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This week in Bake Off news: I unfollowed Paul Hollywood on Twitter.  He used the wrong ‘your’, and then he missed out an apostrophe by writing ‘Bake Offs on’, and I couldn’t bear it anymore.  He’s taking it pretty hard.

Last week: The Great Custard Robbery 2013! Trifle! Frances created a life-size model of the Leaning Tower of Pisa from flaked almonds, and it’s now the country’s most lucrative tourist attraction!

And now…. pie week!  Or Soggy Bottom Week, as it’s come to be known across the nation.  I’ve been following the Bake Off on Facebook (no grammar misuse yet, so they’re not persona non grata yet) and they’ve got into puns in a big way.  PIEtanic was a personal favourite this week – excellent work, social media minion, you’ll earn yourself a Golden Pun Klaxon before long.

Mel and Sue open proceedings with some fake food bumps, because of course they do.  I love that one of the most watched programmes in Britain has all the finesse and production standards of an enthusiastic village pantomime – those ‘costumes’ must have taken all of five minutes to craft.

Can we talk about Ali’s hat for a moment?

I have no words.

He’s apparently come as a pixie this week.  A pixie who matches his hats exactly to his T-shirts – and note that subtly rolled up sleeve!  He’s heard that Mary is using GBBO to launch a fashion line (N.B. this may not be a true) and he wants a slice of that pie (PIE JOKE).  Well, he would, but I can only assume the pie is added to the pantheon of everyday food items of which he’s never heard.

Ooo, listen up, I have a (tenuous) excuse for putting Bake Off recaps on a book blog – Mel references the Life of Pi(e)!  And after we had a quotation from Jane Eyre last week (which I forgot to mention in last week’s recap, but which Thomas mentioned in the comments – it was a ‘Reader, I married him’ moment, which is always nicer to say on television than, say, “I meant to be a bigamist; but fate has out-manoeuvred me.”) it’s become a regular little book group.  (Ali has never heard of books.)

Exhib. 1: pastry

The signature challenge is ‘double crusted fruit pie’, which is apparently the correct way to describe a pie which has pastry on the top and the bottom.  Well, to me that’s just the description of a pie.  Pastry is my favourite part, and if it’s only on top I would feel CHEATED and ANGRY and probably pull a RUBYFACE.  I’ve been asked by Keen Reader Becci (er, my friend Becci) to include a catalogue of her faces this week – but they’re essentially all variations on ‘Angrily Considering Whether Stabbing Is An Overreaction And Deciding In Favour’, with the odd beatific smile thrown in.  She has no spectrum of faces.

Ali, of course, has never made a pie.  But even he should probably be aware that clingfilm isn’t the best ingredient to include…

“I love to use ingredients from around the world,” he says.  This invariably means using ingredients that nobody, anywhere in the world, would even briefly consider using.  It’s a euphemism for ‘fondness for the inedible’, isn’t it?  He admits that he doesn’t like – nay, loathes – fruit pies, and I think it’s time for our first Mary Berry Reaction Face, don’t you?

The Great British Bake Off so gradually became a sequel to The Exorcist, that I barely noticed the change.

It’s no secret that I now adore Howard and could listen to his voice all day long.  My new favourite Howard Word (Howord?) is ‘polenta’.  I can’t express how wonderfully he says it.  It’s a mini-play all by itself.

Apparently it gives the pastry a ‘more biscuity’ flavour.  Since he’s previously used the adjective ‘cakey’ of his cake, I can only assume that he just sticks ‘y’ on the end of everyday baked goods when describing things.  Get ready for his bready meringues, desserty cottage loaves, and pastryey crème brûlée.

His VT can’t possibly compare to Joggingate – I’ve come to terms with the knowledge that the rest of my life will be an anticlimax now – so instead we see him hand out cakes in an office.  I’m absolutely certain that he has never been in this office before.  Those women clearly have no idea who he is.

Is that even a real office? It looks suspiciously like it’s been crafted at the back of the tent. By Frances, from isinglass.

Taking up the jogging mantle is lovely Beca – appropriately enough, since she is rivalling Howard for the place of my favourite – and she looks more competent, but rather angrier.  Compare and contrast, you ask?  Why, yes, of course.

