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This post was delayed because I was preparing for Issue 3 of Shiny New Books (do go and check it out, thankyouverymuch!) But I’m here now…

The end is nigh, folks, and in case you don’t know what ‘semi-finals’ means, the bakers are on hand to help. Get ready to be told ad nauseum that the final is next week, that there is one more week before the final, and that next week will be the week after the week before the final.

It’s patisserie week, a term which is apparently broad enough to encompass anything that comes to Paul and Mary’s minds. Frankly I’m surprised they didn’t just ask them to knock together a chest of drawers, or give an engine a good oil check (if that is something one might do to engines): anything goes in patisserie week.

Mel and Sue have made it into the tent for this intro – revealing how flimsy the fabric of it is (and how pointless the odd bits of pastel furniture they’ve got lying around). Innocently, I had also presumed that this was part of the same tent but – lo – there is the main tent in the background.

Class segregation, if anything.

They’re back outside for the next shot, though, with their best cod French accents. I don’t think they’ve done an intro in their own accents since about episode two. It’s the joke that just keeps giving.

We get a recap of the semifinalists’ GBBO careers to date, which is apparently Luis’ ingenious designs, Chetna’s sensational flavours, Nancy’s precision and knowledge (by which I think they mean ‘she’s the oldest one left’), and Richard’s ‘natural flair for baking’, which sounds like the sort of meaningless thing somebody might write at the top of a covering letter with a job application. The little clips of the bakers reveal that Chetna is feeling confident, Richard talks about his ‘graft’, and Nancy would be quite happy to pop home and put her feet up. Luis restrains himself simply to acknowledging that it’s the semi-final. They’re all adorable.

Blazer-watch? We’ve got some bright colours on, which I’m enjoying. Sue’s T-shirt is… odd.

Mary is giving it definite side-eye.

The first challenge: baklava. This is pronounced many, many ways in the episode, so I’m grateful that I’m writing. I love baklava (and my colleague Adam made some for the office once: impressive) so I’m intrigued to see what they’ll make.

Richard says that, in London, “most shops have baklava”. This has not been my experience, and would be a major inconvenience when buying clothes, books, etc.

Outside, carefully matching the flora, Paul says that the baklava has to have good pastry, syrup, and filling. “If any of those ingredients are missing, for me it’s a no-go,” he confides. Yes, Paul. All three ingredients are pretty essential. If someone missed out pastry (say) it would just be a pile of soggy pistachios.

“I don’ts be wanting none of that.”

Mary breaks from her careful half-statement that filo pastry is “one of the most difficult pastries to make” to give an impromptu rap song ‘Smack My Kitchen Up’.

(Time for my first apology of the night. My first of many.)

All the bakers agree that nobody at home bothers making filo, and Chetna puts on a fairly convincing sales pitch for Just-Roll, while Richard marvels at the fixtures and fittings, doubtless intending to nab them for his next building project.

“Lovely job.”

Luis, as ever, gives us helpful and precise instructions about what he’s doing. C’mon, Luis. If you want to be our favourite, you have to speak in strange witticisms or convoluted platitudes. We’re not here to learn.

Paul tells Chetna that she shouldn’t trust her eyes (“sometimes your eyes kid you”) and she looks genuinely horrified, perhaps wondering whether or not she is actually in the tent at all. Before we have time for her to sink into a nihilistic meltdown, Mary (as is now her wont) tells her to ignore Paul. “Absolutely!” Chetna replies, with palpable relief. Then she whispers panic at the cameraman… before shrugging “oh well!” and getting on with it. The spirit of Nancy is spreading.

I can’t work out if Luis describes his flower baklava as ‘putting a slight slant on it’ or ‘putting a sly slant on it’. I desperately hope the latter. Also: colouring pencils man has apparently never seen a flower.

Send him a bunch; educate him.

“Get pulling!” says Mary.

He’s a married man, Mrs Berry.

But my favourite inexplicable moment has to be over at Our Nance’s baking station. Guess what she’s putting in her baklava? “Well, I make muesli anyway,” she shrugs, in the tone of one who might as well make a cuppa, since the kettle’s already boiling. Lord knows what would have happened if she’d been halfway through assembling a casserole when the challenge was announced. She decides she might as well fling some muesli into the mix. What’s the worst that could happen?

