Stuck in a Book

Well, the drama kept coming last week, didn’t it? I had endless conversations in the office about the rights and wrongs of bingate, and whether or not we thought Iain would be reinducted in this episode (spoiler: he didn’t). I also got the closest I’m likely to get to Bake Off fame, when Howard quoted me (eeek!) on An Extra Slice. Not by name, sadly, but he mentioned my Alan Bennett comparison and later confirmed on Twitter that I was the reference. Exciting times. (Extra Slice people, if you’re reading, I would definitely come on the show. Just saying. Any time. I’m ready.) (Any time.)

But enough about me – let’s go on to the Bake Off – which I watched at my friend Adam’s house. His Mum made Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood scarecrows for her village, which shows his excellent credentials as a GBBO host. I’m still waiting for the photos ADAM, but hopefully they’ll appear next week.

“All drama; zero gimmicks” say Mel and Sue in their increasingly contentless introduction to the show – and that’s a fair assessment of the show, I think. Even the in-jokes aren’t really gimmicks. I would have preferred it if they’d said “No gimmicks; all gimlet eyes” and panned to Paul’s piercing blues, but we do not live in a utopia. I’m also very intrigued by that ‘private’ sign that seems to be facing the wrong direction, so that people see it as they leave the grounds. Are they trapped?

Stuck in a Book: asking the questions that matter

In this line, the news that Diana has been taken ill and won’t be returning to the competition is delivered in the least sensational manner possible, even if the pan of the bakers arriving is performed, once more, in the midst of some foliage. It’s voyeuristic and unsettling, cameraman. Stop it.

A few of the bakers talk about how they’re going to miss her, and Martha says that Diana is ‘her grandma in the tent’. What about Universal Grandmother Mary Berry??

The judges and presenters line up to announce the first challenge – custard tarts, gladdening the heart of Lionel Hardcastle – and Blazer Watch has never felt more necessary. Mary and Mel have both gone neon,while Sue appears to be recycling last week’s blazer. C’mon, Sue. Give a recapper something to work with. Paul not only continues to forego a suit jacket, he’s also gone cuff crazy this week. As always, he looks ready for a line-dance.

Is Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen well-known enough internationally to make for a successful reference?

The first reaction to the challenge is, as usual, Chetna being very nervous, and apologising to the cameraman for no obvious reason. Chetters, you’ll be fine, don’t worry!

Paul and Mary waffle about pastry textures in the garden (“If they make holes, the custard will leak out” – do feel free to grab a notebook if you want to jot down these insights) and we see lots of bakers playing with flour and butter. Frankly, it’s not a difficult challenge. But I look forward to seeing them dramatise.

First off we come to Norman, who is making a tarte au citron. He’s obviously of the opinion that making something foreign – and saying actual foreign words – is plenty fancy enough, and he won’t be wanting to show his face in the Aberdeenshire Working Men’s Club for a month of Sundays, thanking you kindly. “I first tried it in France twenty years ago, and had never had anything as exotic as that at home,” he actually says. Is he trolling us? It’s pastry and lemon, Norm. Mary Berry Reaction Face:

Wut?

It’s so simple that Mel actually includes ‘dusted with icing sugar’ in her voiceover description of it.

“…and served on a plate.”

He says that he’ll be stretching himself tomorrow, and so he’s keeping it simple today. Paul seems ok with that (“if you’re stretching, you need to warm up, and this is your warm up”) but his hesitant face says different. Just you wait and see, Paul… #becarefulwhatyouwishfor

Martha isn’t sure about the challenge. She doesn’t like making pastry. “It’s one of those things that you make if you’re a bit older. People like Nancy make pastry a lot.” She could so easily be given the bitch edit, so I admire the BBC for being kind to her – and I still think she’s fab. Having said that, we get a good reaction face from Nancy (which was probably filmed long afterwards):

Watch yourself.

In justice to Martha, we almost immediately hear Nancy saying how much she likes making pastry. And hers sounds amazing, combining three of my favourite flavours – chocolate, coconut, and passion fruit. I might steal this recipe if poss. Some pastry purists don’t like the chocolate version, but I do a mean choc pastry myself, so I’m all for it. And it gives BBC Colouring Pencils Man a chance to break out a different colour. His pastry colour must be running down.

May contain Minotaur.

Montage time, and the same levels of dramatic music that were given to the #bincident are accorded to Luis pulling clingfilm, Norman advising people to chill pastry, and Martha (perhaps eavesdropping) putting her pastry in the fridge. She takes a leaf out of Voice of Doom Mel’s book and says that she could ruin her tart if she chills the pastry for too long or too little time, which is nonsense. These are the low level stakes we know and love from GBBO.

#drama

Alex/Kate is making almond and rosemary pastry for her rhubarb and custard tart, which sounds a bit much to me, but M and P are all over it (and she claims it’s ‘simple’). She, wonderfully, continues to treat every moment as an opportunity for am dram. In this image, you might think, she has just dropped her tart, or had her home repossessed. No, she is simply talking about rhubarb.

“And… scene.”

Luis is making a ‘Tropical Manchester Tart’, presumably named by somebody with the good fortune never to have gone to Manchester (bad Simon). My friend Hannah, with whom I watched, is a card-carrying Northerner, and was Not Happy about the tart being messed with. (Incidentally, my friend Malie also watched, having never seen it before. The appeal took some explaining beforehand, but I think she enjoyed it.)

Richard is poaching figs (I suggested at this juncture that nobody liked figs, but was shouted down by my companions). More importantly – where is the pencil?  It’s in the shot before this, and the shot after, but not here. Guys, what’s happening? We have lost the only consistent element of the known universe.

Is this a Dumbo/feather situ?

More on the pencil later, building stationery fans.

I’m super jealous of everybody’s pastry, and the way they are able to pick it up and line the tins. Lest we forget, here is an early stage of the quiche my friend Lorna and I made last year:

Nailed it.

It is tarts week, of course, and you might have thought that Mel & Sue – five series in – would have exhausted the comic potential of saying ‘tart’ and winking at the camera. How little you know this programme. But this year’s is rather special. Mel and Nancy have a brilliant conversation about looking like tarts, and having tarts’ hairstyles. I love both Mel and Sue, but Mel is the best at forming galpal friendships in the tent.

Also, Nancy’s top has handbags all over it. Presumably she’ll do you a good price for them.

