2014 Episode 5 - Tarts and Pies Week

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Signature bake: Family-sized custard tart.

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

Paul says he wants silky custard.  Really, Paul?

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

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

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

The following conversation then takes place:

Paul: Is that your ring?

Nancy: Yes

Paul: It's very shallow.

Snarffsnarffsnarffadinfinitum.  Smut smut smut smut smut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Technical Challenge: Mini pear pies. 

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

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

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

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

Animal shots: A horse!!!

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

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

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

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

The Show-stopper: A pie with tiers. 

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

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

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

(Twas ever thus.)

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

*drum roll* 

Norman's Pieful Tower.  

!!!!!

WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS. 

!!!!! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Over to la Berry and le Hollywood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mel and Sue Sandwich: Norman. *waaaaaaaaaah*

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

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

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

Kate is chuckling that a Southerner won pie week.

Next time: European cakes, whatever they are.

2014 Episode 4 - Dessert week

Last week: Jordan’s brioche was too soggy, whilst Luis triumphed after sticking gold leaf to olives.  Paul was at his smuggestly bread-judgingly happiest.

This week: Just desserts - and an Alaskan controversy that makes Sarah Palin look entirely sane.

Blazer watch: I’m fairly sure Mary’s worn that Jackson Pollock Does Floral Upholstery blue jacket before.  She’s also got what appears to be a giant silver ‘M’ on her belt, Batman Style.  (It might be an H, but I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt here.)

The Signature bake: A Self-saucing Pudding. 

So this is a sponge that produces its own juices basically; it sounds disgusting, but HELLO FONDANTS.  All the references to self-saucing are promptly taken by Mel and Sue as an opportunity to go full Kenneth Williams.

So what are they planning, matron?

Martha is making Peanut Butter Chocolate Fondants, which NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM FOR EVER.

Kate is making Chocolate & Salted Caramel Molten Puddings, which NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM FOR EVER.

Iain is making Chocolate, Lime & Raspberry Fondant, which... well, I’m probably full now, so that’s a shame.  He’s planning mint chocolate leaf decor – maybe I can force one or two of those down.

Should Nancy’s plan go perfectly, her Pistachio Puddings with Chocolate Sauce will show green sponge with brown sauce when you cut into it.  She’s managed that once out of ten practice attempts, so the going isn’t great, but Paul’s impressed by the daring.  Me too!

Richard’s also been practicing - on the family again.  They’re now a little over-exposed to his Black Forest Chocolate Fondants, so he chuckles that it might be some time before they’re back on the family favourite roster, but they were popular once, so that’s a good sign.

Richard’s Blue Ear Pencil watch: Firmly in place.  Phew.

Luis tells us how his Pears in Puddings get moist - I wasn’t really paying attention, I’m afraid, as a) I can’t handle the word “moist” and b) I was distracted by the individual foil hats he’s crafted for each pear: “a cross between a wizard and a dunce” observes Sue.  Stupid but magic pears - terrifying.  Luis isn’t a fan of desserts week, as it’s his weakest area of baking.  Come on Luis – I’ve got £2 riding on you!

Chetna’s decided to move away from Indian flavours to something British and traditional: Strawberry, Raspberry & Orange Puddings.  (Once again, I’m afraid that’s all I have to report from Chetna’s station.)

Norman reveals that, after last week’s telling off for being too simple, he has learnt... ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, as he’s going simple AGAIN (*tears hair out*).  I’m sure his Mini Sticky Toffee Puddings will be delicious, but you’ve got to balance style along with your substance.  Paul asks Norman how much sauce he thinks there will be. “About 60 ml” he replies.  Brilliant!  None of your “I don’t know, about this much: *shows indeterminate finger gap*” when you’ve had military training, oh no!

Diana is going for a traditional surprise pudding, though it’s basically no surprise to hear it will be traditional.  She says her Orange & Lemon Curd Pots will be “the biggest thing I’ve ever done, apart from giving birth and all those weird things”.  ?!?!?!?!  What weird things?!!  Come on Diana, you can’t just leave it at that.

