2013 Mini blog. Week 3 - Desserts

Bye bye bye bye: Kitchen Fitter Mark and Dentist/Thief Deborah.  Mark was generally a bit rubbish really.  Thieving aside, (more on that later, viewers) Deborah's rose-flavoured petits fours were just too bright and garishly red - according to the judge in the NEON LIME blazer.
 
Ma Baker: Christine! For continuing her eighties crusade with a pina colada-inspired dessert. The moral of that story: always feed Mary Berry a booze trifle.

Living up to glorious middle-class stereotype: Mark may have his own free range chickens, but Frances based her petits fours on a Tchaikovsky ballet, so...

CUSTARDGATE: Oh. What. Dramz. No blue plasters in the offing, but something FAR MORE SHOCKING occurred in the tent.  ACTUAL THEFT!  Yes indeed - Howard's fridge area was scandalously burglarised.  The way Deborah tells it, she 'accidentally' took Howard's custard from the fridge because she 'forgot' which bowl she'd used.  Yeah yeah.  Though, to be fair, her mortification looked entirely genuine – especially when Howard’s custard was deemed far superior.  As for Howard, he just took it in his stride (he is, after all, a keen jogger), much like when he got his muffin elbowed.  What a guy.

Upshot: The whole thing led to the worst (best) baking pun of all time: “Will Deborah be taken into CUSTARDY?”  100% worth it.

Baking craving: Howard's cheese petit fours with the onion rings on top. I jest. I'll have Glenn's technical challenge winning île flottante please.

Giedroyc's Food History: She ate a jellied pig's trotter. Without gagging.

Bake Off Innuendo: was BACK!  References to rude sounding things all over the shop: soggy lady fingers, Howard getting stiff and, best of all, Ali pointing out “Beca's big ones”.

Next week: Pie Aye!

2013 Mini blog. Week 2 - Bread

Bye bye: YOU DIDN'T HEED THE WARNING, LUCY!  And lo, it was inevitable. Even Sue joined Paul and Mary in gently suggesting that spending four hours on a simple round loaf with tomatoes plonked on top might not quite stop the show or seal the deal, but Lucy plowed on – her tomato and garlic bread looked tasty enough, but not a twirl, plait or animal shape in sight.  Booooring.

Ma baker: Ruby Ruby Ruby! Looking ever shell-shocked in her hipster grandad cardigan. Cue a few bitchy cutaway shots of Kimberley, as she tried her best to look rilly rilly pleased for her new pal Rubes, whilst internally monologuing: 'This is an outrage! I made a blimmin' Middle East Crisis solving peacebread! How's a doughy peacock going to deal with the UN's issues? That's it! Sod this effortless poise and total control, next week I'm busting out the sympathy-inducing stress tears and some effing edible sparkles.'

Living up to glorious middle-class stereotype: Lucy will take Rob's mushroom-foraging and Howard's watercolours-by-the-lake and raise you 'growing her own yeast using an apple from her garden'. Hang on... She grew her own whaaa?! From a whaaa?! Wowsers. Time to step up, bakers. That's one middle-class legacy to live up to.

Baking craving: Pretty much all the showstoppers. Yes, even Ali's chocolate and tikka ying and yang loaf. Tikka – yum, chocolate – yum. What's not to like?  And let's not forget Frances' matchsticks/breadsticks, complete with cardboard matchbox and blowtorched chocolate matchheads. Flavour schmavour – they looked brilliant.

Perkins' food history: Muffin men were a real thing – loud wacky characters who wandered the streets trying garner attention and money. Basically, the chuggers of their day, until the police were invented and ASBOed the lot of them for excessive bell ringing.

Blue plaster alert: Injury free this week, but quite a few breadsticks dropped on the floor. I get the feeling you can't apply the three second rule when you're on camera.

Mel and Sue-watch: Not their most supportive of weeks, as Mel tried to kill Rob with a laser whilst Sue took an elbow to Howard's muffin. Oh, on that note - more baking innuendo please. My Nice Buns Bingo Card is looking a bit empty.

Next week: Just Desserts. Trifles, floating islands and petit fours (apart from Glenn who is planning ENORME ones).

2013 Mini blog. Week 1.

Bye bye: Lovely lovely Dylan Moran-alike Toby. *sigh*  Using salt in the technical challenge was one thing, but, for Paul and Mary, over-baking his choc cake was a mess up too far.  Toby just about held back the tears, but it was still very upsetting, especially when he threatened to quit baking.  (Before he remembered the upside of baking: CAKE.)

Ma Baker: Space engineer Rob – a mild man who gave but a brief smile of acknowledgement at the Star Baker announcement.  However, it was clear that, on the inside, he was performing a full-on Brazilian samba of victory complete with feather headdress and bejeweled party outfit.

Living up to glorious middle-class stereotype: Lucy was inspired by cardamom after a trip to Injyah and grows her own rhubarb.  Of course she was/does.  However, she also turned out to be rather cool and looks bloody excellent in a denim jacket, so not quite the GROLIE I'd feared. Yay!

Special mention: Glenn’s husband. BOOM. #equalmarriage

Baking craving: a fairly disappointing selection perhaps – a lack of general finesse and too many messily decorated giant cakes for me. (Though, can a cake ever be too big?) Time, pressure and over-ambition got to them.  I have to confess that I did like the look of Christine's hat though.  I'm now hoping for an eighties revival this season - let Brendan's legacy of dated cakes live on.  Maybe some marzipan shoulder pads and a giant mobile phone made of butter-iced sponge.

Mel is the BEST: more than happy to re-enact the ghost pottery scene with Toby – “front or back, I’m easy” - before adding some hazelnut testicles to Frances' squirrel (not a euphemism).

Blue plaster alert: TOTAL CARNAGE. Fingers and thumbs strewn all over the tent.

Next week: Bread.  Inevitable plaiting tangles and Hollywood scornballs.

Episode 8 – Biscuit Week

Last week: Double jammy, as Sarah-Jane and Ryan had to say goodbye to the bake-off tent of sweet dough.  James didn't wear patterned wool (!!!) and Danny got top dog, though Brendan was right there snapping at her Star Baker Converse heels.

 

This week: Biscuits!

 

“Expect the unexpected and scream if you want to go faster, it's the rollercoaster that is the Great British Bake Off” quoth Mel, whilst Sue put her paws up like a meerkat, which I think was her attempt at pretending like she was at Alton Towers.  Anyway, let's get CRACKING! (Cracking?!  Cause biscuits crack!  Geddit?  NB: you can expect A LOT of this.)

 

Signature bake: 48 Crackers or Crispbreads

La Giedroyc sets the scene: “They can be leavened or unleavened but they must be thin and crack in two - a bit like Nicole Kidman.”  Mel, you iz wikked.  The main problem will be uniformity and producing that many identical biccies outside of a McVities factory.  Also tricky will be getting a snap noise that is music to Paul's ears.  He threatens to crack every one of the 240 biscuits to make sure they are ALL perfect.  I wouldn’t put it past him.

 

James is going leavened (i.e., yeasty) for his Smoky Cayenne, Cumin and Chilli Crackers - 'crackers' may well be the word, as that is a whole lot of spice going on.  It's my duty to report that James is once again knitwear free, but – as will become a key concern later - it's finally that one day of summer we had this year and it is therefore very, very HAWT in that tent, so I think we can forgive the tanktop being left in the suitcase.  Besides, James is wearing something arguably better than an Argyle jumper – SHORTS!  The Shetland legs are OUT!  Indeed, he's feeling frisky enough to flirt with Paul about the thinness of his pastry.  Bare legs and homoerotism!  It’s almost too much!  (It isn’t.)

 

Not to be outdone, John has also donned shorts and upped the fashion ante with what appears to be a newly pierced nose stud.  He's making Asian Spice Crackers, which involves repeatedly stabbing his pastry “like Woody Woodpecker”.  As he forks his pastry (ooh-err), he tells us that “when you prick it, you can feel if it's thicker in one part or another”.  Surely, that’s Johnuendo Bingo?  He also wants to avoid making a flying saucer.  I hope he only means in baking terms.