Note the scandalous words on Beca’s T-shirt.  I’m wearing a shirt which says ‘Bad grammar makes me [sic]’, which just goes to show the difference between us.  Let’s look at some food, shall we?  I must remember to do more of that in these recaps… and here is what Beca is planning for her ‘cherry-apple’ cake.  Apparently a cherry-apple is what her grandmother used to call rhubarb to get them to eat it.  Beca, the minx, is just perpetuating a vicious lie.  Won’t SOMEBODY think about the children?

Apparently her grandmother’s pies did have soggy bottoms, but “it didn’t never bother us.”  God bless Wales.

Frances is playing fast and loose with my affections.  She is treading such a tightrope.  I love the inventiveness, I love the mad creativity… but it has to come with a dollop of self-consciousness.  I was at a wedding last weekend, and discussing GBBO (obvs) – my friend Rachel loathes Frances.  I still like her, but… just don’t become Holly, Frances.  This week she is making a James and the Giant Peach pie, which is yet another link between books and pie.  It’s almost as though this review had some sort of place on this blog.  As Sue says, “It sounds like it needs planning permission.”

Glenn solemnly intones “Moisture is the enemy of everything today.”  I just don’t know what to do with that sentence.  But – he’s in a Scrabble club!

There are some pretty colours going on in Glenn’s bake – I missed what he used to get this colour, but it doesn’t look super-appetising.  Is now a good time to admit that I don’t get very excited about fruit pies?  I think it’s because I don’t much like cooked apple unless there is a very high ratio of blackberries or something else.  So I wasn’t particularly tempted by the bakes for this challenge.  Sorry, folks. (But my housemate Ellie did make an AMAZING apple and blackberry crumble this week, so sometimes it works brilliantly.)

But it’s not as strange as Christine, who starts rhyming… “I’m bending down to have a look / Because I’m waiting for my pie to cook.”  Well, it’s better than anything Andrew Motion achieved in ten years as Poet Laureate, I’ll give her that.  And Kimberley seems amused.

Is now a good time to tell you about the time I went to buy a pastie, and somehow put ‘pastry’ and ‘pastie’ together and asked for a ‘paystie’.  As in ‘pasty’, as in a pale and unhealthy appearance.  Good times.

Sue is her usual helpful self, with pro-tips for baking excellence: “I think that brown stuff is burn.”

She’s not wrong.

“It is what it is,” says Glenn, and my soul shrivels up a bit.  As mentioned before (I admit this far too readily) I watch a lot of bad American reality shows, generally with people aiming to be models or fashion designers or join the cast of Glee, and “It is what it is” is their go-to expression.  It’s unutterably fatuous.  Of course it blinkin’ is what it is.  It’s hardly investigative journalism, is it?

On the topic of investigative journalism, I have one question for you.  Is Glenn Paul’s illegitimate son?

Inconclusive.  (Can we talk for a moment about Beca’s EXCELLENT photobombing here?  But, also…. is it me, or has ‘horror movie’ become the inadvertent theme of this recap?)

Let’s whip through the judging.  My favourite moment during the critique is when Paul tells Kimberley that her pie is the best one he’s eaten in a long time, and Mary just tells her what it is: “It’s a toffee apple pie!”  Other than that, biggest shock is when Frances is given a ‘style over substance’ talk.  “You’re miles away from the flavour point,” says Paul, incomprehensibly.  But… look how pretty!

My favourite post-critique moment is this, frankly terrifying, staring-down that Christine is giving Ali.

Right, it’s the Technical Challenge, and this week (despite Sue’s suggestion that they just have a rave) it’s sponsored by Lionel from As Times Goes By – that’s right, custard pies!  Paul goes into eulogies about the pies put in front of him, and shows off a fine specimen.  He talks about how they must have ‘a slight wobble’, and shakes a tart which does not, for the merest moment, show the slightest sign of a wobble.  But it certainly holds shape when it is cut in half, and already I have images (some of which, admittedly, come from the what’s-coming-up bit at the beginning of the episode) of pies self-destructing all over the place.

As per usual, the instructions for the technical bake are ludicrously brief.  As Beca notes: “Make the custard. Helpful.”  There are distinct schools of thought over whether it should be heated or not, and there’s quite a bit of staring and self-doubt

In the midst of a baking frenzy, we have an oo-er-missus speculation on Howard’s sexuality: “that would be telling!”  The Bake Off becomes ever more like a village panto.  And, in this case, “she’s behind you!” would be apt.

Beca is such an excellent photobomber, yet again.