Martha talks again about not liking making pastry, which fills us with nerves about her security in the competition. Then we see lots of bakers trim their tarts, while Mel intones about the importance of keeping it neat. Any voiceover about neatness and perfectionism can only end in one place – a swannee-whistle and a shot of Norm.

“That’ll do” is something a life mantra, isn’t it?

“A steady hand is vital for pouring the custard,” warns Mel. It really isn’t. It’s quite a large target, isn’t it? And gravity, despite being Iain’s nemesis, lends a helping hand here. And cue montage of pouring. Mel looms over Richard while he carries his tart, making the whole thing more difficult. And then, this:

You can see why he’s grown to be one of my faves, can’t you? At least he didn’t dunk a biccie in it.

Kate does some extremely impressive swirling, while Norm looks at her bewildered by all the fanciness, and then she collapses over the desk – because of course she does. You can just see a glimpse of Norman, and it looks a bit like she’s unsuccessfully trying to hide from him.

“If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.”

But, bless her, she gives Martha a helping hand getting her tart (which closely resembles a tomato quiche) out of its tin.

We see Luis with a stencil, Nancy doing intricate piping, and Norman… dumping a bag of icing sugar on top of his tarte au citron.

Dusted with icing sugar? Really?

During the judging, Paul says Norman’s looks a mess (sad face), and he takes it stoically. Nancy’s looks as amazing as I’d hoped. Chetna is told “I think you could have cooked your rice a bit longer,” which doesn’t strike me as something anybody should say during a custard challenge.

“It’s custard” is one of the helpful comments Paul makes, to Alex/Kate.

Richard describes himself as “a clumsy blad”, and I can’t work out if he’s using some sort of gangland slang, or reverting to ‘lad’ after starting with a naughty word. Or perhaps he’s referring to himself as a promotional flyer or mockup for a product? Either way, Mary gets her flirt on, talking about his steady hand.

“If I were sixty years younger…”

Martha gets her first criticism of the series, really, and – bless her – she’s upset. One of Paul’s criticisms is that “it’s quite tart” which, given his propensity to mix up parts of speech, could be exactly what they should have been doing. “It’s very bread,” and “Not quite cake enough” are, I feel certain, things he has said in the past.

The bakers repeat all the things Paul said, but standing in the garden.

Bride cake was apparently once a thing, and was to be broken over the bride’s head. In case those words mean nothing to you, we have a two-second reconstruction:

And thereby two Equity cards were earned.

The less said about the rest of the Pies Through The Ages the better. We’re back to the tent, and they’re making… mini-pear pies. Poached pears in pastry. C’mon, GBBO. This isn’t a thing. Go home, GBBO, you’re drunk. It started with the proving drawer and it’s getting out of hand. (Was this challenge chosen just so we can hear Norman say ‘poached pears’ a lot? It’s great in a Scottish accent.)

Btw, I live for pastry, but I can take or leave pears, so I can’t get excited about this challenge.

The soundtrack at this point appears to be performed by a double bass and a pair of maracas.

“Something scientific probably happens to it,” says Nancy, of the pastry. Oh, guys, I love everybody in this tent. It’s a really fab group of people, isn’t it?

My boy Luis (win me that £15, Luis!) keeps explaining how things actually work, and why certain actions are being performed, giving Mel and/or Sue very little to do in the voiceovers – other than, of course, warning that slight adjustments in temperature or pear placement will inevitably result in the tent burning to the ground.

1. Does anybody ever sit on those outdoor chairs? 2. It looks like the freezer has a very intricate handle

Richard and Chetna have a discussion about whose pears are on which shelves of the fridge. We can but learn from the mistakes of others, so well done guys.

Norman is no fan of the poaching wine. “Too sweet for me,” he says, with the exact same expression that he had when saying how delicious his dessert was last week.

Horrilightful.

Chetna tests the maxim that watched pears never poach.

Lovely Martha, as usual, is anxious about what everybody else is doing – and revealingly says “I’m doing what isn’t allowed, and looking at other people’s.” Has there been a rule against this all along, brazenly ignored by absolutely everyone?

Including, in fact, Martha in this next shot – while Mel makes a ‘nice pear’ joke that Luis completely ignores. Good for you, Luis. Mel’s better than that.

(She really, really isn’t.)

She does make a very good ‘cutting it fine’ joke at this point, which is only slightly ruined by that blue bandage.

Now we have a montage of people wrapping pears in pastry (“It’s like I’m mummifying a pear,” notes Martha, stealing joke potential from me). This is up there with stuffing a mushroom in the life’s-too-short stakes, surely, and the ultimate reward is so small. And it’s not going well for our Rich.

I’m pretty sure this is what that London 2012 sculpture looks like.

OH NOOOOOOOOO.

No, sorry, THIS is what the London 2012 sculpture looks like.

They are all presented. Mezza Bezza and Paul aren’t very impressed, on the whole. Richard’s is a hot mess, and obviously comes last (he is very witty about it in the post-challenge interview, suggesting that he’d have done better if he’d set the tent on fire.) Martha redeems herself by coming top of the rankings.

We come to the final challenge, and it’s raining. Everybody has an umbrella, seemingly, except for Luis. Questions must be asked.

The steps continue to be an inadequate substitute for The Bridge.

They’re making tiered pies. This, again, isn’t a thing. Have they run out of baked goods that actually exist? It does give me an opportunity, though, of crowning the winner in my Facebook Pun Competition:

Well done, Adam. Proud day for you.

Paul is obsessed with stating the obvious this week: ‘this is a pie challenge’. At which point we immediately cut away to someone stuffing a chicken. And it’s not even Nancy and her penchant for East End greasy spoons!

Pie, schmie.

Several of the bakers are making hot water crust pastry (I don’t know which of those words should be joined together, so I’ve spread them all apart) including Richard. “You could build a house out of it, probably!” he says, in an amazingly shoe-horned-in manner, for which I can only admire him. Truth be told, they’ve mentioned the building profesh less than I thought they would.
(This is famous last words, isn’t it?)
(Ah… yes. Moments later, he’s making ‘posh builder’s pies’.)
(Are these posh pies for builders or pies for posh builders? Enquiring minds must know.)