 

Brendan doesn't really 'do' crackers, unless he's throwing “a gathering with a buffet”, which I think means that he might deign to make a few crackers for that rude patio neighbour who refuses his towering blancmange cakes of joy.  As Brendan uses a tape-measure to determine the exact surface area of each one of his Multi-Seed Savoury Crackers, he tells us that “I bring precision to everything I do” and gives the example of his gardening – yegads, I would love to see what Brendan’s landscaping skills have produced (maybe patio neighbour is supremely jealous and that's why she spurns his cakes).  Paul wonders how Brendan's going to get the uncooked crackers off the table without losing some of the size and shape, as “a pallet knife will distort the diamond”.  Brendan's face falls – he looks like a small child who's just twigged that depositing a poo inside the toybox wasn't such a wise idea after all.

 

Cathryn's Cheese and Pickle Crackers are Ploughman's inspired.  Mary warns her that she needs super thin cheese or she'll end up making Cheese and Pickle Cookies, which sounds rather less appetising.

 

Danny thinks she’s going to struggle to make 48 biscuits, as her usual tactic for making Spiced Almond Drinks Crackers involves her scoffing every other one that comes out the oven – good girl.  She's putting a South Africa spice called Ras El Hanout in, which sounds VERY EXCITING, so I'm sure the judges will love it, but she threatens to counter the effects by admitting she's also using desiccated parmesan from a can, rather than the fresh stuff.  Her first line of defence is that she’s “taking inspiration from Brendan and the seventies” - Brendan responds with the type of glare he usually reserves for Sue - and that having gone down like a soggy bottom, she changes tack and babbles a little about how real parmesan doesn't work, even though she’s tried and tried in a whole range of ways.  Mary tries to mask her look of horror, Paul shrugs and says “it's your choice”, by which he means “it's your funeral”.

 

The biscuit baking is a bit of a minefield – mere minutes make the difference between perfect crackers and burn baby burn.  Most bakers stick to one oven shelf and run batch after batch, to ensure a consistent temperature.  Not James though - he's whammed them all in at once; sure, he ends up with a range of colours and crispiness, but it’s his 21st birthday and he’s in a fab mood, so doesn't seem to be too worried.  He happily shows us a burnt and twisted cracker that “looks like a mouse”.  (Possibly Fingermouse, in a certain light?  Perhaps he's been at the whisky cubes again.)

 

Cathryn is yakking with Mel whilst making up her final batch when she suddenly remembers she should have taken her penultimate tray out.  Panic ahoy!  Her biccies are, of course, fairly burnt.  “Heavens to Betsy, what am I doing?” she cries in a classic bout of mum swearing.  Little Alphonse isn't here now, Cathryn - you can totally say “**** ****ing **** you total ****ing ****** piece of ******** *****, for ***** ****.  ****!!!!”  It will probably be mildly more therapeutic, if less broadcastable.

 

The tinkly music of judging doom plays and the camera pans round to each baker standing by their crackers looking pensive.  Over to Mary and Paul for the breakdown.  (I so need a portmanteau for these two.  Hollyberry?  Berrywood?  So basically, my options both sound like archetypal country cottage names.  Heavens to Betsy – is there anything un-middle-class about this show?)

 

Brendan's crackers are “beautifully even”, have a “nice break” and “are all equal”.  The seasoning is “just right”.  All in all “really scrummy.”

 

Danny's have a good crack and consistency and “an interesting colour”, making them “so inviting”.  At first taste, Mary finds them a bit bland and salty, but then discovers “a fiery flavour”.  Paul thinks she has over-salted: “it has tipped them over”.

 

Mary finds James' crackers “beautiful, wafer thin and full of flavour”.  Paul concedes they “just about” crack, although he notes that consistency is an issue, destroying James' neatly arranged cracker pile and delving in to find the slightly-less-perfect Fingermice hidden under the lovely top layer.

 

Over to Cathryn's self-declared “car-crash crackers”.  She tells the judges she's “really sorry and embarrassed” about her batch – which is also two crackers short of the requisite Bake Off criterion.  Paul admits they “don't look very good” (Cathryn interrupts by calling them “shocking”), because “they’re thick and thin, with irregular colours”.  On a positive note, Paul finds a “lovely crack” on some and says they have “great flavour”, but he also demonstrates that there's at least one he can bend to a curve and he's clearly very disappointed by the poor execution.

 

Finally, John offers up some darker crackers, but generally “it's breaking well” for Paul.  Mary thinks they are “lovely and crisp, with a hint of curry” although there is a bitterness in the few that are under-baked.  Paul wishes they were bigger, Mary points out he could just have twice as many.

 

Foodistory #1: Aberffraw biscuits.

Well, they tried to sex them up with some historical facts about mysterious origins, St James and Santiago di Compostela, but aberffraw biscuits are just Welsh shortbread shaped like a scallop shell.  Don't me wrong - they look delicious, but I think this package was mainly an excuse for the production team to take a trip to Anglesea to stalk Prince William.

 

The Technical Challenge: Six chocolate tea cakes.

Tea cakes, Tunnock's style.  MOTHER OF YUM! Three stages of goodness, three potential pitfalls: digestive biscuit base, layer of marshmallow, all topped with a chocolate dome.  Major problem – they have to make it in 30 degree tent heat, so setting the choc will be tough.  Or “hell, on a plate” John predicts in his usual undramatic way. 

 

Also, controversially, not technically a biscuit.

 

Obviously the ones on Paul's platter look bloody amazing – shiny enough to reflect the cameras and monitors.  Because of the heat, Mary warns Paul that he's going to have to be “really, really kind” to the bakers come judging.  He screws up his face in such a way that suggests he really, really doesn't want to, but really, really knows not to cross the Berry on this one.  He has however managed to be really really mean with the recipe – typically short on useful information like, say, how to make tea cakes.

 

“Brendan's just a machine, look at him go” observes John, with a hint of sadness, as they all get going on the digestive front.  Biccie base prepped, it's over to the chocolate.  They have to heat the choc to 45 degrees, then rapidly cool it to 32 degrees, but the tent temp is 35 degrees, so, well, you do the math.   The correct answer can only be 'fridge', even though that runs the risk of matt tea cakes, rather than the chocolate glossiness Paul is expecting.

 

On the plus side, at least they don't have to shape their own tea cakes, as they've been given moulds, which look like three pairs of perky red boobs – John's looking very dubiously at the six mounds in front of him, but it turns out that’s because he’s having chocolate setting troubles.

 

As for the marshmallow, John thinks that everyone is finding it tricky, then reflects he's not heard from Brendan and “that guy can do anything”.  Turns out Brendan is typically enjoying his “first encounter with marshmallow” and thinks his attempt looks rather nice. 

 

The judging hour approaches and Cathryn, the only one who opted not to use the fridge, is having mare #2.  Her chocolate just hasn't set and a freezer rush job may not prove fast enough (as anyone who has ever brought warm corner shop beer to a party and is desperate to start drinking well knows).  Everyone is merrily and satisfyingly popping out their tea cakes, but Cathryn's just aren't ready and are sticking to the red mould.  She goes into meltdown and cries “I don't know what to do!”   This (rudely) interrupts Mel and Sue from stuffing their faces with John's leftover choc and a surprised Mel asks “What the HECK?” – for once, she’s less than keen to put down the chocolate and get back to soothing stressed bakers.  Sue quickly rushes over to help; she assesses the situation and offers the only advice she can: “Fridge and pray. Fridge and pray”.

 

Time's nearly up.  Cathryn is clutching the door of her fridge in denial and desperation.  Sue gently coaxes her down and gets her to de-mould her tea cakes.  They aren't great, with a lot of choc sticking to the mould.  Poor lovely Cathryn.  James gives her a proper manhug.  A nation swoons.

 

Hollyberry inspect the spoils. They're in his'n'hers shirts tucked into jeans today – Paul in blue, Mary in hot pink.  Paul, heeding Mary's earlier words that he'd better be nice or else, says that it's generally a good effort, given the heat, but they can't ignore that Cathryn's domes are terrible, and she takes bottom. Danny is fourth, due to problematic marshmallow; John's meringue is a little liquidy so he comes third; Brendan's rocky bases means he's second, although he did get “the best shine”, which means our James is first again.  Paul says he's “ticked all the boxes”.  James beams.