“Already time is against us,” laments Glenn.  He is taking on the role of John from last series, who just said melodramatic and vague warnings, like a pessimistic sooth-sayer of the middle ages.  Shortly afterwards he says he is “pouring like a buffoon”, so maybe he’s more like a Jennings character.  Can’t decide.

“We’re all going to die one day anyway.  Fossilized fishhooks!”

Ruby has a very clever technique for making her sure her pies come out easily – which I think others might soon wish they’d thought of – and I’ll certainly be copying it in the future.

BAKING HISTORY is actually quite interesting this week.  But I’m still going to gloss over it.

BYE BAKING HISTORY THXBYE.

Mel’s fatuous voiceover advice this week?  My favourites are “The pastry must reach the top of the mould.” and “The oven must be hot enough to cook the pastry.”   But what role does gravity play in this, Mel?  And should – or should not – the bakers close the oven doors?  Enquiring minds want to know.

Everything’s going wrong in the tent.  Ali sticks his tarts in the freezer, Frances is genuflecting, and Glenn has started hitting himself in the face with a baking tray.

Horror film. Again.

Ruby’s tabs have worked a treat, but her pastry isn’t cooked… and this is happening over at Glenn’s station.

…and Howard’s.

It’s all a bit of a mess, with only a couple people coping.  We haven’t such despair and haplessness since the Fondant Fancy challenge of 2012.  Paul is positively gleeful at the idea of all these disasters.

My friend Meg pointed something out to me on Facebook during the week, and I made sure I checked it out this week… Rob’s face on the placard identifying him in the Technical Challenge.

Good lord!  What a beaming smile, and what a discrepancy between that, and this usual ‘delighted’ face.  Let’s remind ourselves…

Glenn is last in the Technical Challenge.  Top three are Rob, Beca, and Frances…

Another day, some incidental pictures of sheep, and we’re back in the tent for the Showstopper Challenge – which is a filo pastry pie.  I am intrigued as to how they can make filo pies look ‘showstoppery’ (officially a w word – I used to work for Oxford Dictionaries, m’kay?) but I am ready to be impressed.  I also know that there isn’t the smallest chance I’d ever try making filo pastry, because it looks incredibly difficult… Paul says “It’s like a membrane – you have to open it up and throw it over a newspaper.”  One can only be grateful that his career as a surgeon never came to much.

Christine is making a Roasted Vegetable Filo Pie with Feta Cheese – which sounds delicious – but is it just me, or does that BBC-colouring-pencils sketch look far more like an octopus than the depiction of Rob’s octopus ever did?  Compare and contrast time again…

Bakers are slapping their filo pastry over the desks with gay abandon, and then suddenly the show decides to become everything I ever hoped or dreamed for.  In quick succession, there are several moments which, individually, would each have been Highlight of the Week.  It’s like they read my blog, and decided to give me a helping hand.  First up, OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT:

I’m not one to question the decision-making of our great monarch, but I’ve got one burning question – why the heckitty d. peckitty is Mary Berry not a Dame yet?

Frances is using a shower cap on her pie, which is pretty impressive, but before I can pay close attention, Rob says this: “I have joined a local mushroom club.  I do like to forage.  It is a very unforgiving pastime.”

Is this foraging?  It looks a lot like getting stuff out the fridge.

He adds that he’s making ‘piethagoras’.  Can we declare the Great Age of Television over?  It’s all downhill from here.

Frances is making a baklava cherry tree…

As I say, to Ellie watching it with me, “Of course she is.”  And then Mel says the same thing on the voiceover.  I adore baklava, but her description of combining the pistachio of baklava with cream cheese (was it?) and orange sounds rather disgusting.

This post has been going on far too long, as usual, so I’m afraid we’re going to fast-forward through to the results.  Which is a shame, because the manipulation of filo pastry is pretty amazing.  We see pastry covering two-metre expanses of table, and quite extraordinary preparations.

Check out Rob’s craftily made ruler thing.  I have no idea what function it’s supposed to perform, or whether it was successful.

He’s long behind, because the mushrooms took half an hour longer to clean than he expected.  Couldn’t they just have provided clean mushrooms?  He does have a lovely moment with Sue, when he tells her to get lost but “I’ll call” – to which she replies “They all say that!”

Favourite pun moment?  Mel saying that she might be “throwing a spanikopita in the works”.  Golden Klaxon to you, m’lady.

The angst highlight is the three-person job of getting Howard’s pie out of the dish – Glenn gurns in the background, saying he can’t look while obviously looking, the liar, and it’s treated a bit like the big scene in The Great Escape or The Dam Busters.  I have never seen either of those films, but I’m guessing they have big scenes, no?

