Last week: Cake,
rattle and roll. Claire was mildly annoying and was unceremoniously
booted out – she promptly redeemed herself by defending herself quite marvellously
on Twitter and describing a cake as an ‘old man’s flipflop’ on
An
Extra Slice.
We also fell in love with Norman.
Blazer watch:
Mary’s
opted for a biker jacket in Essex stiletto white, whilst Mel and Sue
are colour-clashing with pride. It’s not a jacket, but special
mention to Luis’ T-shirt; a particularly fetching shade of tealy-turquoise. If it were a paint it would probably be called 'Classy Prom Dress' or 'Instagram Filter Algae'.
The Signature
Bake: Thirty-six savoury biscuits, which will go with cheese.
Mel goes ‘free
jazz’ (a term I stole from my director at work, jokily describing how he
wanted our team discussion to go) and sings the intro. It goes
“savoury biscuits, savoury biscuits”. It’s up there with
Jordan’s “only a cake” song.
Paul announces that
“It’s one thing making three, four biscuits for a dinner party,
but when you’ve been asked to make thirty-six, that is very
tricky.” Hang on... THREE OR FOUR BISCUITS AT A DINNER PARTY? It’s a
fiesta of mean, chez Paul, clearly.
Norman’s pleased to find himself at the back of tent this week,
as that gives him a “commanding view”. Survey and conquer,
Norman. God speed.
“Yorick is my
sourdough yeast” says - well, who else - Jordan, referring to a home-brought jar of porridgey-esque liquid. “He’s a
friend who provides me with pretty much more than anyone else” continues Jordan, to Mary’s utter bewilderment (and his girlfriend’s
probable annoyance?). Yorick will be bubbling into Sourdough,
Parmesan and Chilli Biscuits. Jordan then tells us he gets obsessive about chillies (that, from a man
with his own named sourdough? I’m amazed), but is using this to
his advantage, attempting to tailor his chilli-selection to Mary’s
palette. So that’s a chilli liqueur then, Jordan.
Nancy has been
exclusively feeding her husband Fennel
and Rye Thins
for dinner, though he obviously hasn’t been too upset with a biscuit-only
diet, as he’s fashioned her another bake tool - a round piece of
metal with pointed, stabby bits sticking out, to “make the biscuits
look professional”. (So basically, homemade tool #2 is as sharp
and kinky as homemade tool #1.) Nancy reckons she used out of date
fennel in her practice attempt – the clue was that it was grey. How delicious.
Guess which
hipster’s making Za’atar
and Fig Biscuits? Yes, of course it’s Iain. (Za’atar, as I’m sure you knew, is a Middle Eastern blend of spices and herbs, and is so exotic it starts with a z and has its own punctuation in the middle.) Iain might have hoped for a deep and meaningful
discussion of Arabian Spice blends, but Mel takes things in a rather
different direction, by tapping into her accent obsession and getting the Northern Irish building surveyor to say “it’s a cracker”. She is delighted.
We learn that
Enwezor’s home baking life involves practicing Pumpkin
and Sunflower Savoury Biscuits
with several small children strapped to his legs. Kate also bakes
with a child, but has managed to train hers to stand on a stool and
do the heavy lifting/mixing. Wise. Not that she has her adorable
daughter on hand to help with her Parmesan
and Apple Biscuits
which have an attractive looking apple slice on top - of this I approve. It's always best to get your five-a-day hidden in a biscuit.
Luis (seriously I
love the colour of his T-shirt) is using a crumbly dough for his
Black
Olive and Rosemary Biscuits with Caramelised Onion Glaze.
Like a baking attack dog, Mary fiercely interrogates him about his
olives. Luis stammers that they were in brine, not oil and stresses
that he dried them off too, honest guv, and made them really, really
dry. This seems to be the right answer, as Mary backs off - though she probably did the two fingers to the eyes "I'm watching you" sign when the cameraman's back was turned.