 

Short interlude whilst Sue wishes James a happy 21^st birthday by telling him he can now “become an MEP or go to adult prison - your choice.”

 

Show-stopper: Gingerbread structure

Not a mere gingerbread house, oh no!  They've been tasked to Go Big this time - a full-on tourist attraction or something brash and palatial; the kind of building a nouveau-riche Borrower might fancy or that a teeny tiny Kevin McCloud would enjoy slagging off.  But out of gingerbread.

 

Cathryn is making a Gingerbread Buckingham Palace, flavoured with chocolate and orange.  Mary gives her a motivational pep-talk: “you're upbeat about this and it's going to be good”.  Yay - go Berry!  And come on Cathryn – I want to see that zebra scarf again. 

 

Danny is also taking inspiration from London Town for her two foot tall Gingerbread Big Ben, with cinnamon and pomegranate molasses.  I wonder if she'll also make a furious gingerbread Londoner angrily knocking slow-moving gingerbread tourists out of her way as she tries to get into or out of the tube, which is not a suggestion based in any way on my own personal experience of walking around the Westminster area.  Ahem.

 

Most bakers have drawn out their templates, but John, quite rightly, got his graphic-designer-who-works-for-an-architect boyf to print out the shapes for his Gingerbread Roman Coliseum, with peanut praline gravel.  (Mmmmm.  Bet you never thought you'd crave delicious gravel?)  There are over a hundred pieces in his Italian construction and the flavour is going to have some fiery ginger in it, to reflect the fighting heritage of the original structure.  (Symbolism. Like it.)  Mel wishes him good luck in latin, which is apparently “Brian Fortuna”.

 

On a seemingly slightly less grandiose note than building a gingerbread palace, tower or amphitheatre, James is making a Gingerbread Barn.  But this is James we're talking about, so there's no shortage of ambition – he's designed a full on gingerbread foundation and structural framework, including a roof with cake for cladding.

 

I did wonder if Brendan would stick with his usual theme and make a 1970s Gingerbread Housing Estate – personally, I was gunning for a Gingerbread Heygate Estate in Elephant and Castle, which Wikipedia kindly describes as “neo-brutalist architectural aesthetic of tall,concrete blocks dwarfing smaller blocks, surrounding central communal gardens”. Imagine that in gingerbread!  Anyway, although I'm sure he toyed with the idea, Brendan ultimately opted for something a little more romantic – ladies and gentleman, I present to you Brendan’s Fantasy Gingerbread Bird House, with green desiccated coconut lawn, Shredded Wheat thatched roof and a fondant icing bird pool complete with birds.  HELL TO THE YES.

 

Foodistory #2: Gingerbread

Gingerbread was the lovehearts of its day, as knights would give it as a love token to ladies before jousting, and before, you know... *jousting*.  Intricate gingerbread people were also given as a gift at Dutch weddings back in the day, presumably by those who got to the list late and whose only other choice was to get the matching John Lewis towel set.

 

Back to the baking, and James is munching on gingerbread, which is an ideal time to quote an instructive article from the Shetland Times which firstly lets us know that we could have stalked James at Lerwick’s Peerie Shop Cafe this summer (dammit!) and then adds that James “gained two stone over the series” - as he talks to camera with his mouth full of ginger, we get a sense of why.  But don't fear for fatty James!  He's subsequently quoted as saying “As soon as it all finished, I went with my girlfriend on a tandem bike to France to cycle for two weeks.”  James + girlfriend on a tandem?!  Too.  Many.  Emotions! 

 

Brendan's just announced that his Fantasy Bird House is going to be placed in a “cute Walt Disney setting, with lots of flowering clemantis all over it, climbing up the sides and across the roof, with two blue birds out of icing”.  Words are not needed.  Mel predicts that “knowing Brendan” the birds will be tweeting on the hour.  She gets a beaming smile for not being Sue, and Brendan adds that the male blue bird will have a cock's comb and, as the female doesn't, he's decided to give her mascara.  They look exactly like blue Pingus.  This is not a criticism.

 

Cathryn is having timing issues, so she's had to downsize and make a lesser palace.  James is also lacking time, so has decided to cut some barn bits too, especially as his caramel isn't soft enough, so he's also low on mortar.  Argh!   As James stuffs and wedges cake into the cracks with his bare hands, Sue observes that “the barn has changed from the original plans submitted”. “It's a derelict barn” announces James, improvising by adding spun sugar spider webs. 

 

John too is going with the deliberately dilapidated tactic, deciding his Coliseum isn't as neat as he'd have liked, but that's ok as “it is an old building”.  (Both look pretty fantastic to me.) 

 

Over the other side, Danny's got a crack in her clock tower and whilst her Big Ben is recognisable, I can’t help but agree with her (gritted teeth) assessment that “it's certainly not the standard of Brendan's beauteous edifice over there”.  We cut to Brendan dabbing icing blobs on his gate posts and piping out his clematis.  He's placed a heart around the Fantasy Bird Entrance and placed the pingus in a basket, hugging.  OTT?  Oh yes. It's brilliant.

 

Gingerdread Time, as the judges step up to inspect the Bake Off RIBA.

 

Paul says John's Coliseum is “pretty good, to be honest”, with a twinkle in his eye that makes it clear he's dealing in understatement for once.  “Nooooo, the sacking of Rome” cries Sue, as Paul snaps a piece off the top.  Mary thinks “it's a magnificent creation” and calls it “spectacular”, although the flavour of the ginger isn't quite coming through strongly enough for her.  Paul congratulates John on having lifted his game.

 

Next up, Brendan's fantasy world of gingerbread twee.  It's a bit much for Paul (WHAT?!?! GEDDOUT OF HERE!) and, inexplicably, Mary is disappointed by the breakfast cereal roof.  (HELLO!? It looks AWESOME.)  Mary says “it's a very crisp gingerbread”, but “it's probably a bit too spicy” for Paul. 

 

The judges gloss over the appearance of Danny's slightly child-drawing-like Big Ben, although they make kind noises about how it's not falling down, Pisa-style.  (I would have *loved* to see a Ginger Pisa.)  It's an “interesting flavour”, but the biscuit is softening as they chew which makes it more cookie-like.  Mary likes that, but it wasn't the brief.

 

“There is no doubt that this is Buckingham Palace” says Mary when she sees Cathryn's show-stopper – and it doesn't look half bad. Paul isn't happy with the mix of chocolate, ginger and orange - “it needs to pick one flavour and run with it, but Mary does like the mix.  “Thank you Mary” says Cathryn, pointedly.

 

Paul says he thought James' barn was supposed to be finished. James, trying not to laugh, denies this vehemently and calls it “modern art”.   Either way Paul's impressed by both the structure and the taste: “the ginger is superb”.  Mary loves the cake too and says she wants to eat the whole barn.  “I wonder how many of the others we would enjoy eating to the last crumb?” she adds.  Ouch!  That is one rhetorical meow! (She's totally talking about Brendan's shredded wheat roof, right?).

 

The deliberations are brief – Berrywood already know who they are sending home this week – not that they look happy about it. 

 

So let's see how the cookie crumbles...

 

Star baker: even though Mel notes that he didn't use whisky this week, it's “barnstormer, birthday boy”, knit-wear and tandem ride loving James.

 

Leaving this week: They all did their best to draw out the suspense, but Cathryn had a dire week and at this stage that makes all the difference.  She knows it's coming and tries to hold back the tears during the dramatic silence before the announcement, but she barely manages, and nor does anyone else – weeping ahoy, as everyone's very sad to see her go.   She still thinks the Bake Off is “the best thing ever” and sweetly describes how happy her little boy will be to have her home.

 

Next time: Petit fours!  Crème pâtissière!  Ooh la la!  Vive la France!  C'est la semaine de la pâtisserie!