Here are my favourites, appearance-wise:

Bonus points to Ruby for saying “It’s a lot better than what I normally knock up.”

And time for the results!
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Star baker is…

BE LESS PERFECT KIMBERLEY

But going home – and thus removing the promised meltdown for which I’d been waiting, is:

Ruby’s eye here provides the last terrifying moment of the episode.

He claims not to recognise Mary Berry, or to know his own name, or to understand the word ‘out’, but sadly these technicalities do not keep him in.  Bye, Ali!  It’s been emotional.  Bless poor Howard, he has a little weep, and I love him x 100.

Hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s recap, and if you have a sad moment this week (Howard) just think about Mary Bezza threatening Paul H with a lump of raw filo dough.

Apologies for the delay in posting this recap, folks!  I was halfway through it last night when iPlayer stopped working, and then my internet stopped working altogether.  But at least it sets a precedent for me being a bit tardy with these… think of it as delayed gratification, k?

Last week: the bakers baked bread, Paul was in his element, and a lady whose name I have already forgotten seemed to believe that an ordinary loaf qualified as a showstopper, and thought that putting tomatoes on top qualified as ‘a twist’.  Mary did her I’m-not-angry-I’m-just-disappointed face, and Paul did his I’m-not-disappointed-I’m-just-angry face.  Meanwhile, I got the wrong James Bond, apparently – it’s Roger Moore who was fond of the raised eyebrow and the I’m-glad-you-dropped-in punnery, not Sean Connery, so here is Mary again with the right Bond comparison.

That’s Moore like it.  Ahahahaha.  Sorry.

This week: desserts!  Much more exciting than bread.  If I know anything about the Great British Bake Off – and I’ve spent more time watching it than I have in all the world’s art galleries combined – then I’m expecting a number of references to ‘just desserts’.  But I have to say that Mel and Sue start the show off in fine fettle, with mention of ‘stressed’ being the word ‘desserts’ backwards.  That’s cleverer wordplay than “It’s a trifle difficult” or “Creme patisserNO, morelike”.  And Mel looks rightfully pleased with herself.

Sue’s Eric Morecambe tribute act continues apace.

The bakers file in across The Bridge, which is fast becoming my favourite bridge in all of fact and fiction (take THAT bridges of Madison County, battle of Stanford Bridge, Bridge[t] Jones) and share their thoughts about dessert week.  Christine is pretty excited about it all, while Ruby Tearday cheerfully says that, having been Star Baker last week, “it’s only going to go downhill.”  Ali looks ready for a baking breakdown and, in the nicest possible way, I can’t WAIT.

And it would be remiss of me to go any further without mentioning Mary’s luminous yellow jacket.  Is she at the forefront of Fashion for the Older Woman, or has she recently been shimmying up a telegraph pole to have a quick look at the telephone wires?  You decide.

So, the signature bake is trifle – and it turns out that my pun klaxon has taken on prophetic ability, as we instantly get a ‘trifle’ pun.  I’m already a bit nonplussed by this choice of challenge, to be honest, because I wouldn’t have thought you could go far wrong with a trifle (and hadn’t thought they involved all that much baking) but I’m ready and willing to be proved wrong.  Mel solemnly intones that this is the first time the baker have been asked to multi-task, which can’t possibly be true, and Beca already seems to be losing it.

Sue talks about ‘a base of lady fingers’, and I can hear her physically restraining herself from making a pun, possibly because it would wander into the lewd.  Ali claims never to have heard the word ‘trifle’ before, or to recognise any one of the ingredients or utensils in front of him, or to know where he is or how he got there.  However he’s making a raspberry and coconut trifle, which is always a wonderful flavour combination, so good luck to him.

I’m intensely relieved to discover that Glen does have a home to go to after all (although it looks suspiciously like a show home on a housing estate, and he’ll probably be asked to leave in the next ten minutes.)  Here he is, having whipped up a croquembouche…

“You’ll note that this room is dual aspect… sir, SIR, I MUST ask you to leave the kitchen alone.”

…but more importantly, here is his adorable dog.

But there is strong competition for most adorable thing – OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT – in Mary’s face when Glen tells her he’s using her ‘flavour combination but not her recipe’.

Incidentally, this face is every argument you’d ever need against Botox.

