The Great British Baking Show
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The musk of testosterone and icing sugar in the tent is very, very heady, observes Mel.
Back home, we see James hitting the culinary books and typing Sift flour?
into his Notes app.
Sadly, this existential question goes unanswered.
I would under no circumstances kick Johns Italian sausage and roasted vegetable pithivier (taleggio!
(Get it, Brendan.)
The technical challenge calls for 25 (t-w-e-n-t-y five!
Coating the sponge chunks in fondant (do you plop them into the icing?
do you dip them by hand?
stab them with a fork, close your eyes, and say a silent prayer to Mary Berry?)
is such a disaster that even fastidious Brendans station is left looking like a war zone.
The judges are less than thrilled with the results.
Consider yourself chastised, Paul says to all three.
The oil and egg-white-based batter (no butter!)
makes this bakings most notoriously fickle sponge.
James, for some reason, is making five cakes, inspired by the U.K.s momentous 2012.
His United Chiffon Cakes will each be covered in mascarpone and honey icing.
The baking gods are not shining on our sweet young whiskey enthusiast on this rainy day.
James unhappily likens the texture of his finished Turkish delight to, yum, caulk.
After an alarmingly long pause, he declares it a perfect slice of cake.
There is nothing to complain about here.
Im afraid the same cannot be said for contestant number three.
They agree to judge the central one, the Union Jack.
What am I going to say, James?
Its a shame, that, Paul says, and I want to cry for James.
The bakers carry their cakes from the tents to the summer fete happening outside.
Of course, it is pouring.
Lo and behold, the winner is … John, who cant believe it!
