Mini blog. Week 8 - 'free' week*

*as in 'gluten-free', 'wheat-free', 'dairy-free', or, in Frances' case 'decoration-free if you know what's good for you regardless of how unfair that might actually be.

 

Bye bye: an emotional roller-coaster this week. I'd have been sad to see anyone leave, but Christine was especially heart-breaking – she was my favourite and no-one should be punished for baking a full-on electric guitar, even if it was inspired by a longtime crush on Brian May.  Yet again the BBC discriminates against the older woman.

 

I'm a survivor I'm not gon give up I'm not gon stop I'm gon work harder: Beca had a lucky escape really, seeing as she completely winged the Showstopper ("nah, not made this before, but how hard can it be?") and decided to ignore Mary's instructions in the technical – yeah, what does Mary Berry know about baking?

 

Ma Baker:  Ruby Ruby Ruby. That allotment must have tasted AMAZING, as I think it's fair to say that was one shonky old shed.  Poor Frances, slated because she didn't make edible flower pots.

 

Living up to glorious middle-class stereotype: Everyone really: Ruby and her mango and nigella seed spelt cob; Frances and her experience of making spelt hot cross buns thanks to her friend Elle's “slight wheat intolerance”; Christine consulting “my baker at the local mill”.  Though we shouldn’t be that surprised that the “unusual flour” challenge would throw up so many examples…

 

Challenge of the series: a 3D vegetable dairy-free novelty cake. HAHAHAHAHA.

 

Next week: La semaine Frrrrrrrrrrrrrrench. Watch Mel go accent crazy.

2013 Episode 7 – Pastry week

Last week: A nation mourned, as we said goodbye to Howard. Here is the finest YouTube tribute I've seen to date. What a guy.

This week: Pastry Week and MUCHO STRESS, as apparently making pastry involves creating an almighty mess across every kitchen and running around the tent in a panicked frenzy, before getting told off by Mel.

Animal shot #1: a close-up of a bee! Just doing its thang in a yellow flower. #nature

Jacket watch: A veritable rainbow - Mel is in pink, Sue's tank top is orange and Mary's sporting blue and white sunflowers.  Natty.  For once, the level of shine on Paul's blue shirt does not require any TV screen contrast adjustment.

Signature bake: Suet pudding. Sweet or savoury and 'family sized' (whatever that means), with three hours to bake, steam or boil their offerings. If you weren't feeling completely repulsed already, Mel tells us that “suet pudding is the hard white fat that surrounds the kidneys and loins of sheep and cattle”. WHAT ARE WE WATCHING?!? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to eat offal - that is NOT a problem - but in sweet pastry?Hmmmmm. I think not.

Ruby's not got much suet experience, whereas Christine's an old hand, which tells you a lot about the current trendiness of suet pudding – course, that means it’s only a matter of time before it’s recycled back into fashion and the London Overland is crammed full of hipsters carrying spotted dicks in their ironic She-ra lunch boxes.

Frances is making Figgy Roll-y Poly Pudding with Caramelised Walnut and Honey Ice Cream, and OMG THERE IS NO CONCEPT. SOUND THE ALARM! HRRRRKKK HRRRRKKK!   However, Frances has decided to put goat's cheese in her sweet pud, so it's not all plain sailing in terms of the judges' expectations – everyone looks positively unconvinced when she tells them that’s going in and Sue Perkins will basically eat anything.

Ruby is using vegetarian suet – of course she is – in her Plum Jam Roly Poly with Ginger Ice Cream.  As a committed carnivore, I have very limited experience of vegetarian versions of things, but I have had vegetarian haggis and I’ll admit that was delicious (and surely not due to the copious whisky which accompanied it or the swooning caused by meeting Mr Cad for the first time).  Ruby hasn't had much time to practice this week - not because she’s been taking philosophy exams or dealing with university work, but because she's been playing with her new cat, Rupert.  Erm...  Ruby tells us she always thought she'd end up a “crazy cat lady” and “it's finally happened”.  Ruby is 20, people - frankly there's some way to go before she dies alone in a house full of kitties, forced to eat her lovely face and hair whilst the unopened Whiskers tins remain out of reach.

Over at Christine’s counter, we learn that Mr Christine (he who fashioned the sex toy baking implement) loves his wife's Spotted Dick 'With a Kick' and Vanilla Custard Ice Cream more than any other dessert - so Christine feels she knows what she's doing in this challenge.  Mary comes over and she and Christine’s mutual appreciation society continues; whenever Christine chats to Mary there's a respectful sense of older woman to older woman, illustrated, for example, by Christine's insistence on maintaining firm eye contact and using Mary's name as often as she can “well, what I did, Mary, was...” or “Mary, I sincerely hope it is”.  Paul doesn’t get a look in.