Since that flavour combination is ‘raspberry and almond’, I remain unconvinced that anybody is pushing the boat out.  Where is whatshername from two years ago, who insisted on adding hyacinth branches or diced yak to the most innocuous of dishes?  The nearest we get is Una Stubbs, who is apparently disregarding the challenge altogether and making a lemon Swiss roll.

And giving me kitchen envy.

She is also seemingly a closet alcoholic, and has hidden cointreau in a spray bottle.  She swiftly pretends that it is connected to her baking (hiding her bottle of vodka in the oven) and Paul, Mel, and Mary all spray it into their mouths – giving us an honourable mention for OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT, when Mary gives a little jump of surprise at the aftertaste.

We leave Una Stubbs to her inevitable intervention (wouldn’t Inevitable Intervention be a great name for a band?  Noting it down…) and head over to a battle of titanic proportions.  Here’s an antagonism waiting to brew.

“I’m not a big fan of jelly. It’s just not my cup of tea.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t have a trifle without jelly.”

It’s about to get REAL in here, folks.

Oh, and I love Beca for saying that, in West Wales, they have Sunday roast “pretty much every day of the week”.

There still isn’t really very much to say about making trifle, since it seems to consist almost entirely of bits they would normally make at the last minute to shove on top of their more ambitious creations (I’m always impressed by how these bakers make jam at the drop of a hat, while it would take me most of a week) so let’s leave them to it.  It gives me a moment to say that, far from being Brend 2, Howard is a complete sweetie and I love him.  He may be from the combined creative vision of Alan Bennett and Woody Allen, but neither of them could have dreamt up the wonderful vision of him jogging.

If I knew how to make a GIF, I would.  I don’t.

Kimberley update: her hobby is salsa dancing.  NO, Kimberley, NO.  You need a hobby which makes you look less cool.  Take a leaf out of my book – my hobby is watching reality television and writing about it on the internet.

It’s like salsa dancing, only you sit alone in your room and don’t move.

Words of wisdom from Ali: “Nobody likes a soggy macaroon.”  Comment in the comment section if you do!

The intro promised us ‘the first ever baking burglary” – I’d assumed that Christine would swipe Mary’s jacket – but in fact it is Una Stubbs stealing from Howard!  She accidentally takes his custard – and he is FILLED WITH RAGE.

Haunting.

The trifles are judged, and they all look… like trifles.  Although I have to put in a good word for Ruby Tearday’s impressive tropical-themed trifle, complete with palm tree.

Mary and Paul struggle to say very much to everyone – Mary does say to someone “It’s a bit like a cake with cream and fruit on top of it”, which is precisely the definition they’ve given us of trifle – so we get half-hearted comments about bowls being too full, or flavours being overpowering.  And it turns out that Howard’s custard was better than Una Stubbs’s, so her Grand Larceny was either very canny, or… not.

More importantly… is that a rival bridge I spy?  Don’t even think about it, bridge!

I have no idea what he was saying. I was too distracted by the bridge.

TRIFLE HISTORY!

THANKS TRIFLE HISTORY!

The second challenge is… floating islands, or, umm, whatever that was in French.  Here is the one Mary (probably didn’t) make earlier, and it looks delicious:

I’m also pretty sure Tina Turner had the hairstyle in the ’80s.

I haven’t quite grasped what floating islands are, but it seems to involve poaching meringue in milk.  I’ve made plenty of meringues in my time, but I’ve never done this…  Frances claims that she’s in ‘meringue no-man’s-land’, which is presumably the latest spin-off of Foyle’s War. It has to be conceded that they don’t look very attractive at the moment.  Sue holds up Howard’s custard (see fig.1) and says that it looks like a metaphor for climate change.

Er, fig.1.  Why not?

To me it looks more like a metaphor for cauliflower cheese, but sure.

Then they start making spun sugar…

I’m always relieved when they turn to something that I have done before, because then I can assess how over the top the programme is being about difficulty levels.  Spun sugar is pretty easy, but you wouldn’t guess that from the interviews we have as the cameraman dashes from panicked baker to panicked baker.  “I don’t what temperature it should be!” cries one; “I don’t know how to get the shape!” cries another.  Ali, of course, claims never to have heard of sugar before.

Mary and Paul step up to the table of floating islands, and they certainly differ quite a lot in appearance.

This is rather how I envisage a Waitrose-sponsored zombie drama.

