Ready! Set! Bake!

It makes no sense. A series about muffins and quick breads should put everyone to sleep. But I count the days until the next episode of “The Great British Bake-Off” like I used to wait for the newest Beatles song. For an hour, I’m transported from tense America to the “baking tent,” amid the bucolic English countryside. What’s so fascinating about a show featuring frosting, fondant, and egg yolks? Maybe its these three things…

It requires skill – The competition begins with twelve bakers, coming from all parts of England, and each week, someone’s eliminated. These people — all ages, races, and religions – are crazy good. They sculpt animals from sponge cake. They knead and pound and wait with worried faces for focaccia breads to rise. They construct castles and farms and apartment houses using chocolate ganache.

There are three rounds — the Signature Challenge (doing what they do best), the Showcase (give us all you got) and the dreaded Technical Challenge. There, the contestants work from a never-seen-before recipe to make an obscure dessert most have never heard of (a Puits d’amour?). All are given the same ingredients except they’re not told how much to use or how long to bake. But they do it and most do it well.

Its British! – The English are so chipper, upbeat, and cheeky, even in defeat. No sharp elbows here, and everyone helps each other when possible. I love the two judges – elegant Prue Leith and steely-eyed Paul Hollywood. “It’s under-proofed, that,” he likes to say with his Cheshire swagger.

Each competition starts with the words, “Ready! Set! Bake!” called out by the two eccentric hosts, Noel Fielding and Matt Lucas. Both are strange-looking guys, at least to me, and with their colorful clothing and quirkiness, look like extras for “Beetlejuice.” They do the rounds, asking what everyone’s creating, making funny, sometimes inappropriate comments, which everyone (more or less) laughs at. Somehow it works.

It’s an escape – The baking tent, where all this happens, is always placed on the grounds of a huge, gorgeous English manor. Ponds teem with quacking ducks, and fat sheep graze in the distance. You can almost smell the rising dinner rolls and gingerbread cookies. There’s an innocence, almost a hearkening back to childhood with heaps of cookies (“biscuits” as the British say), vanilla custards, and buttery fruit pastries.

The biggest problem is whether Judge Paul will give a contestant his handshake – the highest compliment – or when one of these smiling, plucky people go home. The only time the British stiff upper lip vanishes is when a much-beloved contestant says goodbye to hugs and tears.

The last episode has everyone’s families over for a picnic on the grounds as the “Greatest British Baker” is announced. (Yes, it is suspenseful. Okay, not for everyone).

Call me an old softie, but I love this world of strawberry tarts, brownies, and cupcakes. Right now, I need it more than ever.

 

Have you seen the Great British Bake-Off? Comments are always welcome and if you’d like, please share.

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