Kimberley isn't using raisins, as raisins iz for plebz.  She's using what she calls, after a faintly embarrassed pause, “Persian berries” - an announcement which is punctuated by that giggle which signals that Kimberley’s once again just realised how pretentious she’s going to sound, but it's too late, so she's going there anyway, and no regrets.  She's making Barberry and Apple Spotted Dick with Maple Syrup and White Chocolate Custard. Barberries (‘Persian berries’) are a cross between a sharp cranberry and a raisin and used to be particularly beloved by chavs, until Emma Watson did a pouty campaign to rehabilitate them towards poshness and now they are super trendy and we no longer have to suffer the likes of this.  Kimberley then claims that she's using the barberries because she's rebellious and it's in her nature to always want to ignore the brief she's been given.  Hmmm - so far the editing has shown us no sign of this whatsoever, so I can only deduce she's setting this back-story up as an excuse for future failure. “Oh, you know, Mary and Paul didn't like my bakes because I'm a barberry using REBEL, not like that goody two shoes Ruby, who always swots up and never wings it, oh no.”

Over to the BOOZE CORNER, where Glenn is infusing Agen prunes and Armagnac (sud-ouest represente!) and Middle England gets instantly drunk on the alcohol fumes emanating from the TV.  Glenn claims to be trying to find the impossible balance between being boozy enough for Mary and sober enough for Paul, but it's clear that, really, Glenn's a Mary man and plans to just pour out the good stuff!  Mel points out that Glenn is bang on trend as he's using a metallic rounded clutch bag as the mould for his Prune and Armagnac Pudding with Boozy Butterscotch Sauce.  Sadly, however, trendiness trumps practicality (how very clutch) as the top of Glenn's pud gets stuck to his clutch/mould when he tips it out. Glenn tries disguising the damage by dusting the top of his pudding with sugar, but this has the immediate effect of drawing attention to the hole - so he decides to blow-torch the sugar instead. BLOW TORCH? It promptly burns. Oh Glenn, I know nothing and I could have warned you off that approach.

Beca's going savoury, basing her dish on the Welsh cawl – a Spring Lamb and Vegetable Suet Pudding with Redcurrant Gravy. It sounds AMAZING, apart from, um, the suet bit.

Foodistory: HIGHLAND COO SPOT!!!!! My third favourite animal after zebra and cat. We’re off to the beautiful Isle of Mull to learn something about steaming clootie dumplings and using the same bit of cloth to make them for the whole of your life. I have hygiene-related queries.

Suet's (ahem, 'so it's') time for the judging!

Glenn has managed to uproot the very bedrock of all we know about Berrywood's tastes, because Mary decides “even for me, there's too much alcohol in there” whilst Paul proclaims “I love it!”.

Ruby gurns in typical distress as Paul cuts in to her offering, but Mary thinks “it's absolutely beautifully flavoured” and Paul says “if that was on a menu, I'd choose that, yeah”.

Has Frances finally won Mary over? She exclaims “doesn't that look attractive” when they cut into Frances' suet to reveal a cinnamon swirl.  (Mind you, such praise is a bit of barbed compliment when you think that this is the first dish Frances has produced which isn't based around visual stylings.)  Even though Paul doesn't like goat's cheese, he acknowledges that the “hint” of it “actually goes with the sweetness of the fig. Fantastic.”

Beca “could have got away with a little less suet crust”, but the judges love her meat, veg and gravy.  Mary asks Beca if she thinks her pud would feed “six or eight?”.  Beca smothers the world's biggest scoff and says “My family, maybe four.”

According to Paul, Kimberley's barberries have “a huge sort of sourness, which I love by the way”.  It's also “steamed perfectly” and is “extremely good”. Kimberley looks mighty happy and I quite want to try suet now.

However, it seems that the judges’ favourite ends up being Christine's. “Everything about that is right” says Mary and Paul doesn't even wait to finish his mouthful before declaring it “delicious”.  The producers meanly throw in a shot of Kimberley looking peeved.

Animal shot #2: Lambs. And that bee again.

Sue then sends Paul and Mary off to “the love dungeon” where she promises that Mary is going to “tip him up and check whether he's got a soggy bottom”.  Oh Sue. Welcome back.