Chetna’s Fenugreek
and Carom Crackers
are her mum’s recipe. We see a sneaky pic of Chetna during her
younger days in India; she has not changed AT ALL, bar her pepperpot
hair, and if pepperpot locks are good enough for Clooney, they’re
good enough for an attractive woman like her.
Lovely Richard (so
lovely) is making Rosemary
Seeded Crackers.
He still has his blue pencil tucked behind his ear. I like to think he's a list man and it's used to satisfyingly cross off his ingredients as he adds them to the bowl.
Diana is going for
pastry rather than a technically biscuity base (all the terms, me),
which seems a bold move, but must be allowed. The pastry will
form Parmesan
Triangles. Aha! Could we see our first soggy bottom so soon? Diana’s worried
about the clock and Paul makes a time/thyme pun, which even Mel can't approve of. Remember Paul, not only are puns Mel and Sue’s domain, but time/thyme's not nearly filthy enough.
Norman has embarked
on a highly, risky strategy: plain Farthing
Biscuits.
(I’m VERY worried, even if it is substance over style.) Sue comes over for her weekly flirt/tease and
coquettishly gets him to show her some semaphore, before accusing him
of making up where E is. Norman, once again, expertly diffuses the situation by
seamlessly changing the subject and showing Sue his crooked arm, from
when he broke it. It’s quite wonky, it’s true, and Sue is again
stunned into gobsmacked silence. Norman: 2. Perks: 0. Love match: one million.
Martha’s dog
stole a full tray of her Carmelised
Onion and Goat’s Cheese Sandwich Biscuits
which suggests they have at least one fan. Having said that, I’m not sure dogs have such
great taste – I walked my friend’s Westie, Nina, the other night and
she was particularly into bins and twigs next to bins. Because
Martha’s biccies are sandwiched, she has to make 72 of
them – she handles that pressure with the fearlessness of a 17 year
old. Martha also tells Berrywood that she works on a cheese counter “so
I have to spend my Saturdays staring at cheese”. That would be
mouth-watering torture – all the stink and none of the
divinely divine taste.
Update on Diana's soggy bottom: she's avoided it. Yay! By overcooking significantly. Boo!
Dramatic montage
#1:
biscuits going repeatedly into and out of ovens and panicked counting, as we approach the end of the challenge.
It's time, to quote Paddy
McGuiness, to let the biscuit see the, erm, biscuit judges.
Good:
Richard - “flavoursome”; Chetna - "gorgeous"; Luis - "three
minutes away from perfection"; Martha - "very original and
great fun"; Nancy - "you've got that exactly right for me". And Norman gets a Hollywood handshake!!!
(Slightly)
Bad: Jordan - "you got the balance of your chilli right" but "it
tastes burnt"; Kate - "I'm debating whether I like them or
not"; and Enwezor - "could have done with more of a
kick".
Ugly:
Diana - "not executed well"; and Iain - “I'm questioning
the za'atar blend. It's very very pungent". (Translation: your
pretentious spice choice is uneatable, Iain.)
The bakers reflect
on Challenge #1. Mrs Norman - a wise woman if you ask me - had
heeded against the plain biscuit, so Norman is looking forward to
telling her she has to eat her words "and the biscuits".
Diana, like only an indomitable British WI stalwart can, refuses to
be ruffled by her false step: "onwards and upwards".
Foodistory:
Tea break time! I mean, interesting package about the history of a foodstuff time! We learn that, disgustingly, ice-cream used to be sold in communal
shot glasses which would be licked clean and reused until everyone got diseased and the whole enterprise had to be formally banned. Grrr-oss. Fortunately, someone invented cones and we can now eat ice-cream without the same fear of mouth lurgy.
The Technical
Challenge:
18
Florentines. An hour and a quarter. Go!
Iain is confused
because Mary hasn't detailed how he should chop his nuts. I wonder
if he's actually seen the show before? Then again, I think Iain
might just suffer from confused resting face (bitchy resting face's less
aggressive cousin).