 

Sue's puns-watch:

Sue AND Mel were hurling puns like nobody's business today – CRACKING work ladies.

“It's crunch time!”

“Are they gonna snap?”

“Are they feeling brittle?”

“Will they crumble?”

“You've got one hour to go, so you'd better crack on.”

Etc

Etc

 

Missed pun-portunity:

Surely at least *one* of the bakers could have been 'GINGERLY' putting their construction together?  I was also hoping Mary would disagree with Paul at some point during the biscuit judging and shout "ARE YOU ON CRACK, HOLLYWOOD?!?"  Sadly, it was not to be.

 

One last highlight:

I can’t ignore Sue making punny reference to one of my other great TV, nay CULTURAL, loves: “Last week, we saw tighter buns than the Eurovision Song Contest”.   Excellent cross-referencing, Ms Perkins.  I'm not quite sure how best to combine Bake-Off with Eurovij (perhaps Mary and Paul could award each baker up to “douze points” in an incomprehensible foreign accent and the winner could be more or less determined by best hot pants and/or regional block votes), but let's hope the developers are working hard on the concept as we speak.

Episode 7 – Sweet Dough Week

Last week: Holby City in the Bake Off tent as Johnuendo was attacked by a magi-mix and then they all lived happily ever after for a week because no-one got culled. Hilariously, whilst everyone else hugged it out with joyful relief, Brendan’s face was completely impassive when it was announced that no-one was leaving. I’ll generously say it’s because he was too busy floating on Star Baker Cloud Nine.

This week: bun fun. Mary is wearing (what looks like) a garish multi-coloured shell suit jacket. It’s actually floral, which I understand is bang on trend, although perhaps not in shiny tracksuit form. I predict Brendan will use it as inspiration for his show-stopper.

Thundercats... Dough!

Signature bake: Twenty-four buns

Sue lists a whole load of bun types they might want to make, including Chelsea, Bath and “Mary Berry’s hot buns” - Sarah-Jane promptly smirks and John supportively raises an eyebrow. (I think we can expect a lot of this.) Smut aside, it’s all about yeasty dough and 'proving' this week – which is just a quick way of saying ‘shoving your dough in a cupboard and waiting several hours for to rise’. Everyone gets stuck in to the dough, quite literally, as their fingers and hands are immediately covered in a fairly yucky porridge paste. I’m particularly worried about Ryan’s glasses - how will he be able to push them up his nose if his fingers are all doughy?

As we start our tour of the kitchens, we get another glimpse into Brendan World – this time we're transported to his living room, where he’s serving something tarty to a room full of delighted guests. (I imagine them gossiping about how dashing Brendan's man is and bitching about that neighbour that would barely open her patio to him.)

Back in the tent, we discover that Brendan's making Chelsea Bunskis, a name he made up because of the Eastern European influence that comes from including Polish poppy seeds. Mel, whose dad is Polish-Lithuanian (thank you Wikipedia), says he could call them “bunkoviets”, as poppy seed cakes are called ‘mucoviets’. Brendan looks tickled and says “you must show me how to spell it and that’s what we’ll call them” - I think it’s fair to say that this is not how he would have reacted to Sue making the same suggestion. Doughski doneski, Brendan pours out steaming, ground up poppy seed on to a tray and starts patting it with a spatula - it looks like hot soil and about as appetising. However, Cathryn comes over for a sniff and whispers “ooooh, I like that”.

Danny, going for Bakewell Chelsea Buns, is sporting new turquoise Converse daps this week, after her royal blue ones got covered in fondant cake poo. Meanwhile, James Shetland is making Easter Chelsea Buns, which are essentially hot cross buns made of wholemeal flour and cider. YES, CIDER!!! Less excitingly, James is knitwear-free.  I fear the worst – this can only have a Samson-like, negative effect on his cooking abilities.

John is carefully checking off a recipe list for his Chelsea and Almond Saffron Buns, so *evidently* he’s going to forget a key ingredient come baking (turns out it’s only the bloody almond). As he puts them in the oven he wishes them “Good luck, little buns, good luck”, which is adorable. Sadly good luck is not on his buns' side, as he decides “they look awful” when he takes them out. Staring at them doesn't help - “What is WRONG with them?” he despairs. (And this is before he realises the lack of almond.)

Over the other side, Paul asks Cathryn “tell us about your buns please?” (snarff snarff). The surprising answer is “they’re called Lady Arundell Manchet Buns”. However, Paul, who is very familiar with Lady Arundell’s buns, promptly steals the only fact Cathryn knew about them, which is that they’re from the fifteenth century. Turns out Lady Arundell’s buns are also good and sturdy - Cathryn drops a few as they come out of the oven, but they basically bounce back off the carpet. “They’re robust!” she’s relieved to note.

Ryan is once again rushing last minute in order to finish his Lardy Cakes in time. Making lardy cakes involves stuffing serious amounts of lard into the dough, folding, then restuffing more lard in, folding, restuffing more lard in, folding and restuffing etc etc etc. His glasses are dough-free, but also dangling on the edge of his nose, so he probably just hasn’t pushed them up for the past few hours. (HOW CAN HE COPE? IT WOULD DO MY FACE IN!!)

Finally, we learn that Sarah-Jane is making Orange and Nutmeg Cornish Saffron Buns, which she tells us should be “perfectly domed shiny orange buns”. Argh, don’t tempt fate SJ - even though she’s probably the weakest left, I’m gunning for her to do well, even if it’s just to finish on a high.

Interestingly, her chosen bake is the subject of this week’s food history bumpf – will that be a good omen?

Foodistory #1: Cornish Saffron Buns

Turns out that Saffron Buns were invented by the Cornish Methodists to bribe the locals into not drinking themselves into a stupor on their days off. As the power of buns alone was not sufficient to stop alcoholism, they also launched a special teetotal day, called the Cornish Tea Treat, where booze was swapped for sugar and mucho bun fun, and they had a procession to celebrate how Jesus and his disciples just couldn’t get enough saffron bun goodness. (That last part might not be 100% correct.)

But enough about Jesus’ buns, let’s get to judging.

Paul says Cathryn’s “look pretty good” (they look like hamburgers to me – which I’m not saying isn’t ‘pretty good’), are “the right size” and “all different colours”. However her “bottoms are quite tight” (ahem) and Mary wanted even more cream (easy now). Paul also thinks some of them are burned, which Cathryn finds a bit harsh.

John thinks he’s underproved, but Paul tells him “the structure looks alright”. However, the taste is found bland. Mary asks him if he put almond extract in and the penny drops; “I forgot” he admits. Unsmiley face.

Danny’s made huge buns - “for good appetites” says Mary, who is wide-eyed and keen to tuck in. “Sheer heaven to eat” she adds. “They look great” agrees Paul. “Great buns, Danny” says Sue.

Paul takes a bite of Ryan’s lardy cake and emits a low groan, before producing a throaty chuckle, holding up the cake and saying ...... *dramatic pause* ........ “THAT is a good texture. It’s excellent. I can’t argue with the bake on that.” Mary also throws in some compliments, but the camera stays on Paul stuffing his face. “They taste great” he declares and shakes Ryan’s hand. “Well done, Ryan, well done. They are very, very good.” Praise indeed.

James’ buns come undone – Paul helpfully tells him “the filling doesn’t bind” and it’s a bit “crusty”. Mary loves the flavour though.

Sarah-Jane’s buns are “dainty”, but sadly, Paul tells her they are underproved. Mary finds them “a bit dry and a bit lacking in flavour” which is a right old shame for our Sarah-Jane, who puts her usual smiley brave face on.

The structure inside Brendan’s bunskis is “very even” and “holding together”. More praise for the taste and texture - “really lovely and soft and totally original”. “Congratulationski” says Sue, and Brendan gives off what may or may not be a forced laugh. (Oh, they love each other really.)

Judging done, we see a lovely, but wholly random shot of a massive ewe looking indignant. I’m immediately reminded of Wellington week.

Ryan, who has done oh so well, looks shell-shocked, but that’s probably because he knows the score by now – the technical challenge is NOT HIS FRIEND. And it’s a toughie. Again.