The Technical Challenge: Eight Religieuses, the French for nuns, which is what they are supposed to look like – in so far as choux pastry filled with crème patissiere, smothered in chocolate ganache and piped with whipped cream can look like a nun.  Actually, I can see how it can and I WANT TO EAT THAT IMMEDIATELY.  Sue tells us “I've never eaten a nun before”.  I’m just glad Mary’s out of earshot and doesn’t need that one explained.

Get! Set! Bake!

Some bakers have an idea of what religieuses look like, but no-one seems to have made them before. Beca feels “physically sick” at the task, but Kimberley tells us that choux pastry is actually, like, rilly rilly easy, and only a total idiot would be be scared of it, cause it's, like, totes simple.  Cut to Mary and Paul in the love dungeon discussing how bloody hard it is to make.  Kimberley, you REBZ.

Sue comes over to admire Beca's “hot nuns” and says “Amen” in a way that implies “wimples are a fetish”. There’s more visual comedy as the bakers brandish massive cartoon-sized needles to inject their nuns with crème pat – Mel likens it to filling a car with petrol.  Christine's had a nightmare with her choux (poo choux if you will) and she knows that extra ganache won't help - “Mary's too canny for that”.  Head Girl Crush ahoy.

NUN DOWN NUN DOWN!  Nunheads (South East London reprezzzzent!) are dropping all over the shop, with choux blobs hitting the kitchen surface with the same satisfying thwack as this waffle falling over (a clip which has had over ONE MILLION VIEWS - and you too will watch it AT LEAST ten times, I swear.  It’s mesmeric. )

Last minute head gluing in place, it's time for Berrywood to get their blind tasting on.   I am well jell – these nuns look delish.  Christine takes bottom (for her poo choux) then Frances (runny crème patissiere), Kimberley is fourth (inconsistency in size), Glenn is third, Ruby second and so Beca gets the top spot.  She tells us she's “so chuffed” whilst waving her religieuse around, clearly wanting to stop talking and start eating. Us too. * sigh *

Show-stopper: Three types of puff pastry. “Think palmier, think lattice, think pinwheel, think massive horn.” (You lost me at puff, Sue.)  One type filled, one type iced and the third is baker's choice. Twelve of each. “No presh” says Mel, which from anyone else would sound ridic, but from Mel sounds amazeb.  I love her.

Glenn bitches that anyone with a job or a family or friends or a life doesn't make puff pastry very often.  The camera immediately cuts to Frances who tells us that she's really got into making puff.   No further comment needed, eh?

In fact all the women are keeping their puff-making traditional, whilst Glenn is going for the inverted method, whatever that might be.  Apparently, it's all to do with which order you roll butter into dough or dough into butter - potato, patatah, if you ask me, but I imagine Paul Hollywood won't agree, and lo, he doesn't.  In fact Berrywood are so sceptical that we see them lurking in the background, spying on Glenn's pastry making in a particularly sinister way. Glenn is producing Caramelised Apple and Marizpan Tartlets, Chocolate Elephant Ears, and Passion Fruit Mille-feuille. The Elephant Ears aren't ACTUALLY ears, but biscuits shaped in a whirly way.

Beca is making (*deep breath, as these lists are loooong*) Nectarine and Frangipane Squares, Chocolate and Hazelnut Vol-au-vents, and Strawberry and Cream Mille-feuille. She's applied military tactics to her timings, allocating time in sections for each part of the process.  She’s on it.  No time for talking!

Frances is making French Framboise Cream Horns, Sheet Music Mille-feuille, and Bass Clef Palmiers – can anyone smell a theme?! You can't keep a concept girl down for long, can ya?  It's all inspired by Edith Piaf.  Good work – excellent potential for many 'will Frances regrette rien' based puns.

Ruby can't really remember what she's making – blame the cat.  We eventually learn she's opted for Raspberry and Passion Fruit Mille-feuille, Caramelised Apple Lattice, and Portuguese Custard Tarts. She thinks she's going to be really pushed for time – it’s so unlike Ruby to predict failure, isn’t it?

Kimberley, on the other hand, thinks she's ahead of time, and wishes she had a time chart, so she could document her exceptional time management proficiency. Oh COME ON. Honestly, I have tried to be fair – I didn't rise to the Japanese philosophy, the five types of cherry or the 'rebellious' Barberry - but sometimes, lady, you have GOT to tone down the smug.  I mean, if you're so ahead of time, KIMBERLEY, then why don't you use the time to draw up a time chart, huh? HUH?

And breathe....

Kimberley is making Pear, Malt and Butterscotch Mille-feuille, Blackberry and Lemon Verbana Crème Brulee Custard Tarts, and Fig, Orange and Thyme Galette.  You know, in the plenty of time that she has.