Dramatic montage #1: Mixture-spooning and putting-into-oven-ing.

Dramatic montage #2: Beautifying the self-saucers (“ooooh matron”) and hiding away the duds.

Then a quick detour via...

Foodistory: 18,000 Devoners had a giant scrap over the biggest spotted dick Sue has ever seen.

...Before judging!  Will there be sauce?!

Good sauce: Richard – “complicated but exceptionally baked”; Iain – “good consistency and they taste lovely”; Kate - “the sauce is bang on and the sponge is delicious”; and Diana – the “flavour is absolutely gorgeous” and the sauce is “beautiful”.

Naughty sauce: Chetna – “delicious, but definitely needs more sauce”; Martha – “lots of sauce” but “it’s welding my mouth shut”; Luis – “more a poaching” and “very claggy”; Nancy – “exceptional flavour” but “soft middle, not sauce”; Norman – “a proper sauce” but “it doesn’t look very attractive”.

Nancy’s unimpressed with her feedback and points out that puddings get eaten in a few minutes anyway, so WHATEVS BEZZAWOOD.

Animal shot: right on cue, a ewe produces what is clearly a support bleat for Nancy’s resentment.

The Technical Challenge: Mary’s Tiramisu Cake.

It’s a test of precision, with minimal instructions.  Only Martha’s made it before – and it looks corkingly difficult.  The first challenge is making a sponge which is flat but not too flat and which has to be sliced through the middle to make two even flatter sponges.  Richard and Iain don’t get enough rise and decide to bin and re-bake to get the two slices.  (Though why they can’t just bake another flat sponge and add that is beyond me.)  Nancy and Kate decide to just form a patchwork top layer of sponge off-cuts.

The next step is brandy and coffee infusion – the ratios aren’t clear, so Norman’s hoping to have some left over for a wee nip at the end.

Luis has made a highly complex diagram to help him remember to order the layers: sponge, cream, sponge, cream, sponge, cream, etc.  He must have drawn on all his professional experience as a Graphic Designer to handle that one.

Iain’s kneeling at the oven, begging it to cook faster.  His jeans are at the very cusp of acceptability before builder’s bum becomes a very real inevitability.  It’s probably the most risqué fashion statement the Bake Off has ever seen.

Dramatic montage #3: the orchestral strings ring out as the bakers pipe and grate and temper and sift to get the decorative touches.

Sue provides one of the lines of the night: “I can hear the gentle pad of lady moccasins – Berry approaches!”

Tecchie Rankings: Diana is last, then Norman, Kate, Iain, Nancy and Richard at number 4.  The podium goes to Chetna at third, Luis at second, which means the winner is... Martha!  It pays to have made it before.  Good for Martha – she seems a delight, which is no mean feat at 17.

Norman’s optimism abounds.  He didn’t come last, so is basically happy.  I fear a TV loss I’m not ready to take on.

Not an Animal Shot: a single drop of dew on a single leaf of grass.  Well, *someone’s* getting arty.

The Show-stopper: A Baked Alaska. 

That’s sponge, frozen centre and meringue.  Yes, it involves hot ovens and frozen ice cream.  I’ve been witness to it being made and I still don’t understand how it works.  Witchcraft, I reckon.

“What could possibly go wrong?” giggles Luis, inside the tent.

“Many things can go wrong” says a po-faced Paul to an outside camera.

Diana: “Thing is, if you keep it too safe, it doesn’t win any prizes, does it?”

Norman “I want to keep it very simple and very straightforward.”

The editors are having fun, aren’t they?

I fear Diana is right though, Norman, and your Baked Alaska with Strawberry Surprise needs to be very special indeed.  Certainly the illustration promises something different – a cake which looks like a giant bobble hat.  Norman’s delighted with his ice cream – “I could have been born in Italy” he announces.

Martha announces she’s making a Key Lime Pie Baked Alaska and the judges immediately “OOOOOOH” in delighted unison.  “Well done and you’ve won” announces Sue.

