Jasmine Sahu is well suited with this new American drama exclusive to Dave.
Lois Cameron explains why this series is much more than your average cosy period drama.
The last episode of this series sees Sherlock and Moriarty attempt to solve the final problem with devastating consequences.
With major cast changes afoot, Jacob Martin ponders whether Being Human can live up to its own scarily high standard.
Recently, during times of crisis (completing last-minute seminar work; getting locked out of the house; deciding what colour socks to wear in the morning), I have asked myself the following: “What would Mary Berry do right now?” Granted, the answer is usually something along the lines of “Look extremely concerned, then incredibly disappointed, and then declare it has a ‘soggy bottom’”, but I am proud to have her as a role model given her status as a judge on the best talent show on television this year: The Great British Bake Off. Don’t worry, I have evidence to back up this outrageous claim.
Firstly, as someone who can easily waste hours of her life searching for pudding recipes, then drooling over the pictures (cake porn: it’s a terrible thing), I found GBBO addictive viewing. Some of the contestants’ inventions were simply stunning, particularly Holly’s painstakingly constructed gingerbread house and Jo’s miniature Victoria Sponges. But equally delightfully, things went wrong, proving that even the best bakers need practice.
Onto the mighty partnership of the show – not Mel and Sue, whose presence does give the show a light and fluffy texture – but judges Mary Berry and Paul Hollywood. They don’t need to bark redundant commands; their frosty disapproval and encyclopaedic knowledge of all things bake-y is enough to make the contestants quiver. They are unwittingly the funniest duo too: Mary’s horror as Paul mixes butter cream with his fingers is worth the Masterclass episodes alone.
There’s obviously an educational element to the show, but as well as providing hints on how to ‘blind bake’ a pastry case correctly, each episode contains historical information bites: The Victorians used biscuits to invite guests to funerals; Henry VIII was apparently very fond of tarts (stop it); and my all-time favourite: flour combusts! Never say the BBC isn’t worth the license fee: I will pay good money to watch professionals explode a whole bag of good ol’ self-raising.
There’s also drama, as the bakers crouch nervously in front of their ovens, noses pressed against the glass. “One minute too long in the oven, and bubbles will start to appear, but take it out too soon and the whole pie could COLLAPSE IN ON ITSELF!” intones the Voiceover of Doom (Mel Giedroyc). Of course, the all-powerful glockenspiel soundtrack aids this; it tinkles unnervingly like a music-box edition of Jaws, as Paul Hollywood circulates the victims’ - er, bakers’ – workbenches, before attacking their choices of water to flour ratios.
And the greatest thing about GBBO is that the public have no say whatsoever. Alright, so it’s impossible for us at home to judge what anything tastes like, but even if we could, I’m no expert on a “great bake” any more than I can spot a brilliantly executed foxtrot on Strictly, or the voice of an angel on The X Factor. The pastry’s slightly too thick on that pork pie? Then all the more for me to eat! Hooray!
As a result, the contestants on GBBO don’t have ludicrous sob stories to get votes, and are mostly just quiet, genuinely charming people. Rob wasn’t force-fed vermicelli as a child, and Janet wasn’t trying to escape from an abusive relationship with chocolate ganache – they just like baking, whilst at the same time profess themselves to be useless at it. However, that’s not to say there wasn’t carefully edited footage of the contestants jealously eyeing up each other’s iced fingers…
And that’s why I love GBBO so much. It’s just lovely, comforting, calorific telly. Until I try making Mary Berry’s Tarte au Citron and it all goes horribly wrong. Then it’s the worst show ever.
You must log in to submit a comment.
