I wonder what the long-deceased Dukes of Portland would make of the goings-on in the library of their stately home. The books have all been removed, and the regal reading chairs with them. In their stead are 8ft-tall ovens, glowing sugar lamps, spray guns pumping out chocolate and some very sweaty, flapping pastry chefs. The hall at Welbeck Abbey, Nottinghamshire, could be mistaken for a grand Parisian cafe.
This is the set of Bake Off: Crème de la Crème, from the producers of the Great British Bake Off. There are no rookies, no victoria sandwiches or scones. The 45 contestants are professional pastry chefs and their creations ooze wow factor.
Here, everything about the original show’s format has been amplified: the stress levels, the volume and the sophistication. Divided into 15 teams of three, the chefs must complete two challenges in each heat: the first, to produce 36 identical versions of three miniatures; the second, to create a towering, artful showpiece out of a specified classic British dessert. Two tons of chocolate were used in the filming of the eight episodes; flours had to be procured from single-source estates across the country; and three home economists were employed to fulfil contestants’ needs — matcha tea, tonka beans and yuzu were all staples.
So, will Crème de la Crème have the same success as its sister show? Or will it prove too upmarket, the cakes too complicated and the emotions too high?
There is no doubt that we have become a nation of baking obsessives. Sales of baking trays at Waitrose soared by 881% at the end of last July, and a recent survey by the supermarket found that baking is more popular than ever, with 19% of people saying they do it at least once a week.
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Much of the trend is down to the Great British Bake Off, now in its seventh year. Last summer, 10m Britons regularly tuned in on a Wednesday night. But where the currency of Bake Off is hugs, Crème de la Crème is more severe. The executive producer, Richard Bowron, says the new show still carries Bake Off’s warmth, and there is still plenty of drama from splitting custard and not-yet-set tarts. Plus, in place of presenters Mel and Sue, we have the cuddly Tom Kerridge. Then there are three new judges, some of the finest pastry chefs in the country: Benoît Blin, chef patissier at Belmond Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons; Claire Clark MBE, who has twice been named Britain’s best pastry chef by Restaurant magazine; and Cherish Finden, executive pastry chef at the Langham hotel, London.
Sitting down for a cup of coffee with them, I feel intimidated. These people can tell at a glance if one eclair is 0.5cm bigger than another. They can blow a horse out of sugar. They carry rulers. To colleagues, pastry chefs are a curious other: they are the first in and the last to leave; their work station is separate. While other chefs are grilling meat and slapping on sauces, their work is pernickety and fine. Nowhere is this more pronounced than with Kerridge, who is known for being all about meat, heat and knives, and is constantly bemused by the work of pastry chefs.
“Tom does not quite understand us — he thinks we are complicated,” Blin says. “They call cooking an art, but the true art comes from the pastry side, not the cooking side.” Everyone laughs. Blin, it seems, is the mischievous one.
All the judges are stringent in their demands. “I want something creative and innovative,” Finden says. “Something I’ve not seen before — curvy, wow, with artwork, but not over the top. I also like there to be a story behind the showpiece.” She is known for finding moulds in all kinds of places: ceiling tiles, drainage pipes and water funnels are all fair game. “She likes licking icing off walls,” Blin says. “Every ingredient needs to count, though. Often, technicality is finding the simplicity in your ingredients and letting them sing.”
This is not small fry: these are professionals. Teams are marked down if their pistachio shards aren’t facing in the same direction. Nor do the judges countenance waste or mess. “If you go into the Manoir, it is spotless. Chefs aren’t covered in chocolate,” says Clark.
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The judges are harsh. They had to be to get to where they are. But they are also funny and warm, caring deeply about the contestants. They work as a trio. “In England, we only have a couple of thousand pastry chefs, but in France there are 20 times that,” says Blin. “The difference is that, here we are like a brotherhood — you want everyone to do well. In the show, we have to walk away when things go wrong, but we can’t stand not being able to help.”
The ingredients for a hit are all there. Let’s just hope that our tastes are sophisticated enough.
Bake Off: Crème de la Crème will be broadcast later this month on BBC2
Benoît Blin
The French one, who loves pulling and blowing sugar. If he doesn’t like it, he says so. Chef patissier at Raymond Blanc’s two-Michelin-starred Le Manoir, in 2005 he achieved the title of master of culinary arts, regarded as the highest accolade in England. He is proud that his mum “can tell her friends over the buffet in France that her son has met the Prince of Wales”.
Claire Clark
The quieter, British one. Likes traditional puds — not fond of creations that stray too far into the weird and wonderful. Says there’s nothing better than an English strawberry in the first week of June. For five years, she was head pastry chef at Thomas Keller’s French Laundry, in California, one of the best restaurants in the world. Likes to work with chocolate. Very fair.
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Cherish Finden
A little firecracker: quiet and sweet, then springs into action with a bang. Fanatical about precision, she is the judge the contestants are most scared of. Now executive pastry chef at the Langham, London, whenever she travels to Singapore, where she grew up, she returns with a suitcase full of “bendy rulers” for her chefs. Her signature trick is to incorporate savoury into sweet.