Chetna’s Mango, Raspberry & Coconut Baked Alaska is making her reminisce about home and the smell of mangos and summer and the warmth and... it sounds wonderful.  Meanwhile, I’m typing this in full jumper and woolly socks mode, under British summer skies of uniform grey and the feeling that the sun will NEVER RETURN AGAIN.  Mel tries some mango and goes into raptures, promptly encouraging Chetna to get to the freezer, so she can surreptitiously nick some behind her back.  “Saw that!” booms Diana, in her most accusatory WI voice.  Mel remains entirely unashamed.

Iain has opted for black sesame seed ice cream, which he assures us tastes lovely.  It will be a key part of his Chocolate, Black Sesame Seed and Coffee Caramel Baked Alaska.  Paul jokily tells him it looks disgusting.  Mary just gives him The Look, which is about five million times more chilling.  GET SOME BOOZE IN THERE PRONTO IAIN.

Nancy points out what will come to be a KEY PLOT POINT, namely that it’s HAWT in that tent.  Hawt, hawt, hawt.  She’s concerned about the freezer’s capacity to deal with her Summer Pudding Alaska, especially as it’s going to be the size of small pony.

Kate’s hoping for full kitsch, with her Pistachio, Raspberry & Chocolate Baked Alaska.  She says she is taking inspiration from her hometown of Brighton, where rainbow is essentially the national colour.

Richard, in a slight déjà-vu scenario, is making Tiramisu Baked Alaska.  The illustration makes it look like the giant silver wigs the Grease ladies wear in Beauty School Drop Out.  He’s also using ladyfingers, so cue inevitable giggles for the rudest sounding baking ingredient.

Mind you Luis tells us he is making an “almond bottom”, which also has a certain naughtiness to it.  He tells us he loves Bakewell tart, so is planning a Bakewell Alaska.  The illustration looks like a cross between a millipede and one of those dreadlock dogs.  (The illustrator has outdone himself this week – this is *excellent* work.)

Nancy and Diana gather by their freezer and peer in; it’s not going well on the setting front.  BECAUSE IT’S HOT REMEMBER. They give each other a supportive, yet concerned look, and get back to it.  Luis and Norm have a similar conversation; Norm’s ice cream is frozen “but melting very quickly”.  No such luck for Iain: “it’s not frozen” he panics - well, as much as über-calm Iain can express panic.  There’s basically a very, very faint, just about perceptible, quiver in his voice, so I’m fairly sure he’s feeling the stress.

Sue cheers Iain up by eating some of his chocolate then giving him a joyful look clearly inspired by the taste of deliciousness.  She then tells him his beard has grown at least an extra centimetre this week and she hopes he will stay in for a long time, so she can see him reach “full russet Gandalf”.

Diana’s Alaska is all about the meringue, as she’s making a Raspberry Ripple Alaska Swan.  Certainly, creating a long-necked animal from meringue is probably on the more challenging side of the baking oeuvre – take note Norman.  She says the swan is a bit like her: “calm on the top, but paddling like... billy-oh, underneath”.  I’m about 99% sure that she was about to swear like a filthy-mouthed sailor before her decorum training kicked in and threw up “billy-oh”.

Dramatic montage #4: meringue-utan.  Norman announces that he is especially looking forward to seeing Luis’ meringue.  Cue the following shot:

Norman is on formal surveillance duty again.

Probably the finest camera work the BBC has ever seen. (Apart from all the work Mr Cad has done for them OBVZ.)

The ‘Luis double-mixing under Norman’s scrutiny’ shot of joy is swiftly followed by my favourite delivery of the night, as Mel steps with her most authoritative voice and looks directly to camera: “Half an hour left, bakers, half an hour left. That was Melanie Giedroyc reporting for Baked Alaska News.”  It made me proper lolz.

Dramatic montage #5: And this one really is dramz-matic - because it’s so hot, the bakers only have limited time to add the ice-cream to their sponge creations before it all gets too melty.  “Freezer, freezer, freezer” yells Chetna, whilst running and balancing cake on a tray; concisely articulating how they’re all feeling just now.

And then.

