It’s that time of year when tensions are running high, the stress of finals is kicking in, assignments are piling up and all I want to do at the moment is watch Netflix. Specifically, The Great British Baking Show.
Maybe it’s the mouth-watering shots of bakers piping or sprinkling the finishing touches on their (usually) gorgeous creations. Maybe it’s the enchanting Britishness (is that a word?) of the whole thing, from the use of the term “biscuit” to the variety of lovely accents among the bakers. Maybe it’s judges Paul Hollywood’s and Prue Leith’s (of more recent seasons) wealth of knowledge and occasionally sardonic or sweet comments (the latter more so from Prue than from Paul). Regardless, this show has me hooked, and I never saw it coming.
I don’t usually watch reality shows of any kind, nor can I bake anything more complex than your basic brownie or cookie (sorry, biscuit). It was kind of accidental that I got into this one.
One weekend in February, I had no more homework to do (how I wish I could go back to that) and the dorm to myself for the day, and the outdoors wasn’t looking very hospitable. My solution? Just like that of many college students: curl up on the couch under a cozy blanket and watch some Netflix. I hadn’t found a new show for the semester yet, so I hit play on the first thing that looked mildly interesting.
In minutes, I was engrossed in watching twelve bakers each produce 24 identical biscuits representative of a particular region for the Signature Challenge. Then it was on to the Technical Challenge, requiring the making of eight Wagon Wheels, which several of the bakers (and I) had never heard of. (They turned out to be marshmallow, jam and biscuit all coated in chocolate, similar to moon pies, I suppose.) After that, the bakers had four hours to create a “biscuit selfie portrait” for the Showstopper Challenge, and they rose to the occasion with quite a lot of creativity and some surprisingly accurate images.
(Note: For some reason, Netflix started me with the most recent season, Collection 6. As a result, I’ve been watching the show backwards ever since, going on to Collection 5 after finishing 6.)
I like to think that I’ve learned something about baking techniques from this show. But to be honest, it isn’t exactly Bob Ross for bakers. If anything, watching these bakers produce incredible masterpieces under immense pressure reminds me of my personal lack of skill in the kitchen. I will likely never have a reason to or be able to create a gourmet dessert ensconced in a large chocolate egg that melts away when a warm sauce is poured over it, but I can appreciate the skill and immense care and creativity that the bakers employ in producing their masterpiece pastries, cakes, bread and meringues.
(I also think we should adopt such wonderful quintessentially British phrases as “off we pop” and begin referring to tic-tac-toe as “noughts and crosses.”)
And really, on what other show can I watch people spend hours creating fanciful landscapes out of choux pastry filled with lemon crème patissière, shortbread and passionfruit cake with praline and salted pistachio brittle, all while discussing advanced baking techniques in delightful accents under a white tent in the English countryside? It’s lovely, as Prue might say.
The Great British Baking Show is proof that beautiful things can be created under pressure. Although I’m not expected to produce a hanging spiced-biscuit chandelier in four hours (barring some unforeseen circumstance), this show gives me hope for the projects and deadlines that are weighing on me as the end of the semester draws near.
Now all I have to do is close the Netflix tab on my computer and actually get to work.