Dramatic montage
#2:
A gallery of perplexed faces, as the
bakers aren't sure how to get the zigzags in their chocolate.
The
secret is to use a fork, it turns out. Whilst everyone's confused
about their forking zigzags, Mel siddles up to Martha and whispers
that she's the only one to have done it right. Mel clearly knows a
well-constructed Florentine.
Tecchie
Rankings:
From bottom to top: Iain, Norman, Enwezor; Chetna, Diana, Jordan,
Martha and Kate, with Luis third, Nancy second and Richard in
victorious first. He is as surprised as he is pleased, and not in a
fake, false-modesty way, which we would be totes judging.
Iain must be in the
dangerzone again, surely?
The Showstopper:
A 3-D Biscuit Scene. The key requirement it that it has to stand up. (Though I'd imagine it probably has to taste good too.)
Mary stresses that
it must ALL be homemade. Hmmmm – do we think this means that
someone's probably gone for shop-bought icing? BINGO. As Enwezor confesses he's not making his own fondant, Mary gives him a look so
furiously icy, I'm surprised he (and indeed all the bakers) didn't immediately run from the
tent hysterically sobbing. But no, he's obliviously cracking on with
his Space
Adventure Moon Scene;
a gingerbread rocket (formed by a pile of biscuits and clearly disgusting shop-bought fondant) surrounded by
biscuity planets and stars.
Martha is
creating a Ski
Village Scene and has cunningly chosen the biccie flavours of coffee, chocolate and mulled wine, because they're all beverages commonly drunk on a skiing holiday.
(But where's the Jägerbomb biscuit?) She's planning a mountain,
chalet and chair lift on marshmallow snow. THIS IS WEEK 2 PEOPLE!!!
What the heck will they have left for the final? The whole of Ben Hur
in stop motion, out of homemade organic marzipan and a series of za'atar macaroons?!
Nancy is almost
going there, actually – she’s making a Hansel
and Gretel Scene,
complete with multiple main characters, mini-wood, wood path, log store and
logs. Whilst that’s impressive, I am yet to be convinced about the
merits of her chosen biscuit flavour: green-tea and orange
gingerbread. Tea goes WITH biscuits, not in.
Iain is making
wholemeal, oatmeal biscuit (can you even have two '-meals' in the same dough?!) to give added structural capacity to his Wild
West Scene.
He’s a building surveyor, so surely coming at it from professional experience. Certainly the dough looks like it could keep a real life actual cowboy saloon upright and melded together; whether it’s
delicious is another matter. He’s using chocolate and chilli
and pistachio and rose biscuits. No bourbon?! You’re
missing a conceptual trick, Iain!
In fact it's Jordan who is
using bourbon biscuits (with custard) to make a Monster
Attack! It's actually quite clever, as monsters can be any old shape, so it
doesn’t matter if you mess up your cutting; Jordan instantly
demonstrates this by doing exactly that and amputating the bottom half of his creature.
Norman has
fashioned himself a special cutter to make his Zulu
Boats at Dawn
– he and Mr Nancy should go into 'specialist bakeware' business. Norman’s making another
plain biscuit out of butter and flour, though this second one has the utter out-there rock and roll element of
adding “a tiny drop of vanilla essence”. He proudly declares to
Mary and Paul that it’s all about the display and “they won’t
be the finest biscuits you’ve ever eaten”. “They’d better
be!” replies Paul, with Mary backing him up. You should listen to Mrs Norman! I bet she would
be counselling variety.
Chetna’s Day
On The Beach
will include a carousel with giant vanilla biscuity roof,
precariously balanced on one biscuit pillar. She assures Berrywood
it will hold, though it won’t turn, in spite of her five year
old's attempt to spin the practice version.
Choo choo! Diana
is making a train and calling her scene ‘Express,
First Class’, which will be made of gingerbread, tuile, shortbread and pinwheels. I’m guessing
the pinwheels will form the wheels - oh yes, all the baking smarts, me. Mary stands over Diana and
forces her to roll the pinwheel in front of her. To be fair, Mary
cheerleads Diana through it and is highly complimentary at the end. Like a WI veteran can't roll a pinwheel under pressure!