Oh.

To encourage us further, she throws around the word ‘inedible’. Mary and Paul wander over, and Mary conspiratorially leans in to say that she doesn’t think anyone makes filo pastry. Paul bridles. Nancy wisely skates over the muesli baklava, and announces of the other “this one I’m calling coffee and chocolate”. Guess what’s in it? It’s a Miranda’s Mum Moment.

And, while we’re guessing, guess which national treasures are back perched awkwardly on the table, muttering to themselves?

“And then I took up tightrope walking.”

“Everyone’s just got their heads down and trying to get on with it, to be honest,” confides Luis. I appreciate your honesty.

And what they’re getting down to is stretching pastry, which reminds me a lot of last week, when they stretched pastry.  Have I told you how much I love Richard? “I’m aiming to get this… flipping massive!” I love that bit so much. The Luises of this world will give us accurate instructions enabling us to bake at home, and do it excellently and charmingly – but it’s the Richards of this world that make GBBO such a riot.

Although I hope he demonstrates more precision in building. “How high are you building this wall?” “FLIPPING MASSIVE.”

Sue is apparently keen to put the pastry on her face. It’s difficult to know quite why.

I’m not going to show the clip where she does put some on her face because I don’t think she needs the encouragement.

Luis has spotted that Nancy is adding a bizarre ingredient into the mix, and thought ‘two can play THAT game – hand me a carrot’. When rose and pistachio is the most traditional filling in the tent, you know something has gone awry.

Quick question: wut?

The first batch comes out the oven. “They’re probably ok,” says Nancy, in a fit of enthusiasm. It gets worse with her second batch: “I think I’ve messed up ‘ere.”

“Ovens, luvvly ovens, get your ovens here.”

“My only saving grace is that they’ve got to be gooey anyway.” Oh, The Bright Side.

Paul looms around the tent in a manner that would have his mailbox full of restraining orders in any other situation. Sue lightens the mood by openly mocking him.

The soundtrack works itself up into full Fantasia mode, and the bakers are done. (“It lacks finesse,” is Nancy’s damning indictment of her own craft. It certainly doesn’t lack oil. The tray is awash with the stuff.)

But – she does well. “You’ve got what baklava is!” says Mary, damning with faint praise par excellence. Having said that, Luis doesn’t do so well, because – although his flowers are beautiful – they apparently aren’t baklava. Nance could give him a tip or two.

Even Frances would call these Fancy. Norm wouldn’t know where to look.

Incidentally, Paul always says ‘baklava’ while swallowing heavily, which he obviously fondly believes to sound authentic. Mary delights by saying ‘baklava’ entirely differently, immediately afterwards.

Richard gets praise; Chetna gets mixed comments. Outside, she starts to do the usual reality show waffle about being happy whatever happens – but, halfway through, realises that it isn’t true, and corrects herself. And it’s Chetters, so of course she laughs.

“Ha ha ha – you’ll have to pry me away with crowbars – ha ha ha!”

Richard, sweetly, says “I am all right at baking, aren’t I?” And a horse whinnies. Sure, why not?

Onto the technical challenge. It’s a Schichttorte. It seems monumentally pointless to me. Perhaps it is a big thing in Germany, I don’t know, but grilling twenty layers, one after another, to achieve what is essentially a sponge cake… ain’t nobody got time for that. I’d also be intrigued to know how it counts as patisserie.

Mary fakes excitement at the sample Paul unveils:

“Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

“What we’re testing them on is concentration skills,” says Paul, as though they were at dog-training class. What they certainly aren’t testing is ingenuity. They are just making a sponge cake mix. And then grilling the layers one by one. It’s all so dull. Poor choice of challenge, GBBO. You’ve let everyone down. *Shakes head* *Eats cake* *Remembers to shake head again*.

The best moment is Mel saying to Richard (at his dismally thin first layer) “Spread it out with the old spatch.” I love an abbrev, me, as my colleagues are all too well aware. My heartfelt “commiz”, should anyone be in strife of any sort, is well-known.