The Technical Challenge: Jam doughnuts

John immediately rolls his eyes and Sarah-Jane does the giggle of denial. Mel explains that the judges want consistency of size, colour and jam distribution.

We’re informed that doughnuts originated in Holland where they were called “oliekoek”, which means ‘oily cake’ (which totally backs up my theory that Dutch is a perfect mix of English words with a comedy accent and German that’s been recorded and played backwards). Oily cake sounds pretty disgusting but I can image that it would nonetheless appeal to someone in a ‘relaxed’ state of mind with a severe case of the munchies.

Paul reveals his platter of perfect doughnuts and Mary calls them “absolute whoppers”. Paul then explains how unless a precise series of exacting circumstances are perfectly re-created in their entirety, they’ll fuck it up.

Everyone looks confused by the doughnut process, bar James who reveals he has made them many many times before – how better to combat a dark windy Shetland night than by making an army of doughnuts? He does, however, recognise that he’s at an unfair advantage and reflects on how it will be embarrassing if he doesn’t make really good ‘uns.

Ryan, who confesses he is also experienced - in doughnut eating - is implementing PMA as he concedes that at least this time he knows what the end product should look like. The others just look peeved and it’s certainly true that the kneading process looks particularly frustrating – Cathryn, covered in the stuff, surmises that it’s like kneading a big ball of chewing gum. Ugh.

John, I’ve just noticed, is wearing welly boots indoors. Perhaps he's still scared of the magi-mix.

Foodistory #2: Doughnut dollies

In 1942, homesick US soldiers based in the UK were cheered up by the so-called Doughnut Dollies; namely, pretty charmers who served up doughnut and flirting at the service clubs (think air hostess meet dinner lady and that Christina Aguilera video Candyman, only in a church hall). It was so successful that the American Red Cross took it nationwide and turned old buses into mobile doughnut kitchens and got desperate-for-doughnut queues around the block. The wartime equivalent of the 2am kebab van, if you will.

“Two hours left, you DOUGHNUTS!” calls Sue, complete with Dick Van Dyke cockney inflection.

James shows us how he charmed his girlfriend (hurrumph) by saying that the most satisfying thing in the whole wide world is putting a lump of dough on the scales and it being exactly the weight you want it to be.

Out come the deep fat fryers! (No SMEG branding in sight.) Cathryn wonders whether she should be the first to “take the oily plunge”? (Johnuendo is obviously catching). “Oh my giddy aunt” she says as she plopadops her doughnut in. There is no fire or explosion of any kind, so we’re all good.

After deep frying, comes sugar bathing, where the doughnut is rolled in a bowl until it's covered with a teeth-rotting amount of caster sugar. Then it’s time for the jam injection – medical student James and intensive care consultant Danny must be at an advantage, as it literally is injected into the doughnut with a big perspex needle. Mel flirts with James over his neat injection skills. At the other end of the spectrum, Cathryn’s jam is gushing out. “DOUGHNUT DOOM!” she announces.

Do-nuts or don’t-nuts?! Paul assesses the colour and bake, while Mary is more interested in jam to doughnut ratio. It’s a fairly motley bunch, but Paul says Danny’s batch “has a bounce on it” (Mary translates that that means “it’s very nice”.) Sarah-Jane’s are “raw” (doh!) and she comes bottom, followed by Ryan (“overproved”), Cathryn (“bit flat”), Brendan (“not quite done”), with John third (though it was close between him and the B-man) and Danny a pleasing second. James breathes a sigh of relief as he takes first place.

This time the random filler animal shot is of a bright-eyed rabbit. Cute, but still edible.

Show-stopper: Celebratory enriched dough loaf

Festive brioche or stollen or the like. The dough can take twelve hours to prove, so several of the bakers are starting on that tonight and will leave it overnight, hoping it will merrily rise up in the proving drawer. The advantage of the all-night prove is a more flavoursome dough – provided it works... Those who are happy to wait til tomorrow to get their dough on start to prepare their filling instead, but they will have to compensate by adding extra flavour to the dough somewhere down the line.

Danny is making a European Christmas Wreath, which is a sort of stollen-brioche mix, with orange curd and sultanas in it. She usually leaves the dough in her outer hall to rise (I am immediately nosey about the rest of her house), but worries that she doesn’t know how that will compare to the Bake Off marquee temperature.

James and John are making a sponge starter to form a motherdough. A motherdough!!! I have no idea what on earth than means, but it is still quite simply THE BEST BAKING TERM IN THE WORLD. James’ motherdough will eventually morph into a Whisky Kugelkopf-Brioche Baba. Clearly he was drunk when he made that one up, and indeed, he gleefully tells us that he intends to put “half a bottle of whisky” in his dough loaf. Wowsers. He recognises this is unlikely to please Paul.

John’s motherdough will become a Marzipan Stollen. He again wishes his mix “good luck” as he puts it to bed in the proving draw, forgetting that really really didn't work last time. The bakers then head off to have a sleepless night of competitive baking worry. I imagine them all in a dormitory, or at least all gathered in the big house, calling out to wish each other good night, Waltons style. “Good night Brendan”, “Good night John-Boy.”

It’s the morning after and James is still not in knitwear. The bakers rush across the lawn to see if the doughing got tough or the tough got doughing. John realises he should have taken his out of the fridge earlier and he’s going to have to bin it as “the reaction to the two heats has made a stiff mess”. Johnuendo is BACK!

Cathryn has clearly just picked a random festival (Guy Fawkes) and decided there's no reason not to eat cake then – GOOD GIRL. She calls it Bonfire Night Tear’N’Share Brioche, which is clearly ironic, as it doesn’t look like the kind of cake you want to share under any circumstances.

“Is it a seventies delight today Brendan or maybe the eighties?” No, that's not from Sue! It’s Paul who wants in on the Brendan jibbing. Undeterred, Brendan replies he’s making a Black Forest Christmas Stollen. No comment. He then primly describes how he sees it as “the centrepiece for a Christmas buffet table” and, well, God knows what face Paul is making, but Brendan is suddenly reduced to giggles by his own description – I think he's twigged how the combination of 'black forest', 'centrepiece' and 'Christmas buffet table' might all be lovely, but also, well, a little dated. He stops his giggles to tell the camera he sees himself “as a bridge between the seventies and today” and that he’s “trying to give the seventies a modern twist”. He takes a shifty look to the side, where Paul was just lingering, and says “I hope he heard that”.

Whether Paul heard that or not is irrelevant, as the evidence speaks for itself; Brendan’s brought his own cake mould, designed to produce a cake shaped like a cathedral, and he plans to decorate his stollen with marzipan and apricot – frankly, we're only missing some sideburns, a fondue set and a bowl full of car keys for the whole seventies hog.

Mind you, John’s just lined up a million glacé cherries and some chocolate buttons on marzipan, so I think Brendan’s got competition.

Back in the modern day, Ryan is the only one opting for a savoury dish. “I thought I’d do something Chinese” – a Cahr Siu Bao, no less, which is pork loaf and hoi sin sauce, traditionally given at Chinese New Year. It sounds nothing short of AMAZING. I think it’s the dish I have most coveted since the start of the series, including John’s venison and haggis welly. WANT WANT WANT.

Sarah-Jane is making a Sour Cherry and Dark Chocolate Christmas Plait – which is risky, as we've already seen her admit that hairdressing is not one of her special skills. Mel remembers that too and kindly calls her a loon. Sarah-Jane starts to count aloud and visualise her overs and unders, by doing some air-plaiting. Mel joins in with the “over one, under two” mantra and accompanying hand signals – it's like baking tai chi.

I thought the hospital drama was over, but we get another scene that the squeamish will particularly enjoy, as James cuts the top off his whisky jelly and Sue likens it to slicing an enormous cornea. Sue and James proceed to each eat a whisky jelly cube and are immediately drunk; they giggle uncontrollably, repeating “goodness that is strong”. You can tell they are dying to do a whole line of cubes before hit the dance floor, but the camera pans away - I’m guessing a producer stepped in. If only to stop Mary from joining them.