Finally, Christine is making Eccles Cakes, Fresh Fruit Baskets and Lemon Cream Eton Mess Mille-feuille, which are probably the Mille-feuille I'd go for, if I had to pick. I mean Kimberley's Pear and Butterscotch sound lovely too, but she's also putting Malt in them and that sounds vile, aside from with chips and vinegar, right?

Glenn has announced that his palmier Elephant Ears might be as big as an adult's head. Is that an adult elephant?  If so, YES PLEASE.

Ruby tells Mel she is seriously stressed out and Mel asks her, very earnestly, if she wants a slap.  Ruby genuinely thinks about it and responds that she would like to put the slap offer in the bank for later when she will most need it: “Save it for the last five minutes.” “OK” says Mel.  (Believe it or not, this is a key scene – please retain for plot purposes.)

Montage time - mainly teeth gnashing and oven-based stress - then a piping interlude, as the bakers assemble and decorate their bakes in a madcap, nerve-racked way.  Poor Glenn is having some breakage issues, but no time to blow-torch this round.  Then Sue announces the “last five minutes”.  Aha!  Tension mounts – will Ruby request her slap?

We cut to Mel helping Frances deal with some fruit, as Ruby, in a little voice, nervously says “Melllll?  I need a talking to, can you...” before her voice breaks.  Super Mel deals with Frances' fruit, excuses herself and rushes over to Ruby. She doesn’t perform a slap (dammit!), but sternly tells Ruby “Get a grip. Get a grip. GET A RUDDY GRIP.” It’s brilliant.  Ruby responds with a million thank yous and it totally seems to work as she trots off to her fridge, revitalised, and Mel returns to Frances’ fruit, with seconds to go. "Oh God this is so stressful" she says.

Meanwhile Sue is licking chocolate off her fingers.  

And TIME.  Who will be Puff Daddy?

Animal shot #3: blurry blackbird.

For the avoidance of doubt, the blurry blackbird is not Puff Daddy.

Paul, quelle surprise, is “not convinced” by Glenn's pastry making approach. Berrywood criticise the appearance of his mille-feuilles (“awful” and “hideous” - ouch), but think the flavours are alright. The tarts are “pretty” and the flavour “lovely” but they are undercooked.

Beca has produced a good puff pastry, but there is no “elegance” or “shine” in the presentation. They like the flavour of her vol-au-vents though.

How will Frances' theme go down? “They certainly look impressive” says Mary, and - HOLD ON TO YOUR HATS - “this is a great theme”.  Wowsers, Mary must be a Piaf fan (but who isn't?).  There’s ALSO compliments for the flavours across the board; Paul thinks she's done “really well”.

“Great flake” on Kimberley's pastry, though some of it has fallen apart. But Paul's ready for Kimberley's jelly, which tastes “fantastic, nice and zingy”.

Ruby's presentation isn't a success (“untidy”) and, in the case of the tarts, “technically burnt”. But “it actually tastes very nice”.

Christine gets the tuning oboes of doom music, and we hear her philosophically state that “if I get through, I'll be thrilled, and if I don't, I couldn't have done any better”. Uh oh, this doesn't bode well.  But it's FINE – Mary is generally loving Christine, though we knew that – but so is Paul.

Hmmmm – high standards all round.  It's tough at the top these days.  Who’s getting kicked out of the love dungeon this week?

Ma Baker: Frances finally gets her turn! And Mel uses the regrrrrrrrette rien pun. BOOM!

Leaving: It's Glenn - of course it is, but sad times nonetheless. Fortunately Sue picks up the atmos (as Mel would call it), by shouting "you beautiful big bear, come on let's turn him!" as Glenn is engulfed in the Mel and Sue sandwich.

So that’s an all women final then. Who run the (cake) world? GIRLS, to misquote the grammatically incorrect Beyoncé song.

Next time: The Quarter-finals. And a baking free-for-all by the looks of it. Christine appears to be fashioning an electric guitar from icing sugar, Ruby's growing the Incredible Hulk in her blender and Beca promises it's going to get competitive - proper competitive. Eeeeek!

2013 Episode 6 – Sweet Dough week

Last week: Rob made a dalek out of biscuits and Kimberley named, and used, five types of cherries.

 

This week: Dough dough dough dougggggh sweet child o’mine.  (Erm, it’s Sweet Dough week.) 

