Join us in quest for flour power
Get baking and share your GBBO experiences with us
“You can cook”, they t said. “That means you c can an bake, it’ll be a
piece of cake” cake”. ”.
Just tune in to the n new series of Great British Bake Offff Off an and make one of the featured creations.
What could go wrong? wr
Truth is, I don’t really re like cake. And that’s why I rarely bake. ba
L i k e mo st, s t , I wa w a s i n f e c t e d w i t h lockdown loaf syndr syndrome.
Sy mptoms be b e ga n wi t h t he b a s i c banana, progressing to lemon drizzle, then date and walnut, walnu and culminating in orange and ginge ginger.
Beyond that, my b baking repertoire is limited and, when it comes to desserts, I ’ m t he c o mposer o f o nl y o ne nut cracker: the humble pavlova. Back when it was permissible to have eight people round the dining table, the old faithful 80s classic could languish in a switched off oven overnight, while I concentrated on the main event.
So, when I joined the millions who settled down in front of the box last Thursday, I gave Paul Hollywood’s oceanic eyes a steely stare and willed h i m f r o m my s o f a t o i n s t r u c t t h e mustering up of a meringue.
He let me down. The first gauntlet he and Prue threw to the dough-eyed bakers was Battenberg cake.
Then, it was individual pineapple u p s i d e - d o w n c a k e s I ’d b e s u r e l y destined to burn. Not only were they baked in bowls I don’t have, the piping hot pud would have been impossible to off-load on to my neighbours.
My only hope rested in the third and final challenge. But my heart sank like my last attempt at triple-baked souffle when the next test was revealed – a bust of someone famous, with a multicoloured sponge cranium and a sugary pallor, sultana warts and all.
The bakers created sculptures from Freddie Mercury to Louis Theroux.
Deflated, I decided t o phone my niece Natalie, who is accomplished at everything, especially baking – and I floated the idea of buying ready-made orange and yellow fondant and having a go at Trump.“Know your limitations, Auntie,” she said, with authority. “How about Mr Blobby?”
That sealed it. I had only one option – the Battenberg.
Af t e r a s e s s i on of t e a c h y ours e l f origami, my tin was ready to snugly accommodate twin sponges, and I set about measuring, weighing, sieving and whisking, before painstakingly dividing the mixture gram by gram.
Not content to turn one batch pink and shove it all in the oven, I decided to get fancy, pounding rose petals I’d used for a previous Persian lamb recipe and adding a dash of rose water and red colouring to turn the mixture into a pleasing pink. The zest and juice of a lemon went into the naked sponge mixture, and the tin into the oven.
Twenty-five minutes, and the moment of truth.
Out they came –looking exactly the same, except the anaemic sponge that should have been pink had dropped two dress sizes.
Swathed in warmed apricot conserve and stacked like Lego, I began to warm to the marzipan which shrouded in secrecy my lack of geometric prowess and, by now, my withering patience.
It will be shop bought from now on. Like the eggs, I know when I’m beaten. I’d rather be a faker than a baker.
Please send pictures of your Bake Off efforts to news@eastkilbridenews. co.uk