Racey.   Putting biscuits in a chocolate torte may not seem that brave, but she informs us that “until now the bravest thing I’ve done is to get the train alone to Somerset.”  Although I’m able to travel by train alone (to and indeed from Somerset), but would be fairly terrified of baking amaretto biscuits, so I won't judge.

Stuart (PE teacher and controversial baker) is competitively going for seven layers of torte. What could possibly go wrong?  (EVERYTHING.)  He is wearing a purple Hawaiian shirt.  *sigh*

Ryan (our Asian baker) is going fusion - he is making a Green Tea Opera Torte.  (Yes, you read that right.)  It involves buttercream and ganache – I’m thinking to disguise the taste of GREEN TEA.  He’s already having regrets.

Obviously, during all of this Sue is dishing out (SEE, I CAN FOOD-PUN TOO, PERKINS) lots of techy baking detail about avoiding soggy bottoms and dry rot.  You won't be getting that useful insight here though, I'm afraid.  Try Wikipedia.

Back at the ovens, Cathryn (shy mum that gossips with Mel) is wearing this AMAZING red scarf with zebras on it that I completely covet – that’s the kind of detail you want, right?  Kathryn’s children are called Maisie and Ambrose.  Surprisingly, for children, they love cake.  Again, go me, with the sharp and insightful reporting that food lovers expect.

Meanwhile, John (gave up Oxford and law to go to Man-ches-tah) cocks his ear to his cake and listens, drawing on his special power to hear when his cake is done (it squeaks).  Everything he says sounds like innuendo: “I need to get my thing out the oven...” “My cream is too hot...”  And if that weren’t enough, he is wearing a very low cut v-neck, so looks naked (and slightly hairy) under his pinny.  He’s awesome.

Speaking of awesome, James Shetland is a medical student apparently - no wonder he likes potions.  However, he is not, I repeat NOT, wearing the tank top this week.  He is sporting a patterned cardi-come-jumper. Sue pops over to discuss knitwear and they bitch about Stuart’s Hawaiian shirt.

Stuart himself is now creating his bottom layer of seven out of burned sponge scraps, which will probably not please Mary.  Surely he could have just downgraded to a mere six layers?  Ryan, also sensing disaster with his herbal tea torte, is planning on getting Mary drunk first.  Wise.

Manisha is still over-feeding her dad and brothers.  This seems to be her only back story.

Time for judging – who will be Top of the Tortes?  Mary and Paul make their rounds.  Sue follows them, looking delighted and carrying her own spoon.  No Mel, temporarily absent this week – though it’s possible Sue has in fact eaten her.  (FTR, this is not a reflection on Sue's weight or figure, which are excellent, but a comment on her wonderful capacity to eat with joyful gusto.)

So, let’s get our judge on:

Ryan’s Green Tea Opera Torte is criticised for its “bitter chocolate”.  No-one mentions the tea weirdness.

James Shetland’s Hazelnut, Chocolate and Passionfruit Torte is (of course) delicious and “professional”.

Danny’s Blackberry, White Chocolate, Elderflower And Lemon Torte has amazing layers and is “quite something”.

Brendan’s Clementine and Chestnut Torte is “seventies”, but “it works”.  (Brendan claims to not remember the seventies.  “And ay cain doo modern” he implausibly asserts.)

Manisha’s Almond, Chocolate And Cherry Torte has “a lovely finish”, but it’s too boozey - even for Sue, who snorts audibly as the alcohol hits her nasal passage.

Sarah-Jane’s Chocolate and Almond Truffle Torte is “too dry”.  She successfully holds back the tears.

Cathryn’s White Chocolate, Macadamia and Coffee Torte has “gorgeously subtle flavours” and is “beautifully moist”.  She is still wearing her amazing scarf.

Stuart’s Black Forest Torte tastes ok, but looks “a mess”. (Like layers of cake mash added by trowel.)