Kate (who is using prunes and rhubarb – good grief, why?) warns us that the pastry mustn’t be too hot or too cold. It’s just dawned on me that all five series of GBBO – with all their dire pronouncements “not too long in the oven, or too little time”, “not too much kneaded, or too little”, “not left to prove for too long, or too briefly” etc. – have essentially been a longwinded retelling of Goldilocks.

On a similar theme, Martha is making a ‘Three Little Pigs’ trio. My friend Malie wondered if she was going to make one tier out of straw, one out of wood, and one out of bricks – gosh, can you imagine the triumphant display Frances from Series 4 would have produced? – but instead she has gone the macabre route of adding insult to injury and mocking dead pigs by subverting a story in which they figure as (well-meaning, if stupid) heroes, as well as eating them. Martha, you big bad wolf.

You can tell I’m a vegetarian, can’t you?

So what is Norman making? Three steak and kidney pies, you’d assume, if that doesn’t sound too exotic. But – no! He really is pulling out all the stops. By which I mean that he is putting every single flavour he’s ever heard of into this creation – haggis, duck, venison, spinach, haddock, cheese, raspberry, passion fruit, and lavender. Seriously. This is what we call going from one extreme to another. Brilliantly, he calls it his Pieffel Tower.

For Nancy, they just reuse footage from bread week, as far as I can tell.

“I call it Lots of Meat in Carbs.”

Paul reminds Chetna of her flavouring mishaps in the Signature Challenge, and she appears to dither back and forth over whether or not to stab Paul through the heart.

Mel calls Norman ‘Normski’, and he quotes Robert Burns. There’s no way I can improve on that.

Richard: “I’m just knocking up the final pie… I mean lovingly crafting the final pie!” He cracks me up. But all the wit and self-awareness in the tent is making it difficult to write recaps, guys. And then comes my favourite moment of the episode, and one which entirely brings me around to Richard’s Ways. Nancy is on the hunt for a pencil. Guess who has one to hand? Or, should I say, to ear?

And the tent hosts the smallest ever relay race.

Bless them. I have accepted the pencil.

Dramatic musical instruments now – tuba and xylophone?

Pies are coming out of ovens everywhere – I’m starting to realise how much Paul and Mary are going to eat. Things aren’t looking good for Norm, as there is the first ever instance of Sue stealing a baker’s food and not liking it… in this case, lavender meringue.

“…but why?”

Martha’s pie has sprung a leak! Wasn’t she listening to those wise words about holes in pastry letting things go through them? CATASTrop… no, wait, apparently it’s fine.

Luis has a spirit level, thus treading all over Richard’s schtick.

I’m enjoying the different ways the bakers are incorporating tiers. We have plastic, wooden, and cardboard tiers – and then some (Chetna and Martha) are just dumping their pies on top of one another in a big PIEle. Pie. Pile. Geddit? (Leave me alone… it’s better than Sue’s ‘surpies!’ which means nothing in or out of context.)

Somewhere Frances is watching and she’s ANGRY.

A PIE FALLS OVER.

My friend Hannah shrieked at this point, which was terrifying, but Luis’ pie is resilient and he just shoves it back on top. And… time is up!

Here are my two favourites:

Quite a lot of compliments, but not for poor old Norman. The lesson here, to quote The Simpsons, is: never try. Richard’s is burnt, Martha’s needs three people to carry, Kate’s is a festival of floral eccentricity, and Chetna is recrowned Flavour Queen.

The judges and presenters repeat everything they’ve already said, backstage, and bring up the idea that Diana’s absence might mean nobody goes home. Mary is firm in refusing to reveal anything, and also says perhaps her harshest criticism yet: “I’ve never had lavender in meringue before, and I don’t think I want it again.” Ouch.

So, who is star baker? It’s Brighton’s finest (“I am as southern as they get”):

And going home? With a catch in my throat…

He needs an umbrella for my tears.

And, like that, the Great British Beige Off ended, losing both its contestants in one week. And, uncharacteristically, in a whirl of lavender-flavoured egg. Oh, Norman, it’s not going to be the same without you! You are already a national treasure.

See you all next week!

Wow, guys, WHAT an episode. Who’d have thought that this baking show would make headlines across the country? It leaves me quite a lot to live up to, particularly since I’m used to making high drama from very little in these recaps. In this week’s episode, there actually is high drama. But we’ll save that for later, and treat things as normal for the moment – which means sunny opening shot of Mel and Sue, reference to Mary’s bomber jacket, and it’s all bakers present and correct for pudding week.

But things are tense already. Seldom has a montage of people putting on aprons been filled with more foreshadowing. Chetna is looking anxious, Luis is nervous, and Alex/Kate looks (if she doesn’t mind me saying) like somebody who once ran a marathon. The biggest question on my lips, though, is – did these four deliberately match the shade of their jeans?

Probably not.

Time for Blazer Watch, of course. Sue’s is getting suspiciously slack. That’s one step away from a cardy, love. And, while Paul’s continuing lack of suit jacket is our first indication that it’s very warm, Mary knows that art is pain, and continues to button up. As Beyonce once said, Pretty Hurts.

The first challenge is: self-saucing puddings. This gives Mel and Sue carte blanche for Carry On Baking vaudeville throughout. The bakers find it hilarious, including future best friends Norm and Martha.

Why aren’t these two on Celebrity Antiques Hunt yet? I even renewed my TV licence today like a fool.

It also seems to be entirely open to interpretation. The sauce can be under, in, on top of, or vaguely near the pudding. (NB #selfsaucing was trending on Twitter at this point. What a time to be alive.)

Mel says they have to make eight ‘individually portioned’ self-saucing puds. No idea what individually portioned could mean, let alone self-saucing puds, but Paul is on hand to explain. He says the key thing is to keep the sponge nice and light. “Timing is everything”. (No mention of the sauce so far.) Mary steps up with the helpful advice that it has to ‘have the right consistency, and – for me – it has to have some texture to it’. Everything has some sort of texture, and I don’t know what she means, but it’s Mary, so I assume she wants alcohol involved.

“Where’s my gin at?”

Luis says that puddings are not his strongest area (this is dessert week, Luis, puddings will be another time! Yes, I know that nobody outside of the Bake Off scheduling people really use those words differently) and it doesn’t help that he seems to be boiling potatoes.

“Fancy” – Norman. (That’s the only one I’ll use this week.) (Maybe.)