 

Beca becomes my new third-favourite (after Howard and Christine - and the best a baker can hope for just now) as she tells us “It’s a learning and sharing experience at the minute - feel free to throw up at this point.”  No such attitude from Christine – she has STEEL in her eyes: “all seven of us want to get to the final”.  But WHO WILL?  Boys aside (sorry Glenn and Howard), it feels like it could be anyone’s just now.  Apart from Frances – you know, cause Mary hates her.

 

Signature bake: Sweet tea loaf.  For example, says Sue, a Welsh Bara Brith or an Irish Barm Brack, which are either made-up or I need to seriously increase my knowledge of celtic sweetbreads. It just needs to include yeast – the rest is a free for all.  Three hours: GO!

 

We learn that a tea loaf is a sweet, yeasted bread often flavoured with fruits and spices which is traditionally served – get this – at tea-time.  I know!  Though, frankly, I'm not a fan of fruit in cake, as it takes up valuable room which could be filled with buttercream or chocolate.  Paul then spouts some important, but - let's face it - pompous advice about retarding yeast.  Mary is rocking some hot pink lippy and discussing loaf size.

 

Over to the bakers, all of whom are using enriched dough - I've watched enough Bake Off that I should know what this is by now, but in truth, I do not have a clue, and just think it sounds like cheating.  Christine tells us she is currently “infusing sultanas in Assam tea”, which does not sound mouth-wateringly delicious, but she then invents the word “plumpcious”, in relation to her apricots, which is why she is amazeballs.  Christine is producing an Oxford Nutty Fruit Loaf, because she’s from round there – she thinks she’s invented it, but I’ll tell her now (*hilarious inside-joke alert*) that Oxford Nutty Fruit Loafs are already well and truly established, in the form of every loon who’s stood for election at the Union.

 

Frances’ loaf will be a Chai Tea Loaf, with an inner cinnamon swirl.  She reaches under her counter to show Berrywood her presentation tools, as Mary mutters “here we go” in the bitchiest way possible.  Frances has simply decided to present a TEA loaf in a giant TEA cup, so that it looks like a chai latte – this is hardly high on the Conceptual Pretension scale, but you can sense Mary rolling her eyes and pursing her pink lippy.

 

Kimberley’s using chai too, for a Chai Spiced Ginger and Date Tea Loaf.  Kimberley is rocking a new hair scarf today, and I like it - in fact, I think Kimberley has excellent hair styling in general.  (More hair reviews to follow.  No, seriously.)  She’s using lots of different types of cardamom this week.  (Well, two.  Which is definitely lots by cardamom standards.)  And.... well, that's about as exciting as it gets at Kimberley’s counter so far.  We need some At Home footage of Giuseppe the Aviator.

 

Howard admits he has put his mix in the wrong bowl and somewhere in Middle England, Deborah screams vindication for Custardgate at the TV.   We then get the perfect explanation for his confusion, as Howard announces he making his loaf out of.... hemp.   Yes, viewers that’s hemp.  HEMP!  Stoner Loaf for all!  Mary claims “I know nothing about hemp.  Is it a grass?” !!!!  Yeah RIGHT, Bezza, yeah right...  Sue tells her that it’s full of Omega 3, but the leaf part is “naughty cigarettes”.  Mary pretends she hasn’t heard and forges on, poker faced.  We then see her surreptitiously lift the hemp flour to her face and take a MASSIVE inhale.  We know her game.

 

Hair review #2: Glenn’s hair - newly trimmed and looking neat.  He’s making a Devonshire Panettone, though Paul won’t accept that it’s a panettone unless it’s cooled upside down (literally no clue).  Glenn gets that look of terror in his eyes that Paul seems to consistently inspire in him– and we’re talking about a man who faces down teenagers for a living.

 

Beca, as you might expect, is making Bara Brith (pronounced Barrra Breeeeeeethhh).  It’s her gran’s recipe (I’ve already forgotten the Welsh for gran), but she’s not convinced that gran’s way is the Hollywood way, so Beca asks Paul whether she should add her fruit in now or later, and he explains that it would be unfair to tell her, in a surprisingly unsmug and patronizing way – well, by his standards.  Then, just as he’s leaving her bench, he leans in, tells her she’s already done it wrong anyway and scarpers.  Honestly Paul, you can be a right ****.   Not satisfied at having ruined Beca’s morning, he sidles up to Howard and tells him off for kneading with one hand only.  Leave it, Howard, it’s not worth it!

