The TV show that reliably yields some of our finest culinary memes is back on screen. The Great British Bake Off just kicked off a new season, during which we can presumably expect even more watershed-friendly innuendo than usual, given that the most seductive woman in food, Nigella Lawson, has joined the judging panel.
Watching the opening scene gives me a familiar feeling of warmth and also a quiet thrill, as though it were the first day back at school after the summer break. I am waiting with baited breath to see who my teachers will be this term. First, there’s the gruff headteacher (Paul Hollywood), whose jokes you have to laugh at to get better grades and who all the mums fancy. There is the relatable teacher (Alison Hammond) – the one you can turn to in the face of emotional adversity, whose brassy cackle and warm embrace is as comforting as that of slightly sozzled aunt. There is the oddball performing arts teacher (Noel Fielding), who might add you on Facebook after you leave. And there is newly-appointed head of English Literature (Nigella Lawson), destined to be a first crush for all of the straight boys in class, and a beacon of inspiration for the girls and gays.
has never been short of drama, and this hasn’t changed. Episode one contains three baking challenges: a chocolate stout cake, a coffee and walnut cake, and then the showstopper challenge, a two-tier “self-portrait” cake. As a viewer, I quickly lose all perspective, and this show becomes a real life Greek tragedy. Two contestants dissolve in tears, there are dropped cakes, raw bakes, cascading avalanches of icing, falling towers of sponge, and at one point, a contestant being walked off set accompanied by a paramedic, with zero explanation.
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With drama, inevitably, comes comedy. Contestant Mo inexplicably bases his self-portrait cake on his cat. When Paul Hollywood inquires about the breed of his beloved pet, he replies, “I dunno. Ginger?” There is a brilliant woman from the West Country called Shannon, who offers a pretty visceral gesture when describing her “cherry explosions” to the queen of allure, Nigella. The sex gags deliver again and again: an ingredient called “sticky willy”; a reference to “massive nuts”; a perfect wink to accompany a description of the ideal cake size (not too big, not too small). And the episode offers camp theatrics galore, including when a drag king’s self-portrait cake – inspired by his preferred drink, a spicy marg – moves Nigella to tears. She declares it “profound”. TV does not get better than this.
The dynamic between Nigella and Paul is great, and will only get better as the show progresses. For Nigella can out-flirt Paul Hollywood any day of the week, and ol’ blue eyes is quaking in his boots. Nigella tells him off and teases him on several occasions, including when he pokes fun at a contestant’s dry sponge and she interjects with, “It’s bad manners to bring that up.” Elsewhere she tells him: “I’m smiling. It’s your charm,” taking the piss so beautifully.
Our first glimpse of new-look offers moments of heartwarming tenderness too. Like when gentle northerner Gary learns a life lesson: “I underestimate myself sometimes.” That one touched me more than it should have. As did watching someone intervene upon noticing young contestant Danni’s confidence crumbling with each passing minute. When their cake plummets to the floor, an older baker takes them into her arms and mutters: “It’s just bloody cake.” Emotional stuff.
The cosy baking show suddenly feels like exactly what we need just now, and Nigella as a judge is the (macerated) cherry on top. As the evenings get darker and the news ever more depressing, what better way to escape reality for an hour, than by watching people lose their shit over cake?