We get a montage of doughs coming out of the oven – with mixed results. Ryan points out a multitude of technical issues relating to his pork pun (noooooooo), Sarah-Jane has a bit of plait splitting, Danny's bri-stollen-oche hasn't rising as much as it does at home, whilst Brendan's cathedral mould has worked perfectly.

And so, the judging hour approaches.

Brendan brings up his creation, which is show-stopping indeed. Sure, it's straight out of his favourite era, but he has absolutely nailed his “centrepiece for a Christmas buffet table” concept, with pine cones, sweeties and a massive red candle stuck on the top of his cathedral cake. He is praised on bake, texture and flavour.

Sarah-Jane, unbelievably, has produced ANOTHER raw bake. She can't believe it. At least she “did get the flavours right”.

Ryan's pork bun looks quite sad - “it doesn't have that 'wow' and doesn't feel 'celebration' to me” admits Mary. “We have an issue” says Paul, cutting into it – it's mushy and raw inside. Mary liked the flavour and concept, but “it just didn't quite get there”.

Danny, who slurped thick white icing over her bri-stollen-oche in the name of 'decoration' claimed she wanted it to look messy and wasn't going for perfect. Well, she was successful in that, if you ask me. The judges liked it, however, calling it “festive” with “a good colour”. Mary thought “the flavour is absolutely delicious and I can taste the separate flavours”. Paul agrees “Excellent. Thanks Danny.”

John's offering “looks a little on the flat side” to Mary, which would be fine if we were talking stomachs, but is probably less desirable in stollen world. She thinks it's also “on the stodgy side”, which is good for neither tummy nor baking. Paul says “it's beginning to weld my mouth together, which is probably a good thing” - that way poor John doesn't have to hear any more criticism. Still, “good marzipan”.

Cathryn has shoehorned in some Guy Fawkes-related festivity by sticking a sparkler on top of her tear'n'share. Even though Paul had previously sneered at the excessive amount of cinnamon in her dough, he admits that the flavour balance is good. Mary is also pro - “Lovely flavour, nice and sweet, the icing's good”, but it does “feel more like a cake” and doesn't have the right “aeration”.

James brings up his whisky mist and even Mary has to concede that “the whisky flavour is a little over the top”. (James laughs, but that's because he's still pissed from the cube shots he and Sue did.) Paul isn't too keen on the structure and tells him to “concentrate on his flavours”.

Time for deliberations and the double cull. But first...

Star baker: “This week the star baker is someone uniquely qualified to offer intensive care to any flagging bun. Finally, Danny!” Well put Sue. Sadly no shot of Brendan's reaction. (Am sure he was totally fine about it.)

Leaving this week: First to be announced - Sarah-Jane, which wasn't a surprise after several raw bakes, and the second leaver is... Ryan – again, I think we were probably expecting that. It's all very sad, as it felt that all the remaining bakers had properly bonded into a merry gang. But both Ryan and Sarah-Jane are really positive about the experience – Ryan promises to continuing messing up his wife's kitchen and Sarah-Jane is delighted to have got to week seven. I also hope that taking the train alone is no longer a terrifying prospect for our SJ.

Next time: biscuits! Crackers, crisp breads and gingerbread sim city, as the bakers create an entire metropolis of ginger buildings. Also, SHORTS! James and John get their legs out - and a nation swoons. Well, sort of.

Sue's buns-watch:

“It’s a bun fight to the finish.”

“Bakers, one hour until I can sink my teeth into your buns.”

“OK, bakers you should all have buns in the oven.”

And a guest appearance from Danny Intensive Care: “getting star baker is just the icing on the cake”.

Missed pun-portunity:

Nah, she got them all in.

Episode 6 – Pudding Week

Last week: We bid our good-pies to Manisha, no doubt returning to the family to cook a giant cake feast for her brothers and father, and Ryan made the most amazing Key Lime Pie the world has EVER known. Well, until Mary intimated that she was immediately heading home to make her own – and seeing as the universe would fall in on itself if anyone ever made a better pie than Mary Berry, and the sky remains above us, I think we can safely say that Ryan’s is now second best.

This week: pudding.  Haemorrhaging strudels, steamy cloots and tablecloth pastry. Plus an uncredited cameo from the St John's Ambulance...

It's raining, Sarah-Jane has a transparent umbrella (WANT) and has decided that the rain clouds are a sign of impending dooooooom! Let's find out if she's right, shall we?!

Roll titles!

Signature bake: Two different flavoured sponges with two different accompaniments.

Individual size portions, baked, boiled or steamed. Six of one, six of the other, with two different sauces. Two hours.

No pressure then.

Essentially this task is double the trouble, as they’ve having to bake two different things at once. Another challenge will be to not abandon cooking in favour of just sitting on the floor and licking the bowl.

Ryan is making Chocolate Fondants and Sticky Ginger and Date Puddings. I shall have all twelve, please! He announces to Mary that he's using self-raising flour, bicarb and baking powder in his mix and, frankly, from the looks that Mary and Paul give him, he might as well have announced he was using an out-of-date, pre-mixed cake solution from Peckham Lidl. “Why are you using three raising agents?” asks Mary, by which, of course, she means: “Don't use three raising agents”. Ryan tries to call it 'traditional'. Paul, who clearly got out the mean side of the bed this morning replies “Last week star baker...”. No need for him to add “this week, farty noise” - it's implicit in his tone.

Danny is cutting dates with scissors, which looks a profoundly satisfying activity. She's offering up Banoffee Puddings with Walnut Butterscotch Sauce and Jubilee Chocolate Fondants. I think the appropriate response is: nomnomnomnom.

We cut to Brendan waffling on about strawberries and ginger at his kitchen station and then, out of nowhere, we cut to Brendan walking in a sunny park, accompanied by a dashing dark haired gentleman and a sprightly labradoodle!!  Before we have have time to even think “WELL DONE BRENDAN YOU DARK OLD HORSE!!!” the camera jumps back to his gingery waffle and no more is said, but at least now we know who has (probably) inspired his Rhubarb, Strawberry and Ginger Puddings and Sticky Toffee Puddings (flavoured with rum, yum yum) - and it ain't that gorgeous doggie, oi oi!  

Certainly, Brendan won't be seeking inspiration from Sue, his least favourite Bake Off official and, to date, the main recipient of the Brendan lip purse.  This week she peeves him by talking modern - Brendan starts sucking up to Mary by saying he wants to create “authentic flavours in an authentic way” and so Sue cheekily checks that he’s sure he doesn't want to attempt “molecular gastronomy using nitrogen oxide”? Sue gets the full cat’s bottom and the curt response “Heston Blumental has a lot to answer for”.  Mary is so pleased she gives Brendan a flirtatious wink.

Elsewhere, the Johnuenndos continue “Everyone likes a good sticky toff”, he says, referring, OF COURSE, to his Spicy Sticky Toffee pudding, accompanied by Raspberry and White Chocolate Puddings.  John's marinating his dates in Lady Grey tea, which is not an innuendo, but sounds... well, a bit gross.  Mel pops over for a bit of a goss, as is her wont, and gets him to mildly slag Brendan and call him the Terminator. “He's the Bakenator” whispers Mel.  A nickname is born.

Sarah-Jane is in her usual state of rosy-cheeked flummoxed flux – she’s baking Sticky Toffee Puddings (well, who doesn't like a sticky toff?) along with Granny's Saucy Lemon Puddings. Ooh-err - where’s Sue for filth when you need her? I would have welcomed a full Sue interrogation on how saucy Sarah-Jane’s Granny might be, though we can all imagine that the chances of Sarah-Jane having a filthy-mouthed chain-smoking randy old bird of a Grandma are slim to nil.  Sue’s granny however – anything is possible.

Cathryn is pouring, mixing, dipping and baking simultaneously, which is rather impressive, but she has two small children, so this probably seems like a breeze. She’s going to offer up Chocolate Walnut Whip Puddings and Elderflower Sponges.  Elderflower? Really?  Fortunately, Sue informs us that clotted cream rice pudding is going on top of the sponge –  look, I’m happy to take one for the team and just scoop the rice pud top off and eat that, so someone else can ‘enjoy’ the elderflower.  I know, most generous of me.