Finally, Kate’s making a
Tea
Time
scene from lemon and lime biscuits which comprises a family around a
table. She's making an army of boys, lest one of them loses a leg in the oven.
Dramatic montage
#3:
More biscuits coming into and out of ovens - turns out there's only limited kitchen-worthy action in
biscuit week, really.
I'm sure what the producers
are really hoping for is a biscuit tower to floor crash they can
theatrically slo-mo film it. And right on cue,
Jordan kindly offers the producers a disaster plot-point – no major
crash action, but his skyscraper biscuits are firmly welded to his tray and have to be crumbled off and redone.
Mel tries to help by asking Jordan if he has "any good techniques to de-stress?" Err Mel, is this *really* a question to ask a young man? I mean, what if he
answers truthfully? Diana would probably faint! Jordan,
diplomatically, responds that “baking properly” is probably the
best technique for a stress-free life. He has a point.
Luis is having a better time of it baking George Versus The Dragon. Cleverly, the dragon bits are “smokey”
sweet paprika chilli and chocolate, whilst the rest is an orange and
cardamom dough. I’ve got Luis in the sweepstake and – famous
last words – I’m not un-hopeful. Paul is also well impressed by a
simple interlocking structural system, which won’t involve that most
disgusting of baking products ‘edible glue’. Urgh. Just typing it
makes me grimace.
Richard’s
interlocking too – to make a peanut butter island and gingerbread
boat scene he’s simple calling Pirates! Well, that does the job. Sue
points out that one pirate template “looks like Long John Silver
has mated with Shrek”. “He’s the fat pirate” says Richard, who clearly knows his pirate stereotypes. Sue then points out that the fat pirate has two legs “which is frankly one
more than the piratical standard.” HahaHA! ‘Piratical standard’ has
got to be one of my new favourite terms. Fortunately Richard’s got
a one-legged pirate already cut.
Dramatic montage
#4:
disaster-free biscuit assembling. Chetna successfully gets her giant
carousel disk on her pole without noticing that Paul is looming. She
jumps out of her skin when she realises he’s there –
fortunately/sadly (depending on your perspective) this doesn’t
start a chain of events culminating in the total destruction of her
scene.
Enwezor tells us he
is so bad at decorating, it made his daughter cry. That bodes well.
Mel is giving
permission to use Richard’s neon piping bags as glow sticks.
Richard effectively declines to join her in a post-bake rave date
though. She then calls Iain a Van Gogh lookalike. I CALLED THAT LAST
WEEK! High fives all round!
Dramatic montage
#5:
nervous piping. Norman demands a Blue Peter badge.
To judging!
Well, actually, before we get
to judging, I’d like to throw in a disclaimer of sorts: I'm
probably going to sound mean about their showstoppers, and I want that to be taken in the spirit in which it is intended, namely that I'm still mighty, mighty impressed by every last pipped gingerbread man, even if his face does look like a child enjoying his first felt tip. I fully appreciate how difficult these
scenes are to make and decorate and, ye gads, I couldn’t do it. It's just that I can’t always help but feel a teeny bit
disappointed by what sometimes seems (to me) to be ever so slightly shoddy
pipping and wonky biscuit assembling.
I think it's the rushing -
they should give them a few more hours to perfect the décor. Or let
the TV audience somehow be able to judge the taste too.
Tasteovision! Come on! Surely we can organise that? I mean we can print 3D guns these days! Surely anything is possible?
Iain is the first
to make the white-knuckle ride that is carrying a tray of biscuity
structures to the judging. His gingerbread cowboys seem to have giant
flared chaps and buttoned leotards on – a look that would go down a
storm at G.A.Y, but how will Berrywood react? Well, they like the taste
and snap; “you've done well”. Iain's pulled it back, I reckon...