Martha is adding peanut butter to her fondants, which is a big no-no for me. She’s also in the middle of her A Levels, which is pretty impressive.

Nancy: “this is the chocolate mix for the centre of my pudding. The sauce, if you like”. She’s caught on to the buzzwords of the episode perfectly, hasn’t she? She still seems delightfully unbothered by the whole process. Then she engages the judges in a keen game of charades.

“Third word…”

She says she’s going to push the envelope. My friend Emily, watching with me, perspicaciously commented “You don’t have to push envelopes. People want envelopes.”

“I need to get a wiggle on” – Alex/Kate. Surely the expression is ‘wriggle’?

Watching again, I see that we have all sorts of omens. Kate slowly wanders over to a freezer. Iain tells us that timing isn’t his forte. There are shots – so subtle as to be almost subliminal – of ice caps melting, polar bears looking forlorn, and Alaska sinking into the sea.

Also, I’m sure his beard and head hair started off as the same colour. One seems to be getting lighter, and the other darker, as the series continues.

Science doubtless has the answers.

He’s making something with chocolate, lime, and raspberry, which are three wonderful flavours. Paul likes chocolate and lime together, and so do I – chocolate and lime sponge cake is one of my favourite things to bake. Truth story from real life.

Guess who’s decided to keep it simple this week?

Well, that plan’s worked beautifully so far, why not? (In his defence, sticky toffee pudding is amazing.)

The cameraman remains curiously obsessed with Diana’s trainers. A couple of series ago the BBC was slapped on the wrist for showing the logo of Smeg fridges too much. Have Nike now got an underhand deal with the Beeb? Or is this some sort of unclear foreshadowing again?

Or is to show that something’s AFOOT??

The puddings go in the respective ovens, and it’s time for Sue to give us the history of cake. It’s the most heavy-handed link yet (“I like desserts. So does Paignton!”) and self-saucing puds aren’t mentioned, presumably because they were made up someone in a BBC office in a panic.

Also, Sue apparently thinks it’s appropriate to chat with an aged historian on deckchairs while wearing a blood-stained skull T-shirt.

And we’re back in the tent. Dr. Paul Cleave has got a ‘proof of the pudding’ joke in there (the PUN KLAXON taking an unprecedented trip to Devon) but they’re staunchly avoiding it in the tent. Must save something for next week, you can see Mel thinking. There seem to be some mini, individually portioned, catastrophes… but these are quickly glossed over. This, if nothing else, should have warned me of what was to come. Usually a bubbling pudding would have been previewed half a dozen times, and made the centrepiece of the show.

#drama

Kate, of course, hams it up no end.

Richard, meanwhile, checks to see if his prop is in place.

Instruments that the soundtrack have brought into play: french horn? Not sure – something unduly brassy.

Bakers dust and press and tweeze and place, the camera spins dizzily around every bake and zooms in unnervingly close to corners of puddings, then everything is ready for judging.

Paul uses ‘drop through’ as a noun.

“Now that’s what I call a sauce pudding!” Mary says of Richard’s pud, clearly having been as at sea as the rest of us, and relieved to have been given some indication of what one might be.

He does well. Martha glues Paul’s mouth together. Luis’s sauce is more of a liquid. ‘Almost a wet liquid’, says Paul, which leads one to wonder – what could a dry liquid possibly be like?

They’re not very impressed by Norman’s presentation – quelle surprise! – but I’d love to try it. And I do wonder if they’d have mentioned it for any other baker (they look a darn sight better than Martha’s peanut splodges, for instance).

Over with the other Great British Beige Off contestant – Diana gets good feedback on her orange surprise thingummy, which looks a little like it’s enacting Ode on a Grecian Urn, and she is pretty euphoric about it.

Nancy, on the other hand, isn’t happy with her critique – saying (in a way that rather misses the point of being in the competition at all) that puddings get eaten so quickly that it doesn’t really matter if they don’t have any sauce.

“Four puddings a pound, a pound, lovely puddings”

Meanwhile, Martha is having an exam-fuelled breakdown. “I try and be a tough cookie. Sometimes it’s a bit hard and the cookie crumbles.” I think she’s babbling rather than distraught. Norman, on the other hand, is unaffected by his critique – saying that sticky toffee pudding isn’t meant to look nice. He suggests it is the opposite of the sort of person who looks nice and is ‘rotten in the middle’. That took a turn, didn’t it? His interview is beautifully juxtaposed with this sheep:

Technical challenge time: Mary’s tiramisu cake. CAKE? That doesn’t sound like a dessert to me. Food etymology fans, did you know that tira mi su is Italian for ‘pick me up’? Which suggests, to me, that Mel and Sue can be translated as Mel and Up. (Sorry.)

“I think I’m the only person that’s made it before in the whole room, and I’m the youngest by far,” says Martha, and somehow doesn’t come across as appalling. She is super lovely. (But, fyi, Richard has now taken the coveted second place in my affections – behind Norm, obvs – as I love how resolutely cheerful he is all the time. Martha is in at third.)

“It is quite tricky to make,” says Mary – get used to that line, it’s not the last time we’ll hear a similar sentiment. “What I’m looking for is every layer to be evenly soaked in the coffee and brandy mixture.”

Where’s my brandy at?

Iain says something that just sounds like a series of vowel sounds to me. Luckily my lovely Northern Irish housemate Laura is on hand to translate. It’s something about flour. She’s not here as I recap, and I can’t remember.

Norman’s mixture has ‘a few spots of flour, here and there, but you always get that’. He’s not what you’d call a perfectionist, is he?

“Right – in the oven,” says Diana, taking it upon herself to provide audio commentary for the blind.

BUT WHAT FOOTWEAR DOES SHE HAVE ON?

This week’s to-prove-or-not-to-prove-that-is-the-question is clingfilm vs. baking paper. This could probably have provided twenty minutes of nail-biting controversy if we hadn’t been steaming through the challenge to get to the #bincident.

Alex/Kate slams her oven door closed – Alex/Kate! If Mrs Poll taught me one thing in GCSE food technology, and she did just about teach me one thing, it’s that you close oven doors gently to prevent a rush of cold air. (I got an A, thankyouverymuch, thanks for asking.)

Everybody is preparing to slice their sponges in half, and Richard has run into difficulties…

(Insert building pun here.)