Otherwise it’s just a lengthy montage of people saying “light, dark, light, dark” and mumbling about how many layers 20 is. Realising that this makes for tedious viewing, only marginally lightened by seeing people synchronise their standing up and peering into ovens, The Powers That Be have hastily re-commissioned The History of Cake.

They’re made on spits. Spit-cakes. A bit like spit-takes, but cakier.

This History of Cake section is stranger than all the others put together. And – although we get a Princess who doesn’t speak, a reference to Ghost, and Mel saying “chocolate” like an addict on day release, we never actually see them cut into one to count its layers.

Meanwhile, the bakers have nearly finished – and Luis is apparently ‘listening to the voices in his head’. Richard fondly thinks they won’t notice whether or not there are 20 layers in his cake… oh, Richard. When it comes to judging, Mezza and Pezza essentially ignore absolutely everything except those twenty layers. Whoever gets closest to the correct answer wins! Luis comes top, Chetna comes bottom, and everyone laments for their wasted lives.

“Yes, Mary, I was right – I think it’s a cake.”

(At my house we wonder why Mel said ‘please bring your twenty layers up to the gingham’ rather than “bring ’em to the gingham”, which would have been both excellent and the name of a new spin-off gameshow on BBC3.)

Finally – the showstopper. And it’s actually patisserie, rather than an elaborately inept way of making an everyday baked good. Entremets it is. Paul is looking for precision and beauty, apparently, and has ‘seen patisserie chefs crumble, let alone the bakers in the tent’. The cameraman then gives us a sweeping shot of the tent, lest anybody be unclear what Paul is talking about.

Voila

Luis is using pomegranate and cherry – which is just as well, since the episode of sponsored by the colours purple and pink.

Nancy is also making jelly. I don’t think she’s ready for this jelly. And she even dares mention the word ‘freezer’. There are dozens of layers to what Nancy is making, and they all sound pretty delish – but Paul is cross because it’s being covered in white chocolate. You know how they love their distinct layers, Nancy. They’re obsessed. But perhaps it’s good for Mary and Paul to go cold turkey on distinct layers. It’s for their own good.

Having got the Pink Sponsorship Deal memo, Richard is making this:

I suspect he misheard the quantity of entremets needed, and thought he had to make 200 miniature entremets. He’s adding grapefruit – one of the words that Paul repeats in astonishment – and, for once, I’m with Paul. Not a fan of grapefruit. But he does say the words ‘crisp layers’, at which Mary practically jumps with glee. Richard – you’re feeding her habit. Chetna is giving her a binge, with six-layer thingummies:

But when NORM does it, apparently four thousand ingredients are too many.

Speaking of, have you noticed how nobody is using alcohol in their entremets? Surely this would have been a prime opportunity? Or has someone had a quiet word to give Mezza a week off, so she can indulge to the max for the final?

This challenge is the exact opposite of the previous one, which tested about half a skill. In this one, everyone is doing dozens of things, and there are so many things going on that it’s quite hard to keep track. All I got from the dizzying montage of piping bags, spatulas, and baking tins was Richard worrying that his sponge might be ‘monkey’. What?

“Cooling time is a luxury” – Nancy unveils her plans for a dystopian future.

Lest you wonder if these patisserie delights were essentially trips to a health spa, all rapped up in dotty sponge, we then see Chetna admitting that cream has been put in everything, and Richard flinging hunks of butter into his mix. Somehow putting them in by hand like this makes it seem much more unhealthy.

I call this artwork ‘Shades of Beige’.

Nancy grimaces at the idea that Luis is assembling his entremet (“nowhere near there”) then cheerfully opens up a tin of condensed milk, from which the label has been thoughtfully removed, to maintain BBC non-partisanship.

I mean, it’s obviously Carnation.

There are so many things going on. Let’s just look at one: Luis is bathing his jelly in a hot bath. He’s learnt from Voiceover Mel, and is warning that a moment too long and the jelly will turn to liquid; a single second too soon, and that jelly ain’t going anywhere. It’s tense.

Nancy, meanwhile, laments that chocolate is ‘going everywhere’ – it is, indeed, flooding her desk – but still continues merrily pouring. Correlation may not imply causation, Nance, but I think I can spot a pattern here.