Meltgate, or When The Bake Off Went Dark

Right then. I’m just going to lay this out as it appeared, JUDGEMENT FREE (ahem).  And we can then discuss the implications later, if we’re feeling up to it (which frankly...). 

OK, here goes....

1. Nancy and Diana are back at their fridge and have noticed a rogue Alaska.  “Whose is this?” asks one, “Iain’s I think”, replies the other. 

2. Cut to Iain looking stressed and oblivious.

3. Then to Luis manically meringue-ing.

4. Then back to Diana in the middle of her own decor. 

5. “Where’s my ice-cream” says Iain, with a slightly increased quiver-level in his voice. 

6./7. Diana twigs and responds “It’s here, sorry Iain, we...” but the rest is muffled by Iain going “ARGGHHHHHHH!”, his extra giant hair rising an extra centimetre from stress and ear-steam humidity. 

8./9. Diana then appears fairly indignant and says something like “well you’ve got your own freezer, haven’t you?” whilst Iain is simultaneously complaining that “someone took this out the freezer and now it’s all melted”. 

With me so far?  Dramz ahoy.

10. We then cut back to Iain, who has gone back to his station.  He’s looking forlorn and angered and asks “Why would you take ice cream out of a freezer?”.  (I’m fairly sure it’s a rhetorical question.)

11. The ice cream, it’s fair to say, does not look good.  It looks like a film of silver fish skin dunked in a giant bucket of fresh cream.

12. Nancy mouths “oh dear” and moves back to her work. 

That’s right, people, she moves back to her work.  There is no sign of an apology.  I repeat, no sign of an apology.  Hmmmm, think the Great British Public, hmmm...

13. Sue arrives at Iain’s station, to see what can be done. 

14. Iain reckons there’s only any mixture left at all because he put the tin around it. 

15. The proof is then in the pudding (soz), as he lifts the tin and...

16. *DRAMATIC STRING RIFF*

17. ... the whole thing collapses in a big giant melty cream mess.   

Or, as Mr Cad put it “an albino turd”.

18. But Sue’s there! Surely Sue can sort this out!  That’s what she’s there for!

19. Sue takes a deep breath and says “now then, let’s have a think about how we can present that”.  
20. “I’ve got a serving suggestion!” says Iain.

21. Iain picks up the melty mess, moves to the end of his kitchen station, and before Sue can twig or take action...

22. Iain promptly dumps the whole thing in the bin.

23. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

24. ...whilst Sue cries “nooooooooo”.

25. It is too late to save Alaska. “Look at it, I can’t present it!” says Iain to Sue’s unusually flummoxed face.

26. Sue remains silently flummoxed, desperately wondering what to do.

27. But Iain leaves the tent.

28. We cut back to Diana.  She looking shocked like a schoolgirl who’s seen a fellow pupil pull someone’s pigtail for the first time and can’t believe such behaviour is possible.

29.  NOW WHAT?!?!?

30. Dramatic montage #6: more creaming or something.  To be honest, we’re all too shell-shocked to notice the details.

So let’s hit pause and take stock, shall we?  

To me, the editing’s pretty clear – we’re supposed to think that Diana got well peeved that Iain was using her freezer, rather than the one he had been allocated, so took out his ice cream and heartlessly left it on the side to melt.  She then failed to show much - if any - compassion when he discovered it and, in any case, it was far too late by then to have any hope of rectifying the situation.  There was then a marked absence of any footage showing Diana contrite and sorry or fretfully and repeatedly apologising à la Deborah, after Howardcustardgate.

So, at the time, I was fairly sympathetic to Iain and fairly unimpressed with Diana.

But it just didn’t quite compute - I couldn’t work out why Diana had a) taken out Iain's pudding and b) wasn’t shown to be at all sorry about it.  Because, without getting too Poirot about it, it just wasn’t in line with the last few weeks of Diana’s Bake Off portrayal.  I don’t know about you, but I hadn’t really pegged her as a cut-throat turbo competitor, willing to get Terminator-levels of mean, whatever the costs, and content to exhibit blatant sabotage-y (yes, that’s a word) behaviour on national TV.  She seemed sometimes shy and a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing.  And as for cheating – we’re talking here about the kind of person who seemed to embody the very essence of someone brought up on the notion of Fair Play.  She might not be happy about someone using un-allocated/rogue freezer space, but to heartlessly take out someone's pud and leave it to the elements?  She might be no-nonsense, but I can't see her as no-conscience (eyethankyew). 