 

Unlike Beca, Ruby decided to leave her fruit out until after the first prove, so maybe Paul won’t be such a **** to her.  She’s making a Citrus Tea Loaf and sporting her Geography Teacher Arm Patch jumper – Grandad Cardi is no doubt in the wash.  She also (Hair Review #3) has her curls unpinned this week – as you might expect, she remains an un-minger.

 

Most bakers are just whacking their loaves into a tin, but Howard’s not even bothering with that and just squishes it into a ‘that’ll do’ brown lump - a laissez faire approach where hemp’s involved? Oh you surprise me...  Kimberly meanwhile has rolled her dough into a long “sausage”, cut it into three, plaited it and curled it into her tin.  This is clearly showing off.

 

We're then treated to Beca doing a memorable Scouse impression of Paul, which is basically pure Welsh, except for an over-emphasised phlegm sound.  It's a perfect intro to...

 

Food history #1: Wherein Patagonians improve Welsh bara brrrrrrah by soaking it in rum. Well, duh!

 

Also of note: ANIMAL SHOT!!!  I thought they’d gone, but no – we are treated to a distant blurry view of a sheep behind a fence.

 

Back in the tent, it's time to get the loaves out of the ovens. Glenn has decided to fashion a Blue Peter-style contraption out of a giant pot, some string and a wooden spoon which will allow him to cool his panettone in such a way (upside down) that Paul will accept that it is panettone - apparently just adopting an Italian accent and doing lots of hand gestures wouldn’t be sufficient to guarantee authenticity.

 

Frances’ loaf has a crack in it.  It looks exactly like a little bum.  Mel is delighted and fashions it some bum cleavage trousers.

 

Time’s up – here we dough!

 

Berrywood think Ruby's citrus loaf has “excellent” flavours but is “slightly doughy” inside.

Howard’s Weed Cake, I mean, his Date and Hemp Yorkshire Loaf is up next. Mary says “it looks like it's going to be rather good for me” in a way which is definitely not a compliment.  Paul thinks the hemp is “quite pungent”.

 

Over at Beca’s station, Paul concedes that, in spite of adding the fruit too soon, Beca has managed “the best bake you could have done with the prove that you had”.  Mary likes the cranberries – that's the fruit, not the band.  (Course, she may like the band too – we just don't have independent confirmation.)

 

The outside of Glenn's panettone looks mouldy to me, but the inside is bright yellow, which Mary likes a lot.  The flavours also get praise, but it's “definitely underbaked”.

 

Christine's doughy offering is deemed uneatable, lest it upsets Paul's constitution.  Christine takes the hit with complete grace.

 

Compliments for Kimberley's idea and flavours, but the loaf is underbaked and underproved.

 

No bum loaf for Frances after all – the inside has a superb swirl on show and Mary gets over her Frances issues and thinks it's “lovely”.  Paul agrees, but finds the outside “boring”. !!! Poor Frances – she can't win.  She laments not having used the icing sugar stencil she’d made at home, intended to make the loaf look like the milky top of a cappuccino.  (Then again, one time a barista accidently fashioned a willy and balls shape on the top of my latte, so maybe ‘boring’ was for the best, after all.)

 

The Technical Challenge: Apricot Couronne.  It's Paul's recipe and, true to form, he says he hopes they don't bugger it up - but clearly secretly hopes they do, so he can feel superior, yadda yadda yadda.  The bakers look as perplexed as ever, but crack on in a way that truly impresses; baking a redacted recipe under time pressure and on national TV would just make me sob and hide in the proving drawer.

 

Beca reads that she has to roll out a rectangle and after rolling out an oval with slightly straight sides, Beca decides that’ll do.  We watch the bakers spread their apricot mixture over their ‘rectangles’ – it looks like little vomit balls, but am sure it will be delicious.

 

The twisting is also causing difficulty; Glenn reads the instruction “Twist the two dough lengths together” and immediately begins twisting the dough lengths separately.  Fortunately, Mel is on hand to gently push him in the right direction.  Twisting achieved, Glenn puts his dough back in the drawer for some more rising and Mel launches into THE PUN OF THE SERIES:

 

Mel: is that going to work?
Glenn: sure!
Mel: Prove it. (*Winks to camera and does Brucie muscle pose*)

 

BOOM!

 

Pun done, time for innuendo: Howard takes his couronne out of the drawer and exclaims “Oooh, it’s a bit big, isn’t it?”.  Glenn looks on aghast, worried about the size of his own - “I’ve just seen Howard’s... it’s twice as big!”.  And how we laugh as we pretend they might be talking about their man bits.

 

But let the dramatic music crescendo, as the final touches (glazing and icing) are added. Then it's time for Paul to sneer at the offerings!