Gravity is to blame, if anyone. THANKS NEWTON.

And then, recollecting that she is the baker with the predilection for instruments of capital punishment, she makes a cutthroat gesture. I think she’s supposed to be suggesting that she’s for the chop, but it’s equally possible that a terrified Mary is cowering at the side.

Let’s show entremets from everyone, shall we? They deserve it; everybody’s looks astonishingly good.

“It takes a lot of guts to show all the layers,” says Paul. ENOUGH WITH THE LAYERS. “I can see every layer, every flavour” says Mary. She’s clearly got synaesthesia now.  She also adds that she could ‘do with a little more flavour in the mousses’. She means alcohol, doesn’t she? But Richard gets a well-deserved thumbs up, in general.

Nancy’s critique is mixed – even her decoration of the white choc ones, which I think look amazing.

Luis gets good responses for appearance and flavour, and Paul likes the ‘richness of the chocolate married to the sourness of the cherry’. Richness married with sourness? This sounds like [insert celebrity couple here]! Amirite?!

In a moment of astonishing hypocrisy, from the judges who thought a twenty-layer sponge cake without any filling was a good idea, they criticise Chetters for not having enough variety in the layers of one entremet – although they like the other.

Then this lad:

“I’m ready for my close-up.”

Backstage, they do their thing of repeating everything, and pretending that it isn’t (sadly) obvious who will go home. Then again, it also seemed really obvious that Luis would win this week, and that didn’t happen. I love Richard, but this was Luis’ week. (In other news: I’ve discovered that only ten people have paid into the office sweepstake, so my potential win is only £10, rather than £15.)

Winner is Richard (and look how happy everyone is!)
Mary: “you can hardly believe those builder’s hands can produce such delicate results”. Calm yourself, Bezza.

And, sadly, going home is lovely Chetna. She smiles to the end.

Everyone gets a bit teary at the end – even our Nance – and I’m excited about the final.

While I’ve got your attention – another plug for Shiny New Books. Lots of recommendations for things to read that have come out in the past three months! Sorry to be so shameless, but it’s been a lot of work and I think you’ll enjoy it :)

And – see you for the final! Who will win?

(P.S. Helen – I’ve slipped two new OxfordDictionaries.com words in this week, to make up for forgetting last week!)

Many thanks again for filling in for me last week, Elaine! This week I’m back – and what a week it was. I could write the whole thing about Nancy… but I’ll try not to ignore everybody else…

It’s ‘advanced dough’ week (whatever that means; no History of Cake this week to fill us in) and we’re treated to a velociraptor impressions from Mel and Sue on the flimsiest of premises.

The bakers walk into the tent, and although we see a cursory shot from the undergrowth, the cameraman’s heart isn’t in it. He – or indeed she – needs fresh pastures and new adventures. He/she has apparently crammed their entire body and camera equipment into the corner of this shelf. It couldn’t be said that the shot is effective, but at least it’s confusing and unnecessary.

Unforeseen ramekins

Martha laughs cheerfully about having been haunted by eclairs, and hopes that this week things will be “more planned”. Surely you know whether or not you’ve planned, Marth?

“It’s important you go in and execute everything,” says Nancy, followed by the longest pause known to man, before weakly adding “…to perfection.” Remember her guillotine? Remember her passion for the paraphernalia of the death penalty? It’s all back in play.

Guns don’t kill people; bakers do

It wouldn’t be a GBBO recap without Blazer Watch, would it? Paul is letting the side down (but, as ever, is ready for a line-dance). Sue’s jacket looks like it’s appeared before, only now it has shrunk in the wash. Mary obviously ran out of clothes, so cut up the jacket of a fortnight ago, repurposing it as a top, and has created her blazer by cutting the back off Paul’s shirt.

The signature challenge is a sweet fruit loaf, using enriched dough. And it’s a no-tin challenge; they have to be free-form loaves. Because… why not? The initial reactions from the bakers give us our first mention of proving of the episode. Good grief, I’m sick of people talking about proving. The whole series seems to have been one long debate about proving. They might as well call it Fermat’s Great British Bake Off. Maths joke, y’all.