He throws it in the bin. FORESHADOWING. Iain has problems. FORESHADOWING. Diana talks to herself. FORESH–, wait, no, that doesn’t happen again.

Nancy is making a layer from ‘remnants’. I love how little she cares.

Mary’s recipe doesn’t specify how much brandy/coffee mixture to add but, c’mon, this is Mary. Pour a whole bottle in, and she’ll quite literally lap it up. We also see the first of Martha’s many anxious looks-around-the-tent…

#side-eye

Wonderfully, Luis has drawn out a diagram saying sponge/cream/sponge/cream/sponge/cream. Mel makes fun of him in an adorable way.

He is a graphic designer, after all.

Even Marth isn’t sure what temperature the tempered chocolate should be. “Even a few degrees out, and the chocolate will lose it’s shine and be difficult to work with.” LIKE SUE, AM I RIGHT, AMIRITE?  (No, not really.)

Finishing touches are done all round – special mention should be made of Luis’s wonderful chocolate calligraphy…

…and Sue hears ‘the gentle padding of lady moccasins’. Mary is returning. The challenge is over. Norman says he is “surprised by how good it looks”, which can only mean that they’ll think it a mess. He’s always so optimistic.

I think everyone has done a brilliant job – and Mezza and Pazza don’t have many criticisms to give, on the whole. Mary complains that some of them don’t have enough ‘coffee mixture’. She keeps using the words ‘coffee mixture’, when we all know that she means…

“…where’s my brandy at?”

With no disasters, there’s not much to say. Diana comes last, followed by Norm. Luis is second, and lovely Martha comes top. “Well done!” says Mary, as though addressing a toddler. But she doesn’t give as good shocked face as Luis.

Imagine if he wins?

The showstopper challenge is… Baked Alaska! Since nobody has made one of these since 1974, the bakers can be forgiven for being pretty relaxed in how they interpret it. (Somewhere – presumably at an ABBA-themed party, with olives and bright orange cupcakes – The Brend is gnashing his teeth and wondering why he wasn’t asked to make a Baked Alask.)

At this juncture, I’d like to express my disappointment that nobody uses this joke: “What does Mary think?” / “I don’t know, Alaska.” Ahahahaha.

“It’s a sponge base and an ice cream; what could go wrong?” asks Luis
“There are many things that can go wrong in a Baked Alaska,” answers Paul. Only he’s sat outside, and it was probably filmed on a different day, so it can hardly be called a conversation. “There’s Joconde, there’s Victoria, there’s Genoise,” says Paul, apparently having forgotten the names of any of the contestants.

Fans of repetition are treated to both judges and most of the bakers telling us that it’s hot in the tent; ideal weather for making ice cream. But nothing can stop daredevil Norm from pulling out the stops. Not satisfied with dabbling in the exotic world of pesto, this week he’s using… strawberry. Oo-la-la.

The surprise is that it has the exact ingredient mentioned in the name.

Martha’s making a sort of key lime pie Alaska, with coconut, which sounds in every way amazing.

Chetna mournfully tells us that she used to have mangoes all summer.

Iain is using black sesame seed ice cream – because who doesn’t want their food to be grey? Mary Reaction Face time.

Nancy’s has three stripes (two ice creams and a parfait) which Mary suggests will be like a football jersey, and Nancy believes will closely resemble a rainbow. Have either of them ever seen either of these things?

Alex/Kate says that she’s making a very kitsch Baked Alaska. So far, so tautological – but it’s difficult to see quite why she believes hers is more kitsch than anybody else’s. She even references her ‘fellow Brightonians’. Ugh. Shameless, Kate; you’re better than that.

Iain talks about wanting to put his ice cream in the freezer, which is numbingly obvious at the time, but significant after the event…

Norman looks absolutely disgusted by his ice cream, but apparently this is a look of pleasure.

“I could have been born in Italy” – actual thing he says.

MYSTERY CHEST FREEZER ALERT.

Never mentioned again.

There’s lots of stuff about them making meringues, but there’s not much to say – although mention must be made of Norman’s statement ‘A year ago I didn’t know what an Italian meringue was’ – presumably the same sentence would have held true with either ‘Italian’ or ‘meringue’ deleted – and this shot of Luis multitasking:

Norm is the king of photobombing

Alex/Kate tells us it’s hot. Going for a variation on a theme, Norm speaks of the warmth of the tent. Ever the scientist, Sue opts for “It’s 25 degrees.”

Ladies and gentlemen, we come to the crux of the episode. Which I shall narrate in images.

Poignant, no?

On re-watching, it becomes clear that Iain asked about freezer space, and Diana/Nancy knew it was his when they took it out… and… well, you know by now. It was left on the side. It *looks away from camera; sheds a tear* melted.

(I should say at this point, I think Diana has suffered enough, and my blog is intended to poke gentle fun at the whole thing, not be cruel – so don’t expect any witch-hunt or meanness from me.)

Accompanied by guttural scream

Diana: “You’ve got your own freezer, haven’t you?”
Iain: “Why would you take ice cream out of the freezer?” (which invites the response: to eat it.)

I can do no more than state the facts. I can’t believe how fraught and emotional this was. My friends and I were screaming at the television. I feel like we are part of history. “Do you know where you were when Iain found out his ice cream was taken out of the freezer?” we will say to each other through time. Children will tire of their parents talking about it. Grandparents will reminisce. This is truly the defining moment of the third millennium AD.

My biggest question, though, is why – knowing that it was not frozen – Iain chose to take the tin off. What did he think would happen? Was he hoping that his vendetta against gravity (so clearly evidenced by his hairstyle) had finally been successful?

Sue desperately tries to calm him down, but… #BINCIDENT. #MELTDOWN. #PASSPORTTONEWSNIGHT. He storms out. It’s not frozen, Iain, you should let it go. (Geddit? Frozen. Let it go. Wit.)

And then my favourite moment of the whole show – Richard and Kate have a gossip in the corner. “Iain threw his in the bin!” says Kate. “He didn’t!” from Richard. He sounds every bit like an archetypal spinster in a Miss Read novel and I LOVE it.

“Oooo – he never did! Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs.”

Chetna is very lucky that Iain has stormed out, as her ice cream has also melted everywhere, and she’s trying to put it back in place with her hands while Martha anxiously stands behind her. Unsurprisingly, it’s not very effective.