 

Paul concedes that he can’t sneer at the visuals, as “they all look pretty good”.  Mary is so flabbergasted that Paul’s opened with a compliment that she stays rooted to the spot, even though Paul wants to move on to tasting, so he can spit out couronne bits in fury.  But disaster ahoy – it turns out they all taste good too!  (Paul’s brain is already concocting his next technical challenge, where the instructions will be: “Make sixteen Religieuses.”  And that will be it.)

 

The ranking is deemed hard, as there’s not much in it.  Howard is last, then Beca (6), Glenn (5), Christine (4), Kimberley (3) and Frances (2) - so number one is Ruby Ruby Ruby.  Paul immediately launches into some unnecessary egotistical flirtation: “That looks like the one I would have done”.

 

Filler shot: no animals, but a series of hanging pans in front of some Union Jack bunting. 

 

Show-stopper: Two different varieties of European sweet buns, twelve of each.  More foreign names for Sue to mangle – like 'brioche' and 'schnecken'.  The bakers also get half an hour to do some evening baking, so their dough can prove overnight. 

 

Beca's been soaking her prunes in rum for the past four days, so WELL DONE HER, especially when she outright confirms that her tactic is "Booze".  The booze will come in the form of Chocolate and Rum-soaked Prune Brioche and Cardamom Spiced Lemon Ice Buns.  Mary, with a wry sparkle in her eye, announces that Paul "is an expert in buns”.

 

Christine is adding white sugar to brown sugar to butter to golden syrup, so clearly her tactic is “Diabetes”.  She’s making Schnecken Buns and Vanilla Custard Skolebrod.  “Skolebrod” oooooh, that’s a good word, isn't it?  Surely, there’s some umlaut action in there - maybe that tiny Scandi circle accent, which my mum once inexplicably produced in a text.  (It turns out it's got the line through the O and means 'school bun' in Norwegian.  Don’t say you don’t learn anything from this blog.)

 

Glenn “can't get it out” - he is referring to his overly chilled dough, which is wedged in his bowl.  He’s making - get ready for more foreign words we can attempt with a silly accent -Almond and Apricot Brioche and Sticky Caramel Kanelbullen - or cinnamon swirls, as the Swedish would say, because they're incredibly excellent at English.  The swirls are like doughy balls of yarn, which Glenn seems to think stick together by magic.  WE SHALL SEE, intone Paul and Mary's subtext.

 

Howard, meanwhile, is making Peachy Buns and German Baumschnecken, which proves that he is just the best – there's no way you can say any of that without a funny voice and an attack of the giggles.  Mel learns that Schnecken is the German for snail and she and Howard have a moment, as she affectionately says “CUTE! You're a little Schnecken, Howard.”  Howard chuckles a thank you, at which point Paul sticks his jackboot in – “she calls you a snail and you say thank you?!?!”  Howard handles this with grace and aplomb - “I need compliments!”  And lo, Howard, you shall get them.  Paul, you won’t.

 

Kimberley is going to make a kumquat marmalade, so whoever had that on their Organic Middle Class Bingo Card can cross it off.  The marmalade will go in her Double Chocolate and Hazelnut Brioche and Danish Kanelsnurrer, which I can pronounce perfectly, as I’ve watched The Killing, The Bridge AND Borgen, so, you know, tak and hi hi.

 

Freudian interlude, whilst Kimberley, a professional psychologist, bitches about, I mean, analyses her opponents, describing their “stealth-baking personalities”.  Beca is “solid” (Sue quickly clarifies that that’s her baking style, not the effects of her baking on her body shape); Ruby is the “baking ninja”; Glenn is a “flavour machine”; Christine is “absolutely consistent” and Frances is the “design guru gem”.  It’s Sue who takes on the psychological profiling of Howard: “he’s a maverick. He will not be tamed.”  Quite.

 

Standby for yet more Euro-comedy words: Twisted Swedish Kanelbullar (and Saffron St. Lucia Buns) from Ruby.  Frances’ foreign bun word isn’t Scandiwegian, so time to harshen our comical Euro-accents as we move south east to the Czech Republic – for her Rhubarb and Custard Kolaches, which will be fashioned to look like zeros and will be matched with Hot Cross Brioches – to make a bun/fun game of noughts and crosses.

 

Foodistory #2: Bath is famous for its Sarah Lund Buns, which are dressed in natty knitwear, and have brilliant and tenuous minds, but can’t help wandering alone and unarmed into dark alleyways where murderers like to hang out.  At least, I *think* that's right - and I'm from the West Country, so I should totally know.