Chetters, of course, is running madly around the room.

Hurry! Ovens won’t stare at themselves.

Luis explains that he’ll be making a series of tear-off buns in the shape of a tree, and he gets an amazing couple of Mary Berry Reaction Faces. I would be thrilled if anybody could turn this sequence into a gif, because she switches from delighted grin into confused Pierrot so quickly that she seems to be modelling for a Janus theatre mask set.

We don’t see her face when Luis presents her with the cherry brandy he’ll be using, presumably because she was dribbling with anticipation. (Sorry Mary… love you.)

The King of Gilded Olives has discovered green cherries and is thrilled to pieces by it.

A product entirely wasted on the colour blind.

Chetna is inspired by a Croatian bread, which she tries – and repeatedly fails – to pronounce, while Mary looks on like a patient, albeit disappointed, grandmother.

“No threepenny bit for you, my girl.”

Amusingly, Sue’s voiceover immediately pronounces it entirely differently from Chetna’s efforts, and the coloured pencils man calls it quits and just writes ‘swirl bread’. It looks, let’s face it, like a pile of sausage rolls.

Nancy is making Lincolnshire Plum Braid – a clever pun, as she laboriously explains, upon Lincolnshire Plum Bread. She actually says “it’s a play on words” in case, lost in the intricacies of her accent, we miss the quip. Even before she was finished telling us this, you can see that she realises that she is sailing her ship of humour upon an unforgiving sea.

You’d think that this week’s show was announcing the dawn of the microwave. It is, apparently, the first time that our Nance has seen one (and now she’ll sell you a lovely one for £10, no questions asked). She gets over-excited, and is determined to microwave ALL THE THINGS. She has to be held back from flinging herself bodily into the thing. First of all, she decides to prove her dough in the microwave. Who knew that was a thing? And, Nancy, weren’t you aware that you had a PROVING DRAWER?

“I beg your what now.”

Since someone tried to prove their dough in a fridge a week or two ago, the microwave isn’t a terrible idea – but it comes as no surprise that Paul is pretty suspicious about it. “It’s a dangerous thing to do,” he says – the Bake Off equivalent of having the emergency services on stand by, and a full step up from “That’s brave”, which is alarming enough – but Nancy is entirely uncowed by him. “It is!” she bellows, clearly having the time of her life.

Paul is always delighted when people don’t do well at bread – the town isn’t big enough for two bread bakers – so I’m longing for Nancy’s controversial method to succeed. His comments are swiftly followed by two wonderful moments. One is Mary telling Paul that he has “learnt something today” – at which he is visibly angry – and the other is Mel spraying what she believes to be masala directly into her mouth, only to discover it is cooking oil. And, in Microwave Corner…

Luis is quick to witness the unprecedented act (calling her ‘our Nance’ in the process – love it). Meanwhile, Mezza and Paul are perched awkwardly on a table (blithely ignoring the dozens of chairs immediately available to them) while he explains that microwaves are death traps. If the show were broadcast in 1830 they couldn’t be more alarmed about the microwave.

“Tell me more about this electricity, Future Man.”

A clever bit of editing sees Paul’s warning segue straight into a bowl of fruit spontaneously collapsing. What can’t microwaves do??  Double bolt your doors tonight, readers.

Chetna defends her bread against Sue’s accusations of messiness, saying “It’s my bread!” I think she’s missed the point of the show. Martha, meanwhile, advertises her bread by saying “It’s like jam on toast, with the jam already inside!” The product nobody was asking for. Bless her heart.

And Luis? Well, he’s forgotten to add any fruit to his fruit loaf. It’s going well, folks.

We have a nice montage of people opening and shutting proving drawers – except Nance, of course; she’s over by the microwave (“This could be my death knell,” she announces, and it is to my lasting disappointment that the microwave didn’t ping at that point) – and Chetters is the first to put her loaf in the oven. “See you in 50 minutes,” she says, suggesting that she’s going to climb in there with it.  The camera pans away, so perhaps she did.

It’s been a while since we had an arbitrary shot of someone’s feet, hasn’t it?

Happy? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?

Luis takes his beautiful bread tree out of the oven, and Paul starts his menacing amble (can an amble be menacing?) around the tent.