Iain – presumably having been refused the bus fare away from this house in the middle of nowhere – wanders back into the tent.

Does anybody care any longer about these Alaskas? Well, I do, and these were my favourites:

When it comes to Chetna’s turn, she presents a melted mess, but Mary says that she ‘has a smile on her face, which is what it’s all about!’ No, Mary, it isn’t. (But I still love you, Chetters!)

It looks rather like a blobfish. Google it.

Incidentally, loving Richard’s cajz lean against hedge. (Yes, cajz is how I’m abbreviating ‘casual’. We all need to make our peace with that and move on.)

Cajz.

Then the music gets all tinkly and sombre, and for some reason Iain processes up with the bin. Chetna and Luis have their heads in their hands (in clips probably filmed some hours earlier). Iain is a gent, and doesn’t mention Diana at all (so far as we see.)

Mary is very sweet to Iain at this moment, beaming away and saying that everybody makes mistakes. It’s a different tune in the backstage debrief. “I think that’s sort of unacceptable.” Ouch. Somewhere a fairy has died.

As you’ll probably know by now, going home is…

Mr Tumnus

Sue and Mel seem genuinely heartbroken by the news.

Star baker, more happily, is Richard.

It’s been an emotional rollercoaster this week, baking fans. I don’t know if can keep up with this excitement.

(And can you spot where this week’s OxfordDictionaries.com update word is, Helen??)

See you next time!

Guys, it’s happened. Only two episodes in, and a bunch of the GBBO bakers have started reading the recaps… hello to anybody reading from the tent! I’m very fond of you all. I hope that’s obvious!

Before we get onto the episode, there are a few things I need to clear up. Firstly, I was told off by my friend Hannah for not liking Richard, and I realised that it might well have come across that way. I actually love Richard, but… not the pencil. Hate the sin, love the sinner, and all that. (I should also mention how delightfully long it took Hannah to learn which was Mel and which was Sue – “Mel; Sue” she’d say, pointing left to right. When told this was wrong: “Sue; Mel?”, pointing right to left. We got there in the end.)

Secondly, I’m now officially cheering on Luis, as I drew his name in the office sweepstake that somebody suggested we do. That somebody was me.

Thirdly, my friend Meg pointed out that last week Mary did her usual pirate-eating… of a biscuit pirate. How did I miss this?

Fourthly, my friend Rachel lent me Mezza Bezza’s autobiography today. Excited.

Right, ready for bread (bready, if you will)? On with the show…

Things kick off with our usual shot of the bakers processing along the lawn, which this week seems like a mix of the animals marching into Noah’s Ark and the schoolgirls of Madeleine walking in a crocodile (which, incidentally, meant nothing to me as a child, and always seemed curiously macabre). The cameraman also seems to have hidden in the undergrowth to film this shot.

Mel and Sue make a curiously laboured joke about the word ‘rise’ – in the world of potential bread puns, this is the one they keep returning to – and then make several references to the ‘tropical heat’, which (one must presume, given their enormous parkas) is in ironic reference to the coldness of the day. I’m not sure topical jokes about the temperature work well on a programme shown months later.

Blazer watch: they’re all back in ’em, except Paul. The colours seem to have run on Mary’s, though.

They’re making… rye buns! “Above all else, they must be identical,” says Mel, in a phrase calculated to bring an inferiority complex to a non-identical twin like myself.

There are some great Reaction Faces from the baker this week, and it kicks off with Norman’s stony-faced boredom.

“All this talkin’ is suspiciously… fancy.”

Mel voiceovers that rye is difficult to work with. Kate tells us that rye is difficult to work with. Paul adds, helpfully, that rye is difficult to work with. Mary – rebel that she is – takes a different tack and says that the bakers will probably be adding black treacle, honey, or “even cocoa” to their mixture. I’m not sure that ‘cocoa’ required the word ‘even’.

#YOLO

“The real danger is when they glaze it,” says Mary, in the voice of one who has laughed danger in the face. And, again, she’s pulling Roger Moore face:

Mary for first female James Bond, anyone?

Speaking of dangerous glazing (the name of a fairly unprofitable windows company), the inspection starts off with Martha, who is making date and walnut rye rolls (which sounds delicious) and is going to use an egg wash. If she’d said she was going to bake them by blindfolding herself, spinning around three times, and pointing a blow-torch in the direction she thought the dough might be, Paul couldn’t have reacted more strongly. “That’s very daring,” he says. Is it, though, Paul?

“And… do you have life insurance?”

Norman has drawn the consistent-criticism card this year, but it’s the opposite of the ‘don’t-overdo-it’ that Frances was told robotically every week in ’13. Instead, he will get the ‘don’t-oversimplify’ every week until he leaves. “I’m a traditional baker more than anything,” he confides to the camera. “I’m no Heston Blumenthal,” he adds, lest anybody had made that mistake. What’s nice is that, while poor Frances seemed quite upset by the constant barrage of unwonted criticisms, our Norm doesn’t give a fig. Nor would he have anything as fancy as a fig in any of his bakes, thankyouverymuch. I hope he and Diana continue to have a Great British Beige Off, until they are reduced to presenting nothing but piles of flour for the judges.

“Self-raising flour? Fancy.”

Luis, I love you, your dragon was amazing, and I’m relying on you to bring in fifteen pounds sterling for me in the office sweepstake, but we need to have words.

1.) There’s always someone who starts giving their bakes names, and these are staunchly ignored by Mary and Paul. Watch out for that. “This is my supercalifragilisticexpialidocious surprise!” they’ll say, and Mary will flintily comment on their “Vanilla tart”.

2.) Parsnips? Parsnips? PARSNIPS? Parsnips are the food of darkness and evil. Life is cruel enough without putting parsnips in bread.

Bread week is always an excuse for people to make jokes about flinging dough about being a way to get rid of stress or anger. Cockney barrowgirl Nancy adds ‘instead of on the dog!’ in a cheerful aside that should ring alarm bells with the RSPCA.

“And then I threw the cat on the fire!”

We get plenty of close-ups of bakers kneading dough – and, in case we’ve forgotten in the past three minutes, Jordan tells us that rye is difficult to work with. I only have one question: is, or is not, rye dough difficult to work with?

Inscrutable.