Who else but James Shetland could be making Banana and Clove Puddings (with home brewed beer) and Clootie Dumplings? But before we discover exactly what a clootie dumpling is, let's deal with a more important issue: on the knitwear front, I can report that James is in grey and brown, with clear sleeves in evidence – so that's a negative on the tank top. James says that clooties are the safe option, which can only be a recipe (ha!) for disaster, right? And problems ensue – his cloots end up skinless, which is apparently a bad thing, and the puddings are also causing issues – sticking to the pots.  Not James' finest hour.

However, wet clooties and pot sticking is not the worst thing to happen this week. We watch on with horror as Danny tips her AMAZING looking fondants out of the oven.... and on to the floor. GAH! Chocolate mush goes all over her electric blue Converse trainers and two fondants have to be declared DOA and taken to the Cake Morgue, leaving her short for judging. It's gutting, especially as you can tell from the way they splashed on her shoe they were perfectly gooey inside.  She is convinced she's going home.

Two hours up, it's time for judging.

Brendan has over blow-torched his sticky toffs, but “the strawberry's really worked” and “the ginger is lovely”, with “good sponge” and “a perfect crème anglaise”.

Mary thinks Sarah-Jane's saucy lemon “isn't coming through strongly”, whilst Paul, still wearing his mean pants, says “as a soufflé it's very good, as a sponge...” he trails off (it's clearly not). Her sticky toffee puds are “a little on the dry side” for Mary, but Paul, manhandling a pud and sticking his finger in, disagrees! Disagreeing judges!? Goodness me! Careful now – let’s not go all X-Factor!

Ryan's fondants look “indulgent”, but are “not as light” as hoped and have “a dry texture”. Mary says it's “bitter” and, surprise surprise, there's too much raising agent in there. Ryan politely concurs, but later makes clear that he doesn't think she'd have even known if he hadn't told her. OOOOOOOH! HANDBAGS! (Goodness me! Careful now – let’s not go all X-Fact-etc.)

Paul says Cathryn's sponges look “impressive” (wait until he discovers they're yucky elderflower), but “the rice is undercooked”. However, Mel, yes MEL, defies her role and disagrees with him! And, then, so does Mary! (I’m throwing in lots of exclamation marks to denote drama, but, as you can imagine, it’s all said in calm, polite, middle class tones of lovely sweetness.) Cathryn's puddings are cut in half to reveal meringuey cream inside, which looks hugely appetising, but Paul finds them too dry, whereas Mary thinks she's “getting away with it”. More disagreement! (More exclamation marks.) I'm not sure I can handle such a divided front! Please don't fight Bake Off mum and dad!

John's fruity puds are “a bit solid” and “the sponge is bland” – not satisfied with that level of critique, Paul meanly adds “you might as well be chewing on a piece of card.” John, taken aback, suggests “that's a bit harsh”. “No, honestly.” replies Paul, Captain Mean of the Mean Ship HMS Mean, bound for Meaneapolis, Meanland. Fortunately, his sticky toff is “very moreish” - so much so that Mary doesn't even finish her mouthful to tell him. Even Paul cheers up: “that's kicking with flavour.” At least Paul’s now wearing his mean hat at a jaunty angle.

Mary is glad that James has again used his Scottish influence, but Paul says the clootie dumpling “texture's not right”. Fortunately his other pud is “a beautifully made sponge with all the flavours coming through”.

And finally Danny and her squashed fondants. Mary assures her that “accidents happen, even in my kitchen” (no-one believes THAT) and Paul declares that he likes her Banoffees. We are then treated to an array of sombre glances over the fondants and prolonged chewing. Mary breaks the silence: “THAT is a VERY moist sponge” she says. “Both of them taste extremely good” agrees Paul. Danny breathes a mahossive sigh of relief.

Foodistory: the confectioner

In all honesty, I didn't pay that much attention to the history bit this week, as I'd just discovered that most of the bakers were on Twitter and was too busy following them all. I think we learned that confectioners were celebrity pudding chefs employed by the super rich in the olden days (like 600 BC, eh John?), and then Sue went to a castle and ate a very ornate ice cream cake made of “ginger and old sponge”, the making of which used to involve picking ice from the lake in the grounds of your mansion (obviously), but can now be recreated with a simple freezer. It looked at first like it completely disgusted her, but she then claimed that it was just the cold making her eyes water and it was in fact “delicious”. Hmmm...

The Technical Challenge: Queen of Puddings

Layers of baked custard and jam, topped with a chewy meringue.

An original Mary Berry and BLOODY HARD. Again, the recipe has been heavily redacted for no other reason that it enables minimum comfort and maximum perplexity.

Brendan says “there's always an element of dread that you're going to make a total pratt of yourself in the technical challenge”, a perspective based on never having made a total pratt of himself. Ryan, however, has oft stayed at Hotel Disaster during this task and, this week, declares that he has never made custard or jam before, so that bodes well.

We run through a few vignettes of bake prep, and are all settling down to enjoy some M&S-esque 'this is not just any...' food porn shots, when Mel bluntly announces that “egg protein changes shape when heated”, which may well be true, but way to kill the mouth-watering mood, Giedroyc. Though, to be fair, watching custard bake was never going to lather the taste-buds into much of a frenzy.

With the custard baking away and the egg protein busily changing shape, it’s time to make jam, for which the instructions read as follows: “make jam”. "Thanks Mary" says John. Brendan, however, reflects that “there are some advantages to being older – you learn the setting point of jam”. And it’s true that his fruit concoction looks pretty bang on.  Sadly none of them get over-excited about the jam making process and say “jam is my new jam” which is totes what I would go for in such circumstances.

And then (prepare for more mild sex metaphor for, yes, I am going there) it’s time to send the jam down the aisle, to wed and lie atop the cooked custard – but will the custard be solid enough to take the jam or will there be seeping? For John, unfortunately, there’s seeping (er, from his custard). “Mary is going to slap me in the face” he says, in no way over-dramatically.

Finally, the meringue-a-tang. Johnuenndo is going to “whip it until it's quite stiff” to get the peaks Mary is so enamoured off (perhaps this is also how you get a ‘sticky toff’). The top is supposed to be crunchy and golden brown, but Danny's is staying resolutely cream. It transpires that starring at the oven does not help.

“Please be good” asks Cathryn of her pud as she puts it in the oven – asking a dessert to behave itself seems a new tactic, but why not give it a whirl? If it’s bad, it’s straight to the naughty step. Meanwhile Ryan is resorting to threats and Brendan is standing back, all done, casually wafting himself with a dishcloth.

Time’s up.

Up step Dredd and Judy and it becomes immediately apparent that Mary has designed this task purely so she can get her spoon out and tap/crack the meringue on seven different occasions. Personally I like to shred old letters or pop air pockets, but I can absolutely see how smashing meringue would be an equally satisfying home-based therapy. The judges test meringue crisp and crunch, marshmallowyness, jam consistency, layer heights and custard thickness.

It’s actually custard thinness in poor James' case (plopadops all over again) and he ends up bottom of the food chain this week, with Ryan and John next. Sarah-Jane is Prince Harry, Cathryn is Wills, Danny is Charles and it's Brendan who is the Queen of Puddings. He looks highly chuffed - and well he should, because Mary says his pudding has “really good volume and height, a perfect colour on top, beautiful layers, is sheer perfection and a joy to eat”. Wowsers.

Back in the judges’ marquee, rain splattering down, they discuss who's in danger this week. Turns out it's James, Ryan (Mary's still banging on about the raising agent), John and Sarah-Jane. At the other end, Brendan is excelling again; “like a stuck record” bitches Sue. However, there is still more disagreement - about Danny's fondants this time. Paul thinks even her good ones were wonky, whereas Mary does not. Stalemate. And then, in lovely Bake Off style, they decide that the arguing is a reflection of how close it is and how hard it will be to decide, rather than because THEY HATE EACH OTHER. Phew! They all hope for a standout show-stopper to help them decide, but – cue evil glee in Mary's eyes - “it's a really difficult one this week”.