He;s quite rude. Basically he goes from station to station, prodding at finished loaves. Rude.

Sue says that Nancy’s loaf is the “size of a labrador”.

Richard says that “it’s looking a bit wrinkly on the outside”. That’s quite enough about Mary. A-ha-ha. (Oh, Mary, I love you lots. I should stop being mean.)

Aaaand – they’re done! Luis’ and Richard’s look amazing; Martha’s looks rather bizarre. Nancy’s is too big to look at in one go. Basically everyone does pretty well, particularly Richard. Mary confides to Chetna that she’s not fond of dates, “between you and me”. Does she realise that she’s being filmed? She also immediately contradicts almost all of Paul’s criticisms, for which I love her.

And what of Nancy’s labrador loaf? Paul struggles to find something to criticise, but it seems pretty good. “It’s not awful, is it?” Nancy squawks, and Paul has to admit that it is not.

What will the technical challenge be? First, Mel requests happy faces:

Remember Smiling Rob?

It’s… something unpronounceable. The same unpronounceable thing Chetna was unable to pronounce in the first challenge! Considering they have to get all their recipes approved far in advance, it’s a little surprising that they let this happen, but Chetna is giddy with excitement. Remember how much she shrieks with laughter at everyday non-events? Well, this coincidence has her waving her arms in the air, clutching her head, and generally putting on a three-act dumb show of delight.

“I’m really excited” she says, unnecessarily.

Richard says he will ‘learn by watching’, hastening to add that this is not the same as copying.

Mary, as usual, pretends to be amazed at what Paul says in the here’s-one-I-made-earlier segment. His example is pretty neat.

Also a bit hypnotic.

Guess what? It’s all about proving. OH, THE PROVING DECISIONS. Nance suggests she might turn to the microwave, in the manner of one discussing secret black market products.

They all stretch out their pastries, which would be my nightmare (since I’m disproportionately useless at the seemingly-simple task of rolling things). Nancy thinks “it probably needs to be the same size as this cloth”, although what she’s basing that on I can’t imagine. The instructions say “as big as you can”, not “as big as any arbitrarily-sized piece of fabric you happen to have on your person.”

They then spend quite some time experimenting with the best way to spread the walnut filling on the dough…

This dough is NOT the same size as her cloth.

Everybody is finding it pretty much impossible (and this is the point at which I would have a destroyed mess of pastry mixed with walnut mush.) Guess what Nancy’s solution is?

“The microwave is the only way forward.” – thing she says

She does have the bright thought of using an icing bag, which is immediately copied by Richard (and openly; “what’s she done, then?” he asks). Has he copied the microwaving too? We don’t know; the good people of GBBO don’t show us. More than one microwave shot per segment would raise the rating from PG to 15.

If I never see someone open a proving drawer again, it’ll be too soon.

Chetna bakes her dough long before everyone else, which startles Sue immensely. However, Chetna knows what’s up. People are too busy being beguiled by piping bags, and don’t copy her. Martha, instead, takes her coiled-up dough out of the tin and makes it longer. Ooooh dear.

Nancy, apropos of nothing, makes royal icing. Diana wanders across the background with a tray of pastry triangles.

They start to come out of the ovens. “It’s a funny looking thing,” says Nancy, and it’s hard to argue with her.

Yum.

Cue lots of fanning with baking sheets, and Nancy using her royal icing with some sense that it’s all gone horribly wrong for her.

And the results? Well, they’re all raw except for Chetna’s. Martha’s is the rawest of all, and she comes last. Chetna, of course, comes first. Mary calls Richard’s loaf drunk. Takes a beetle to know a beetle… The best thing, of course, is Nancy’s ecstatic reaction to coming third. Apparently, had she come last, she wouldn’t have admitted to it.

What a woman.

This, in turn, is nothing compared to Chetna’s adorable glee at coming first. She’s such a sweetie.

We move onto the final challenge, and it becomes clear that Martha and Nancy are in the bottom two. I don’t know how to cope with that. And the final challenge is… doughnuts! As with eclairs last week, this doesn’t seem super difficult. But I guess that gives more room for the showstopperiness to come through.