Alex Kingston (aka Kate – and I never credited my friend Andrea on noting the similarities to Alex K, sorry Andrea!) is pitied by Mary for being too small to work dough properly – Mary being the six foot mountain of muscle that she is – and Alex/Kate responds by getting her guns out. It’s all a bit frat house.

“The body of Ryan Gosling!” cries Sue. “Who? Sounds fancy,” says Norman.

Jordan is making lemon and poppyseed rolls. “Very much a muffin flavouring,” says Sue, showing how keenly she has acquired baking knowledge over the past five years. Richard the Builder, meanwhile, gets in trouble with Paul for referring to an American Pumpernickel. “There is only one Pumpernickel, and that comes from Germany,” barks Herr Paul.

Moving on… “There’s something called the window pane test,” says Martha. “If you can see through your dough, then it’s ready.” Call me a cynic, but this looks a lot like cheating.

Yep, I can see through that.

(“Window pane test? Fancy.” – Norman.)

Over to Diana. She seems to be getting quite disheartened by the whole process, bless her. As with Norm, of course, she’s getting the too-simple critique. And this time the cheese she’s adding to the dough might slow the proving or the baking or something. Paul, who seems to manhandle Mary every week now, pulls her away before she reveals too much. It’s a little intimate.

“We’ll always have Paris.”

Diana is rightly baffled by the whole thing. “I have not made much bread at all,” she says.

Then we get lots of shots of people waiting while their bread proves (in the ‘proving drawers’ – does anybody in the real world have these?) The bakers lean their heads on their hands, roll their eyes, shift from foot to foot, and generally make violently overacted mime stances of waiting. Norman wanders off to inspect the crockery.

“Handles? Fancy.”

Chetna seems a bit despondent too, although her pine nut rolls sound delish. It only takes a quick word from Paul and she’s back to her laughing self. I adore her moments of merriment.

And then, a vision of the queue for the Marks & Spencer cafe every Seniors’ Tuesday.

Perhaps the strangest comment from Paul comes when talking to Nancy: “The idea of the crust on top is nice.” Where else would one have a crust?

Nancy and Martha have a heart-to-heart about egg washes (“I’m going to do it anyway,” says Martha, apparently never having seen the show before) and… what is that cake doing in the background? Where did that come from? Did Series Two Holly sneak in and make it?

I don’t feel I have much to say about people cutting dough. And I don’t feel equipped to talk about Iain’s pet sourdough. Does everyone have pet dough? Am I missing out on a national craze? Is this the new loom bands?

Norman – you make my job hobby waste of time easy. He’s recording Mel’s temperature with some sort of stun gun. And then she does his. He says his temperature is going up because of Mel’s presence. It’s adorable. Unless he meant it and she’s shot him down. Awks.

Nancy’s props must have been too violent to show this week.

In musical news, someone in the soundtrack department has found a xylophone.

Alex/Kate shoe-horns in a reference to a marathon she’s done. “It’s just like a marathon,” she says about putting her bread in the oven, in a clear lie – unless her understanding of ‘marathon’ is vastly different from every accepted definition of it.  I imagine she gets this into every conversation.  “Would size shoe do you take?” says the shoe salesman. “Oh, this is just like a marathon,” says she. “Could you direct me to the post office?” / “This is just like a marathon.” “Hi, I’m Tom.” / “Funny story: marathon.”

“I’ve only done one.” #Humblebrag

Sue, referring to Paul, says it’l soon be time “to unleash The Mahogany Tiger”, to which I have nothing to add, we get the much-previewed clip of Alex/Kate dropping a roll on the floor (anticlimactically, she just picks it up and carries on – it is, we must remember, in every way exactly like a marathon), and the judges return.

Basically all the rolls look amazing. I love bread above any other foodstuff, so I’m salivating here. Let’s whip through the judging, as nobody does particularly badly. Except that all the warnings about egg-wash and so forth come to fruition. Apparently Martha’s glaze “falsely accuses the roll of being ready”, according to Paul, who obviously has a deep-seated desire to be Judge Judy. “OBJECTION!” he shrieks, at Diana’s flowerpot-shaped rolls.

Norman, of course, is told that his rolls are too simple. Mary uses the word ‘scrumptious’ again; I forget whose rolls she’s eating. And gives the critique “I like that!” to my boy Luis’ rolls. That’s why they hire the experts.

Have you ever wondered about the history of bread? No? Well, of course you haven’t.

Cake: A Secret History may be back, but where are the home videos? Where are families awkwardly gathered together to look at a baker wandering in and out of a room holding a french stick? More importantly: how am I to know what Richard does for a living?

And we’re on to the ‘nerve-inducing techncial’. Cue lots of bakers looking impressively nervous. We get Jordan biting his lip, Kate blinking a lot, these two…

…and then Iain, not bothered, who doesn’t seem to know where he is.

Paul ‘The Voice of Bread’ Hollywood gives them one instruction: ‘Be Patient’. It is delivered with the solemnity of a prophet or Disney wizard.

What are they baking? Ciabatta. Diana seems genuinely never to heard of them, going by her expression.

“Did you say… pastry triangles?”

Warning – this is the last time you will hear the word ‘ciabatta’ pronounced as three syllables. After this it is always chee-a-batt-ah, to the consternation of my half-Italian friend Andrea.

In case you’re wondering what a ciabatta is, fear not, Alex/Kate is on hand to give you a full and precise definition: ‘kind of long, oblong… bread’.

The most exciting divide in this ciabattle (thankyouverymuch) is whether or not to use the proving drawer for proving. “It’s called a proving drawer, so you’d think it was for proving,” says Martha, with an incisive logic that is hard to dispute. You wouldn’t have thought that this quandary could be eked out to five minutes of screentime, interrupted only, briefly, by this image of a rainy horse.

That is, you wouldn’t think that unless you’ve ever seen bread week before.

“I’m going to stick to my guns,” says Alex/Kate, forever and always obsessed with her biceps.

I hear the words ‘proving drawer’ so often that I’ve started to believe it’s a thing. And then there’s a waiting game while they all try to pay heed to Paul’s advice to be ‘patient’. Mel narrates it, basically documenting people standing around. It’s like Russian Roulette, only with no stakes, and nothing happening. “Chetna’s flouring!” screams Mel.

And then lots of this:

“It’s alive!”