In last place, for this challenge, is a man whose name I still don’t know.  I’d forgotten he was there.  The top three are Ruby Tearday, Rob (who has been rather quiet this week), and in first place is Glen.  Now that he’s been let out of the school store cupboard, he’s going places.

In the who-might-be-going-home bit, we get the inevitable custardy/custody joke – but apparently Mary hasn’t heard it before, as she dissolves into hysterics.  Was I premature in awarding the OFFICIAL ANDREX PUPPY MOST ADORABLE MARY BERRY MOMENT?  We’ll never know.

Finally, we have the showstopper challenge!   I miss what it is they’re making at first, and discover quite how vague everything they say actually is.  Lots of bakers saying how tricky it will be, and Paul mentioning that he requires perfection, while Mary makes sympathetic noises without (so far as I can tell) forming complete sentences at all.  Maybe they film a series’ worth of these segments at the beginning of August, and just intersperse them later?

It turns out that they’re making petits-four.  And it’s at this point that iPlayer starts playing up.  So I’m off to bed, and will come back to this recap tomorrow, if iPlayer is behaving…

Seamless, no?

Well, petits-fours are certainly rather trickier than trifle, and I am completely lost with almost everything they say – mostly because everything is in French.

Christine is thrilled that her petits-fours are going to be ‘sickly’ (hmm) but I am impressed with her husband, who has made her a little wooden implement especially for shaping them.

Una Stubbs, however, is heading for disaster – because she’s using edible flowers and rose.  Has anybody ever used flowers or rose without the judges saying that the end result tastes too much of flowers or rose?  Well, perhaps she’ll prove us all wrong.

But at least almost all those words are in English.

Ruby Tearday confesses that she’ll be winging it, and Paul (much like Shania Twain before him) implies that That Don’t Impress Me Much.  As ever, when at a loss, Mel talks in a voiceover about the perils of getting an even bake.  It’s like an ‘umm’ to her; I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it.

Frances.  Ah, Frances.  You’ve been oddly quiet this week, and I assumed you might be saving yourself for the Showstopper Challenge – and you’ve not let us down.  “I’m doing my petits-fours inspired by Tchaikovsky’s The Nut Cracker ballet.”  Oh, of course you are, Frances.  I assume each petits-fours will function as a working violin.

Er, spoilers. Here’s what they’ll look like.

And Howard is making savoury petits-fours, based on things you might have at the end of a meal.  One inspired by coffee, and the other “based on cheesy biscuits.  It’s essentially like a cheesy biscuit.”  You know how sometimes the artist’s inspiration is hidden deep within their creation, unknowable to the casual observer?  This isn’t one of those times.  Mary Berry Reaction Shot Time, I do believe.

Una Stubbs has swerved past Ali on the inside track as the one most likely to have a meltdown – she clearly hasn’t recovered from the theft incident, and is getting pretty distraught about her fluting.

“I’ve lost my fluting,” she says.

I’ve never seen Cathy Come Home, but I can’t imagine it matches this for anguish.  Elsewhere in the tent, impressive things are happening with petits-fours – just look at these!

Kimberley’s, btw.

It’s a mistake, I’ve realised, to recap before dinner rather than after it.  As someone who makes nice cakes writ large but is useless with fiddly bits, I am filled with envy of all these bakers.  So, that’s coveting, envy, and (as with every moment of my life) sloth, so 3/7 Deadly Sins.  We’d best fast forward to my favourites…

Christine gets an “Mmm, that’s scrummy” from Mary, while Ruby gets “THAT’S a bit of alright”.  Mary.  Beca – who might be my favourite baker now – does fantastically well in this challenge, and certainly doesn’t hold back from arm-waving, fringe-blowing, and exclamations of joy – while Una Stubbs gurns in misery in the background.

There is a moment in the deliberation section where Sue and Mel riff on the idea of Paul and Mary marrying.  It’s every bit as wonderful as you’d imagine.  You wouldn’t get that on the French version, stuffy pompous lady who wrote this article.

Anyway, winners and losers below the jump…
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Star Baker is…

Christine! Hurray!

but going home is…

Two people!  That was rather a surprise, but if it had to be two, those are – sadly – the two.  Mark interviews that, if he hadn’t been told he was going home, he’d have questioned the decision, while Una Stubbs – no, for this last time, Deborah – laughs about her ‘cascade of misery’.  Well, if you don’t laugh, you respond in an appropriate manner.

Next week – pies and tarts!  Hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s recap, and I’ll see y’all then.