It’s time, therefore, to look for the story beyond the confines of the programme itself.  Come with me, my friends, as we head towards the internet – we’ll need to tread carefully, because it’s a terrifying jungle ether out there.  Ready?  Let’s go.

Twitter, as it ALWAYS does, didn’t bother with nuance and decided to condemn Diana as nothing short of pure evil.  I think the reference to “Diana Cake Hitler” was *probably* meant in jest, but the person that thought it acceptable to change her Wikipedia reference from “Diana Beard” to “Diana Bitch”... 

?!?

Really?  We went there, did we?  Oh *hilarious*.

And the less said about the front page of The Sun the better.

(Though we will now always have the '#bincident' hashtag - I mean, that is amazing.  Twitter may be full of hateful shitheads, but it can pun like no other.)  

Reading through the stinking haze of the utter shitstorm this has inexplicably churned up and looking at what has been said by Iain, Diana, Paul and Sue (who were, you know, THERE), it seems that Diana *did* take the ice cream out, because there was some confusion about (unexpectedly limited, probably BBC-budget affected) freezer space.  Most reports, and a tweet from Sue, suggest that Iain’s ice cream was out for 40 seconds or so, and are at pains to point out that the problems Iain was having with his ice cream really weren’t down to being out of the freezer for a short while.  Iain’s apparently since disputed that and said it was probably out for longer than the 40 seconds quoted, but he also says still doesn’t hate Diana at all.  He thinks she’s a top lady.

So I’m now riding the backlash to the backlash – and, on balance, I’ve come to see the #dirtydiana editing as quite mean-spirited and unfair in its (at best) ambiguity.   And even worst, I think it's just decidedly un-Bake Off.  The Bake Off is all about being warm and fluffy and supportive and nice, where the most exciting thing is whether someone was right to use eggwash or to leave their dough in the proving drawer for another ten minutes.  Portraying someone as a cutthroat backstabber - even ambiguously - when Iain, the other bakers, and Paul and Sue and the BBC have all said she’s not, is just not very Bake Off. 

And if they were going to go there, as they did, I'd suggest the Bake Off thing to do would have been to offer up a clear and blatant redemption plot line, where Diana and Iain physically or metaphorically hugged it out, with some “sorry sorry sorry”-ing thrown in, to make us all feel cuddly inside.  I know how TV is made – I know we’re manipulated left, right and centre, but I’m entirely willing to buy into some polar bear mating-esque falsification (NOT LITERALLY) for a happy Bake Off ending.  But the programme makers have seemed to be gunning for tabloid controversy, and a convenient grey-haired scapegoat, which is about as un-Bake Off as you can get - and it’s left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth.

SOUR TASTE, HAHAHA!  Well, it can’t be that bad if there’s room for a food pun.

Apparently Diana has now left the competition – nothing to do with the #meltgate, but because she was subsequently ill.  Hopefully she’s feeling ok just now.  Haters gonna hate hate hate, Diana.  It’s probably best to rise (RISE!!!!) above.

Because, freezer or no freezer, Diana didn’t force Iain to throw a mini strop and chuck a perfectly edible melty Alaska in the bin.  Iain did that.  And Iain will have to face the consequences.

And the wrath of Berrywood...

And so... onwards!

(Anyone else utterly exhausted at this point?  Also, well done if you've made it this far!)

Dramatic montage #7: Back to the Alaskas and on to blow torching. Luis has a large yellow one.  Kate and Nancy have little lady-size versions.  BLOW TORCHES, GUYS, SHEESH.  Diana's swan neck threatens to go flaccid. She catches it in the nick of time.

Iain returns looking either defiant or philosophical.  It's hard to tell.  He assures Kate he's fine.