 

Howard is using a spoon to get a peachy cleft and says “I’m going to be close to the wire with my schnecken".  HOWARD IS THE BEST IS THE BEST IS THE BEST.

 

Dramz over at Glenn’s counter, as he can’t get his buns out of the mould, with a minute to go.  Kimberley suggests tipping them upside down, which he does, and they instantly fall apart – the magic he’d promised Mary and Paul suddenly failing him. “Oh that was a crap idea” he whines, like it was part of a masterplan Kimberley had personally devised to cross him, including getting him to bake Kanelbullen in the first place.  Glenn, honey, if Kimberley’s going to target her main competitors, I think it’s Ruby and Christine that she’ll gun for...  It's rough though and Glenn looks sad.  Sue gives him a restorative hug and some cheek kisses, which genuinely seem to help.

 

Until Paul gets to see them, of course.  Speaking of which, it's time...

 

Christine needed a good showstopper and Mary says she’s made “almost a doughnut, only more fun” – more fun than a doughnut!?!  Good work, Christine!  She also gets a “scrummy”, a “delicious” and an “impressed”.

 

Frances’ buns taste good - the surprise in Mary’s voice is palpable - but the hot cross buns are overproved.

 

Howard’s peachy buns look EXACTLY like peaches – it’s extraordinary!  The flavour, however, is not there.  The schnecken are “dry”, so it’s not a great result.

 

Ruby arrives with her usual disclaimer of “oh these are so rubbish and terrible and please don’t eat them” and Mary tells her off: “we’ll make up our own minds”.  Even Mel and Sue agree that she should pipe down til they've tried them.  And, of course, Ruby's buns are deemed “delicious” and “amazing”.

 

Kimberley’s sweet dough needed more rise and Paul isn’t “overwhelmed” by the flavour, though Mary likes the chocolate ones.

 

“Sadly this is something that hasn’t really worked” says Mary of Glenn’s kanelbullens.  Paul then flicks the “plonked on” apricot off of Glenn’s brioches and announces “they look awful”.  The taste is better, but they are deemed “too dry”.  Poor Glenn.  He's only just holding back the tears.

 

Paul refers to Beca’s buns as “these guys” and says he likes the look of them.  Berrywood both like the brioche, but the boozy prunes are too much (!!!!!!).  Beca's also made a “nice iced bun” in spite of a jazzy icing design that Paul doesn't like (it's a zigzag - who'd have thought that would cause such a controversy...)

 

Ominous Animal Shot: a blackbird flying away.  Glenn’s voice breaks and water wells in his eyes – he is convinced he is leaving.  It’s really sad!  :-(

 

Time for Mary and Paul to huddle in their special tent and deliberate fate.

 

Ma baker: Ruby!  Twitter apparently went a bit mental and said it was only because Paul fancies her.  Piffle – she won a blind taste test.  #teamruby

 

Leaving: Nooooooooooooooo! Not Howard. Not his peachy buns. *sobs*.  AND I had Howard in the work ‘bakestake’, so that’s £2 down the drain.  Course, emotionally we're all £2 down.  Fare thee well Howard.  We lurrrrved you.  Glenn can’t believe it – he’s determined to bake on in Howard’s memory.

 

Next time: Pastry Week – and it makes Beca feel “physically sick”.   Yum!

 

 

Mini blog. Week 6 - Sweet dough

Bye bye: Noooooooooooooooooooo! Not Howard. Not his peachy buns. *sobs*  Even Paul grudgingly admitted that he liked Howard - before slating his baking skills.  Too soon, Hollywood, too soon.

 

Ma Baker: Ruby Ruby Ruby. Poor Frances – Mary totally hates her!  She was scathing when her idea was no more complex than putting a tea loaf in a bowl shaped like a teacup.

 

Living up to glorious middle class stereotype: Two words: hemp bread.

 

Baking craving: Am sure everyone had the munchies after Howard's signature bake, whatever Mary claimed not to know about 'special herbs'.

 

Food history: Patagonians improve Welsh bara brrrrrrah by soaking it in rum. Well, duh!

 

Mel'n'Sue pun watch:
Mel: is that going to work?
Glenn: sure!
Mel: Prove it. (Winks to camera)
BOOM!

 

Next week: Pastry week – nuns and tent races, by the looks of it.  And Mel shouts at Ruby: “GET A RUDDY GRIP!”.  Well, quite.

2013 Episode 5 – Biscuit Week

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

What will the judges think of that, I wonder?

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Uh oh.  What will the judges say?

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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