Whilst we're on the subject of pipping décor reminiscent of Soho's most
flamboyant trousers, well, special mention to Richard's 'sexy' mermaid, with her orange hair, scarlet trout pout, purple shell bikini top (daringly unfastened!) and neon green crocheted fishtail. I'm not sure words
are enough, frankly.
 |
| That's a pirate ship behind the mermaid. I think. Probably. |
Bake-wise, the judges are well impressed with the whole of Richard's lot: “melts in the mouth”.
There's sadly no camp outfit action from
Diana's train, which is “a bit lopsided”, though the engine is
“beautifully round”. Mary says her tuiles are “just perfect”.
I love the look of
Jordan's monster attack – the shoddiness works, as it reinforces a
funky cartoon effect. Paul thinks it looks “a bit of a mess”
(yes, Paul, but in a GOOD WAY). However the flavours are “delicate”
and “delicious”.
Chetna's beach gets
a “what fun” from Mary, but Paul thinks it's a bit burnt. Politely,
neither of them mention how the beach huts look like someone's been
at them with a florescent highlighter and the gingerbread people are
sitting in the sand with no pants on.
Hansel and Gretel
and the woodshed earn Nancy a “well-baked and well thought out”.
I crave the gingersnap roof – that looks YUM.
Kate's Tea Time
looks slightly more Post Hugely Boozey Dinner Let's Get The Port Out
Time, as her characters are all sitting at slightly different angles.
There's also a giant cat under the table, unless she intended to make a pet lynx.
Mary thinks it's “a good lime biscuit”. Kate breathes an audible
sigh of relief.
As for poor
Enwezor, there's not much chance for relief. First Paul slates the
lack of structure, pointing out it's just a pile of biscuits, then he
gets another cat's bum death glare from Mary, as he is forced to once again admit that
he didn't make the fondant. And Enwezor's daughter was right – his
biscuit people are shodddddd-deeeeee. *waaaah*
Luis' scene looks
solid – this is a good thing. Paul loves the level of chilli
flavour in the dragon and finds the whole thing “unbelievable...
I'm running out of superlatives.” Good job Luis! I've got a £24 jackpot in my sights, remember!
Norman's scene
might well be a bit “simplistic”, but I think it works – I've
no idea if the hot pink and black surfboard décor on the Zulu ships is
historically accurate, but it looks cool, as does his blue icing
seascape. However, Mary tells Norman he should have shown them
another skill - adding food colouring and vanilla essence to the biscuit he made in the Technical Challenge was never going to go down that well.
Finally, Martha's ski
village is AMAZING – she's actually suspending a chair lift on wire
from a biscuit mountain! Paul then out-pretentiouses even Iain's Za'atar
by trying to act cool and shrugging “it looks like Verbier, I'll
give you that”, as if he's a blue-blooded ski posho. Well Paul, if you watched Made in Chelsea, you'd
know that the kids actually call it “Verb-yah”. As in “whad up,
Verb-yah, rrrrahhhh, yeah boi, rrrraahhh, pardy, I'm a massive toss-ah,
rrrrahhhh etc etc etcaaaahh”. Anyway, Mel and Sue immediately mock Paul about Verb-yah,
then turn to mock Mary, who has that glint in her eye as she reaches for the
mulled wine-flavoured biscuit. In spite of the teasing, they still compliment Martha's
scene - and rightly so.
As usual, the
Showstopper has mixed things up. It's a tough call as to who is
going. Well it would have been, if I hadn't already accidentally and
irritatingly seen a spoiler on Instagram. (I know – talk about
#firstworldproblems.)
So.....?
Ma Baker:
Richard gets the top slot this week – and he looks delightedly surprised again. He still has his ear-pencil in place. He predicts
his wife will go “ultrasonic” on the phone.
Mel and Sue
sandwich: Sorry Enwezor. But was it ever going to be anything else after
shop-bought-fondant-gate? No, course not. You live and learn.
Next time: It's Bread Week! Paul finally gets to be smug and condescending about proving.