John’s Torte Noir with Boozy Cream is the aforementioned “chocolate breezeblock”.  It can’t be “cut into elegant pieces”.  Fortunately, the flavours and bake are good.  PHEW.

Onwards!

*Interlude whilst Sue tells us about the history of sugar*

This involves a piece on the history of my hometime Bristol, which, as usual, throws up its pretty terrible past behaviour - though at least Bristol didn’t poison its inhabitants with lethal fake sugar like wot Bradford did.  To paraphrase the rest: sugar used to be crazy pricey, but thanks to William Gladstone’s famous patisserie reforms everyone can now enjoy it all the way to the diabetes clinic.  Hooray!

The Technical Challenge: Crème caramel
“The key is precision” says Mary.  Well, there’s a surprise – after all precision has never been the key before, oh no.  It seems to me that, in fact, the key is to make your crème caramel wobble like a boobie.

As usual, everyone looks terrified and clueless.  There’s much panic of what to do with their eggs – which must be why Sue diplomatically opts against the obvious “no yolk” pun.  (Also, it transpires that omitting the yolk will totally mess the whole thing up.)  As for making caramel, having heard Sue explain the process and watched the bakers try it, I still have no comprehension of how white grainy stuff turns into brown gloopy liquid.

In the final stages, James worries about whether he has time to pee and Stuart looks sulky and says “plop-a-dops”.  Lovely.

And stooooop baking!

The offering to the judges looks, in part, like an ode to salmonella.  Manisha, who decided to freeze her caramels in a last-ditch attempt to set them, has plop-a-dopped out a runny mess. So, of course, has Stuart, and they come bottom, followed by Ryan, who made “coloured water” meets “scrambled eggs”.  Surprisingly, but delightfully, it’s Brendan who has the bestest crème caramels, with “great wobble”, followed by Danny and Cathryn.

Surely Stuart can’t survive again?  Can he once again pull it back with a show stopping show stopper?

The Show Stopper Challenge: Layered Meringue Dessert
Four layers, dressed as they like.

Danny, who’s having another good week, is making ‘Monte Bianco’ Chestnut, Chocolate and Coffee Dacguoise.  Dacquoise is a meringue with nuts in, we’re told.  Mary rings the bells of doom, warning it has to be eaten within the hour or it will regenerate into a mousse and the world will end.

James Shetland, making Fig, Chestnut, Cherry and Chocolate Layered Meringue, has enough machinery on the go to take over a small nation (say, Orkney) and is fashioning an Italian meringue.  Because it is Italian, it’s seemingly proper sturdy, and Sue is allowed to stick her finger in James' mix.  As you can imagine, she is as overjoyed – it’s like an egg-based bunga bunga party.

Sarah-Jane’s meringue is Swiss (sturdiness unknown, but no sign of Sue sticking her figure in).  She’s going for a Hazelnut Tiramisu Layered Meringue.  It looks a bit wonky and gloopy – not her finest moment.

Stuart’s last hoorah (surely?) is a Choca Blocka Mocha Meringue.  A mere six layers this time and simultaneously crispy, crunchy and chewy.  Riiight...  Paul and Mary are deeply unimpressed.  Mary, sarcasto-meter turned up to 11, says “in the end, I think it will be a huge surprise for you and for us.”  Ouch.  He decides to get a blow torch out – I was worried for a second, but it’s just to decorate his dessert.

It’s a Strawberry, Rose and Pistachio Meringue from Ryan – he’s basically attempting a meringue tower, with a mousse roof.  Trouble is, one of his meringue layers collapses and his replacement top floor ends up being bigger than the bottom floors, which, architecturally speaking, is probably not in line with the relevant health and safety regulations.  Nor it seems is the state of his kitchen – every inch of surface and floor space is covered with a sticky bowl.  “It’s a mess in here!” says Paul.  That may well be the case, but it’s fair to say that Ryan is too busy being massively stressed to start cleaning.