Paul brags about making 30,000 doughnuts in his life. If anything, it comes across as a little creepy.

Luis has grated hundreds of limes, but I have a theory that lime makes everything better. Test that theory if you dare. He tells Mary that he’s making cocktail doughnuts, and this is her instant reaction:

That lady loves her alcs.

At this point Our Vicar’s Wife, previously worried that I would be sued for slander, emails me to say that I can get away with my teasing. She’s so excited about cocktail-themed doughnuts. I am a bit, too.

Nancy: “I’ve learned that if you say something’s in something, you’ve got to be able to taste it.” I have been annoyed time and again by Paul saying that he thinks orange (for instance) would be horrible in a baked product, and then complaining when he can’t taste the orange. But that’s what you wanted in the first place, Paul. Make up your doughnut-addled mind.


Chetna has apparently exhausted the world’s supply of mangos, and is now putting potatoes (could it really have been potatoes??) in her doughnuts. And one of her doughnuts is braided. So not even doughnut-shaped.

Martha is making a cronut, but obviously isn’t allowed to call it that.

And, inevitably, return of the flipping proving drawers.

Richard is making fair-inspired doughnuts: toffee apple (sure) and rhubarb-and-custard (what? Does Richard imagine that fairs are replete with people chomping on rhubarb? We all know fairs are filled with candy floss and crying children. Make crying children doughnuts, Rich, if anything.) He’s making heart-shaped doughnuts, and says his wife loves them. Awwwwww. Shout out to Sarah Burr, who has been a very kind supporter of these recaps!

Also, general applause for ‘doughnuts’ rather than the insidious ‘donuts’.

Nancy – as if she were not already queen of my heart – is making a bunch of doughnuts with Paul’s face on. She talks about piercing blue eyes &c. &c. and he staunchly refuses to engage at all. He does reference her ‘male judge’ comment but, Paul, we’ve all moved on since then. And, lord knows, this programme would never repeat a joke. It’s not in its nature.

Mel takes away the empties from Mary’s coffee break.

Nancy tries to teach us the name for making the doughnuts into balls – ‘key’, apparently – but loses heart halfway through. She knows that her role is not bothering about anything. Like moments later when she’s picking up her dough and saying “very very delicate” as the dough collapses out of any recognisable shape.

Richard (were you aware?) is a builder. Builders love doughnuts, apparently.

Marth has OVER-PROVED. She’s pretty distraught. Mel gives the dubious advice just to put more filling in, and hope they get bigger that way.

“Mary will probably hate it,” says Luis, of his Irish-cream-filled straws. Has he met this woman?

Nancy starts icing her Paul faces.

Uncanny, no? Also: horrible flashbacks to Death Becomes Her.

Aaaand… it’s over! Surprisingly little to say about this whole process. Only a bizarre close-up of a vocal duck separates us from the judging.

My favourites end up being almost all of them…

Richard does pretty well, and they certainly love the flavours – although not so much the presentation.

Nancy’s doughnuts are a bit too dry and overdone, but otherwise ok – and Paul, again, refuses to acknowledge that his face is all over the tree. “They look all right to me,” she says. Love her.

Martha’s haven’t risen, as she knew. Paul congratulates her chocolate icing for not falling off – as the chocolate shatters and falls.

Chetna’s are complimented, except for having “more of a ganache than a mousse”. The horrors.

Luis’ gets this wonderful moment, when Mary takes a sip from the straw and realises that they’re choc full of alcohol. “Oh-hoh!” she cries.

“How naughty!”

“Why are we bothering with the doughnuts?” she says, going in for more. And she likes them more than Paul does… quelle surprise.

Star baker could have been almost anybody, really, and I was a bit surprised that it was someone who came fourth in the technical challenge – but also delighted that it’s my favourite, Richard!

But going home is…

Very sad to see Martha go, but I’d have been even more heartbroken if Nancy had gone. Still, I thought Martha would win. As Sue says, “You are 17, and you are brilliant. You are going to rule the world, my darling.”

See you next week for the semi-finals! I can’t wait to see what Nancy does with patisserie. I can only presume she’ll just throw all the ingredients in the microwave and hope for the best.