Show-stopper: the strudel.

Or as Sue as actually says it, complete with cod Austrian accent: "ze strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll". (It's a basic level of humour, but I'm not embarrassed to admit that I heartily and xenophobically had a right old chuckle.) Our bakers have to make one large strudel with either sweet or savoury filling (meat mallet #2 Cathryn?) and the judges expect delicate pastry with a professional finish. Three and a half hours. Bake!

Sarah-Jane says they have been making strudel “since the second century BC or something”. (A quick glance at Wikipedia suggests that paper and tofu, yes TOFU (!!!) were invented around that time, so... well, who knows?!)  Either way, it’s surprising that such a tricky technique has survived being handed down the generations all the way to the 21st century, as strudel pastry is INSANE to make, and even Mary admits she buys it.  It basically involves slowly stretching a sheet of pastry thinner and thinner, without breaking it, until it covers a whole table – which just sounds like the worst party game ever.  Before the stretching, however, comes kneading, which does look like fun – imagine someone you hate (Brendan imagines Sue, Sue imagines Brendan), project on to pastry and start pummelling to the death, for example, by smacking it against the table. Repeatedly.

By the way, John's nicked his finger on the magi-mix, but he's applied a plaster and is soldiering on. Hmmmm. That doesn’t sound ominous AT ALL, right?

As Sarah-Jane is tackling kneading in a slightly timid way, Paul comes along and starts hammering her pastry on the table until it’s long and snakey and in danger of hitting everyone in a five metre radius. He explains that this is the official and best way of doing it. On the other side of the room, James whispers to Sue that the “smashing thing” is actually “utter rubbish - traditional, so you can’t slag it, but it’s rubbish.” Sarah-Jane, meanwhile, has embraced the snake and smash and is teaching Cathryn the technique – WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG? Yes, that’s right – PASTRY DISASTER. As Sarah-Jane reassures Cathryn that her kneading smash action “looks really good”, Cathryn accidently throws her pastry across the room, narrowly missing Danny’s one remaining clean shoe and landing on the floor, now covered in grass green carpet fibres.  Sarah-Jane is MORTIFIED.  Cathryn takes it with charm and good grace and a fit of giggles, but what the hell does she do now?! “I can’t serve Mary green carpet!” she, not unreasonably, points out.

James is now injecting teeny raisins with... well, there could be anything in that needle. It’s something to do with combating the ooziness of his strawberry and rhubarb. He then tells us “the last time I made this my girlfriend said it looked like a plate of sick.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ATTENTION PLEASE, JAMES SHETLAND HAS A GIRLFRIEND.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We cut to Cathryn sounding queasy – no, she’s not just found out that James isn’t single, but is actually describing John’s glove as “being full of blood”, which is “running down his arm.” Cue close up of said glove - indeed full of blood and indeed running down poor John’s arm. Unsurprisingly, John looks faint and freaked, but Danny Intensive Care is right on it, sitting him down, reassuring him and telling him not to look. We, however, all get a high definition view of what is one properly bloody red dripping horror hand. John’s now worrying about his strudel, but Danny tells him in kindly, but no uncertain terms that clearly he can’t bake any further. We watch him walking into the sunset (rainclouds) holding his (bandaged) middle finger aloft.

Back to pastry stretching and Sarah-Jane’s opting for the rolling pin, whilst Brendan, who takes the greco-roman wrestling approach to making strudel pastry, has rolled up his sleeves and oiled up his arms: “the rolling pin doesn’t achieve the same result” he sneers. Anyone want to hazard a guess at who’s right here?

Then it’s time to get the fillings in – James nearly gives Sue a heart attack as he uses a sheet to roll his strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll, but everything stays in and it looks alright. We get a few more rolly shots, set to dramatic music, all of which work, then move to Brendan who has, again, gone one further and made an intricate lattice for his strudel top. Sue, standing by, grudgingly recognises great work: “oh Brendan you are a clever sausage” she says, before adding “you’re basically dressing your strudel in a string vest” (she just couldn't resist!). He responds with a sharp intake of breath, which could just as equally be a snigger or more of The Purse.

Cathryn thinks her strudel has a “haemorrhage or hemorrhoids”, and Danny, once again being called on for her medical analysis, confirms a haemorrhage; “it’s got a proboscis for sure”. She’s not alone – James too has “strudel rupture” and, for Sue, the strawberry dribble hole looks “just like John’s finger”. Ooooh yummy.

So, let’s get ready, ready, ready, let’s get ready, ready, ready, let’s get ready, ready, ready to (judge) strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll.

Ryan’s Apples, Sour Cherries, Raisins and Mixed Nuts Strudel's “layers are a bit think” and it's not quite cooked, but Paul likes “the flavour” and Mary “the chunky fruit”.

Cathryn's Roasted Vegetable and Couscous and Sheep's Cheese Strudel is shaped like an S and the shape and pastry receive compliments. It's “full of interest” with “all the colours coming through". An “unusual” but “delicious” strudel.

Sarah-Jane is offering up a Sweet Strudel with Sour Cherries, filled with ricotta and custard. It's “pale and soft”, neither of which are positives, and “looks more like sweet pastry” - basically the pastry is too thick and so it isn't really a strudel.  But at least “the filling's lovely”.

James' Strawberry, Rhubarb and Ginger Strudel is “nice and thin”, but the oozy leaks can't be ignored; Paul notes “it's a bit of a mess in there”, but he does like the taste.

A Leak, Potato, Pistachio and Gruyère Strudel from Danny, which somehow did end up with “a nice colour” and extremely thin pastry. Mary comments that “the filling is solid and beautiful and very lovely flavours”, which isn't bad, eh?

Brendan presents his Spinach, Courgette, Three Cheese and Walnut Strudel, with feta crumbled over it. It's “a bit pale”, but the flavouring is “very good”, as are the layers. It just “needed a bit more colour”, which is a brave thing to say to a man wearing a neon orange shirt.

Judging over, James reflects on the comments – and thinks it's between him and Sarah-Jane to go. Cathryn reflects on John's “grim blood glove” - and is sad he didn't get to make his strrrrrrüüüüüüüüüüüüüüüdelll.   Sarah-Jane reflects on the clouds of DOOM again.  She still has that umbrella I covet.

Around the judging table, Mel says she feels “slightly drained and hysterical, after the strudel dramas”.  They name the star baker potentials as Brendan and Danny, then the ones in trouble – Sarah-Jane, James and, quite harshly, John, on the basis of his first two tasks. “It's tough” says Paul.  You're telling me.

But it's time.

Star baker: they start with the positives and focus on “the person who Paul and Mary feel has really stood out and who has shown consistency, great flavours and cracking latice work” - of course, it's our Brendan. He gives a little regal wave, whilst Danny looks over so slightly peeved (she did save a life today, sort of, *and* she got brown on her shoe) and Sue throws a grudging “well done Brendan” out there, but a few seconds after everyone else, giving it a delightful hint of sarcasm. I think they love each other really.

Leaving this week: Sue then explains that she and Mel take it in turns to announce who is going each week, as it's a hard and onerous task, especially as they get to know the bakers better and better. She looks truly sad and then braces herself to announce that the journey will be ending for...

Nobody! Nobody's going home, as it was just too unfair. Yay!!! (Two of them will go next week instead. Booo!) Anyway, there is lots of teary hugging and relief and everyone seems drained but glad. Given the John situation especially, it does seem the right call.  He'll be back next week, ready to do baking battle and innuendo to his heart's content.

Next time: “THE TOUGHEST BAKE OFF EVER!”. Well, until the next one. Sweet dough, signature sweet buns, "doughnut doom" and show-stopping sweet loaves. Two bakers to go, and it feels like it could be pretty much anybody.

Bring. It. On.

Sue's puns-watch:

On the Queen of Puds rankings: “Now rank this royal family of puddings from lowest to her Highness”.

Missed pun-portunity:

Bah - no need for puns if you get to stand in the middle of a room, do an accent and shout “STRRRRRRÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜDELLL”?