Doughs are shaped, cut, and generally prepared. There is some anxiety about whether to get oil involved, but it’s small fry after proving-gate. The only highlight is Iain somehow saying ‘I don’t even know how to pick it up’ as one syllable.

Finally, the ciabatta are cooked and presented to the judges, with some impressive Italian from Mel along the way. Kate blows on hers, which can’t possibly be hygienic.

Diana still isn’t sure what a ciabatta is.

Paul, as always in bread week, is keen to disparage anybody who was ever made bread before, except him, and laboursomely goes through them all (one of them has, bizarrely, been ‘forced into heat’ – put in the oven?), while Mary looks oddly disgusted.

She isn’t, though. She tears into the bread with such vigour that I fear for her teeth. Most of the bakers do pretty well, although a couple ciabatta are too flat. No disastrous egg washes. Jordan comes last (apparently oil and flour don’t perform the same function; who knew?) while the top three are Martha, Luis, and Alex/Kate. She describes her baking as some sort of metaphysical experience.

The final challenge is a bread centrepiece. Obviously that’s not a thing and never has been, but let’s go with it. And they are to make filled loaves.

Diana drips water into a jug, amazed by the contrivances of modernity. I firmly believe that she has hitherto only used wells.

Everyone is making a savoury filled loaf except for Jordan, who is making a ‘strawberry and raspberry cheesecake brioche’. Obviously there’s no such thing as a cheesecake brioche, and that is one of the main reasons I am glad to be alive, so he’s onto a losing hand. “I like to take the best parts of different foods and put them together,” he says. Jord, if that were true, I’d eat nothing but chocolate cake in Yorkshire puddings with cheese. (Actually…)

This shouldn’t go in bread. I mean, obviously.

“Tell us all about your loaf,” says Mary to Diana, in the tones of one asking after somebody’s favourite grandchild. She’s making lots of pinwheels, and still sounds curiously unhappy about the whole thing. Take heart, Diana, be bold!

Norman, bless his wonderful heart, is making a loaf with chicken, rosemary-infused olive oil, and pesto. He seems to believe that pesto is at the very forefront of modern invention, and just the sort of daredevil risk calculated to win over the judges. Oh, Norm. Never change.

WAIT. Richard is using pesto too! Word has spread! (His loaf also sounds like the nicest, with walnuts and whatnot too.)

Martha is baking an entire cheese into her loaf. An epoisse cheese, which is apparently so smelly that it’s banned on public transport in France. Sure, why not?

As usual, too many bakers to talk about them all at this stage. I do like, however, that the graphics-pencils person has drawn Chetna’s loaf in the slightly misshapen way it emerged, rather than the (I presume) even shape she intended.

Also, ‘rolled and filled’ is surely part of the challenge anyway?

And then we come to Nancy. Oh, Nancy. She’s essentially just doing a fry-up. While Luis is carefully slicing olives, she’s flinging pork bangers into a pan, along with bacon, mushrooms, and so forth. She couldn’t be more Eastenders-extra if she tried. Oh, wait, she’s using quails’ eggs. Now, that is fancy.

It does reinforce the fact that a ‘filled loaf’ is basically a sandwich.

We head over to Richard – who mentions in passing that he is a builder – and then… oh, the horror, the horror. Jordan’s cheesecake brioche. Oh no, no, no.

So might a cat play with its kill.

On the other side of the tent: “I’m going for the posh rustic look,” says Norman. “If it’s homemade, it should look homemade.” Seriously, has he ever seen this show before? Everybody else is performing complex twists and plaits, and I’m super-impressed by how none of the dough is falling apart, which is definitely what would happen if I tried any of this stuff. Martha has a mini-crisis of mixing up fig and apricot dough – we’ve all been there – Luis sprays his dough with insecticide (or something), and our friend the proving drawer rears its head again.

Jordan says that in the past he has struggled to make his showstopper look ‘showstoppery’ “every single week“. Lest we forget, there have been a total of two weeks to date. He’s glazing some strawberries, but I imagine that won’t be enough to salvage a cheesecake brioche.

Everybody puts their loaves in the ovens (which is perhaps not very surprising), and then they sit on the floor and stare at their ovens. Chetna is becoming the go-to person for repeating the basics of the challenge as though they were philosophical insights.

“It’s filled inside!”

She’s adorable.

Also adorable, in a different way, is Diana – who uses the abbreviation ‘under scrute’. I love me some abbrevs. And Norman, again: “For me this is very exotic – PESTO.”

Martha and Mel have a listen to a loaf. They actually do.

“Burn the tent, you say?”

Those of you who bake – you know how you have to just do those annoying fiddly final bits before presenting your bake, like piping icing, sprinkling sugar, gilding the olives… wait, what? Luis, what’s happening? Are you trying to make this the most expensive item of food per square inch, with saffron, gold, and a crunchy diamond in the middle for one lucky young scamp?

The judging begins. These showstoppers inevitably don’t wow in the way that 3D biscuit models did, but they still look extremely delicious. There were only a couple that I really liked the look of:

He gives an extreme range of cheery facial expressions. He’s fab.

And then there’s the damp raw mess of the cheesecake brioche… oh dear, Jordan.

If it’s any consolation, my Cheesy Yorkshire Chocolate Cake was a mess too.

And the amazingly hammed-up (no pun intended) moment when Kate’s prosciutto bread gets the comment from Paul: “There’s no gap between the layers… because it’s raw.” Somebody (Sue? Maybe even Mary?) gasps ‘WHAT?’ in horrified tones. It’s glorious. Kate rises to the occasion wonderfully, gurning all over the place. (It is a shame, though, as the loaf looked wonderful from the outside.)

Incidentally, nobody has ever eaten a strawberry this menacingly before.

Haunting.

Paul and Mary follow their usual practice of repeating all their critiques again to Mel and Sue around the wooden table, for anybody who popped to the kitchen to make a cuppa during the judging. Sue announces that either Norman or Jordan had to go, which didn’t really seem to be the direction the show was going, but sure.

The star baker is:

This looked like a smile until I freeze-framed it.

Make me some money, Luis! (Alex/Kate gives a fist pump ‘yesss!’)

Going home is…

Mary gives a lovely farewell tribute to Jordan. Importantly, Norman lives to fight another day! As do I – so I’ll see you next week for Desserts Week. Hope you’ve enjoyed the recap, especially if you were one of the people from the tent… love you all, honest!