Time to carry precariously balanced, ever-melting Baked Alaskas to the judging altar.

Nancy's Alaska is "pretty" and "professional". Paul says it's "exceptional" given the conditions.

Norman is happy with his Alaska and struggles to think what the judges might find wrong with it. It turns out to be a little lacking in flavour: “it could have done with more strawberries and vanilla". Then just in case it wasn't evident to all, and it IS because it's been hammered home several times over the last few weeks, Paul says it outright: "You're missing the point sometimes. You're playing it so safe you're beginning to fail".  FINAL WARNING NORMAN!  Buck up Mister!

Diana's swan looks like an angry dragon at the head of a Viking longboat.  She's only just managed to get its neck up, despite its previous wobble: "It didn't do that at home, you know. Isn't that a pain in the butt?" - see the stress levels we're talking about here!? Diana said "butt"! It's nonetheless deemed "delicate" and "delicious". Paul then tells Diana off for underselling herself. She's told to hold her head up like a swan.  Diana seems dubious.

Chetna presents a giant rock lump of cream; her Alaska just didn't make it to the freezer before melty melty time.  But he's still smiling and Mary (somewhat pointedly I suppose) praises Chetna's you-screwed-it-up-but-you're-still-positive attitude.  The Alaska is found to be a "gorgeous combination of flavours", so Mary is happy to forget that it looks messy.

Martha's presentation is more successful, and also manages the taste: "Great interpretation of a classic key lime pie".

Blanket praise for Kate, too, including an "mmmm scrumptious".

It's a successful three-in-a-row baking roll, as Richard too gets compliments galore on his (utterly delicious looking) Tiramisu Alaska: "All aspects of that are excellent" says Paul. And he gets the twinkle from Mary: "That's alright for me" she grins.  

Will Luis come a cropper after this Berrywood shower of compliments? Nope. More praise, vicar: "Well designed, well thought through, well done".

And then it's time for Iain to face the music. He trundles up, bin in hand, looking – well, he’s not got the most expressive of faces, and much of it's beard, so it’s hard to tell.  Mary gives him a sympathetic look.  Paul asks him what happened.  Iain says he had some “issues” with his ice cream “and let frustration get the better of me”.  He admits to Paul that the sponge and meringue were fine, and Paul points out they could have judged that.  Iain says he didn’t cope with the situation very well and is sorry about it.  Mary sweetly tells him that everyone makes mistakes and wishes they could forget that one moment.  Iain’s then allowed to go back to his station.  It’s all a bit sad and a shame, really.

Then again, as my friend Katie pointed out “If that Scottish doctor lad had had that happen he’d have carved the sponge into a castle and made an ice cream moat”.  

It’s a good point.  He'd probably have even fashioned a meringue invader's longboat and she-warrior Rapunzel.

The judges sit in their tent and muse over what to do.  They’re not impressed by Norman’s boringness (in cake terms only, his personality is a wonder), but they can’t get on board with Iain’s behaviour, either.  Paul points out that Iain hasn’t been that good a baker in recent weeks, but was finally on his way.  Mary says that they all had problems, but everyone coped, “except for one person”.  She thinks the Bincident was “sort of unacceptable”.

Ma Baker: Richard edges out Kate - it was won the instant he got the Bezza eye twinkle.  Second time for our builder.  But we’re all really focused on who will go...

Mel and Sue Sandwich: “With such a lot of sadness” Sue announces Iain, and rushes in for the hug – it’s almost like Mel and Sue need it more than he does.  

It then becomes apparent they both just want to stroke his beard.  Iain seems ok – he’s going to think about anger management.  Mary half sticks the boot in again, but Paul decides Iain was showing passion.  I’d imagine Paul’s 'passionately' binned an imperfect loaf or two.  Though, what am I saying?  Paul baking an imperfect loaf!  As if!

Next time: Tarts and vicars week!  Bring on the soggy bottoms. Luis has a pie tower Jenga situation, Martha has a plumbing issue, and hopefully there'll be an optimistic word on Diana’s health.