Brendan, in line for a turn on the Dessert Throne this week, is making a rectangular Pear, Chocolate and Hazelnut Daquoise.  In one of my favourite exchanges of the evening, Sue asks Brendan if he’s going for “disco or glam rock”?  He curtly replies that “I’m going for classical elegance, actually.”  Natch.  Although apparently, in Brendan’s mind, ‘classical elegance’ is best embodied by making what looks like a chocolate Viennetta.

Meringue takes at least an hour to bake, but Cathryn seems to have spent much of her time chopping gooseberries.  However, she’s not fazed by that at all, even under interrogation from Paul - and given her confidence issues, that has got to be a good sign, although she does suggest that sometimes her Gooseberry, Almond and Honey Meringue often ends up “slightly monstrous” – way to lower those expectations.  Scarf is still excellent.

Manisha has basically squeezed out a load of shaving foam to create her top layer (this is not a criticism) and is using “Tia Maria cream, Kahlua cream, chocolate cream and Chantilly cream” between the layers.  She calls it Tiramisu Layered Meringue Booze Heart Attack. Sorry, Tiramisu Layered Meringue Dessert.  It looks, as us evil Bristolians say, gert lush.

John is still having a mare and has to suddenly interrupt his own Blue Peter-style explanation about what he’s doing to actually, you know, do it.  He’s making an Elderflower and Bramble Berry Pavlova, which looks like a big pile of macaroons.  It ends up leaning, Tower of Pisa stylee.  I’m worried gravity will intervene before judging.

And so, to judging itself!  Mary and Paul arm up and get slicing.

Ryan’s has “too much going on”.  Flavour is ok, but “the textures don’t work”.  It’s “off-kilter”.  Uh-oh.

James Shetland’s is “awkward” to cut.  Paul doesn’t like it”, on account the multiple flavours, but Mary doesn’t dislike it” and compares it to a giant fruit salad.

Danny’s “looks fun when you cut through”, but “feels stodgy” and lacks crispness.

After a tense cutting process, Brendan’s is judged “lovely and really nice”.  High praise.

John (looking like he’s about to cry) also has a tense wait.  But joy, as Paul says “ooh, I like it actually” and Mary thinks it “well done”.

Cathryn has offered up “a nice gooseberry sponge”, but Paul is “struggling to find the meringue”.

Sarah-Jane has over-chocolated, but at least it reminds Mary of Tiramisu.

Manisha has made “a crowning glory” with “good piping work”. Mary drums the top with her spoon, delighted by the crispness. And then they eat and... Paul doesn’t like it. The “meringue texture is excellent”, but it’s “too bitter”. Mary disagrees – “it’s plenty sweet enough for me”.

As we turn to Stuart’s dessert, Mary’s face is bitter-lemon-tastic.  She summons up her best headmistress: “Stuart, you imagined this as your show stopper?” (It looks like a blow-torched wedding cake base.)  He’s admonished for lack of decoration by them both.  Paul says “you could wedge a door open with that” and Mary follows it up with “I wouldn’t know there was any meringue in there” – by Bake Off standards, this is a total mauling.

It’s fairly obvious what will follow, right?  We don’t need to see their discussions and go straight to the results...

Star baker:
“He showed an awful lot of flair, and of course flares were popular in the 1970s,  the decade from which the great man Brendan takes his inspiration.”  Classic Perkins.  Well done Brendan!

Leaving this week:
No drum roll needed, eh?  It’s Stuart.  He says it was “his time” (though I would argue his time was actually a few weeks back) and then worries about being bullied by his pupils.  Still, we shouldn’t forget that he did bake magnificently – just intermittently.

Next time:
PIES!  And the return of Mel.  How will our bakers fare with reconstituted meat products amongst their usual sweet stuff?  Well, some-one has “ABSOLUTELY NAILED THAT” and has baked “sheer perfection.”  Wowsers.

Sue’s puns-watch
“You know how we roll.”
“Half an hour to go, you’d better scramble.”
“James, stop polishing your figs.” (Less pun, more innuendo, but bloody hilarious.)

Missed pun-portunity:
“Meringue ma lord.”