We seem to run nine to twelve months behind the rest of the pandemic hobbyists. While everyone was gardening last spring, Nate and I planted our butterfly garden a few weeks ago. And when the grocery store shelves in the baking aisle were bare, I don’t know what we were watching but it wasn’t the Great British Baking Show.
Which we’ve now spent watching without pause for weeks. It’s been charming, hilarious, interesting, and weird. The perfect lovely show.
They say or-eh-gone-o instead of oregano. And something inexplicable takes place when they pronounce yoghurt and mocha. We’re not sure what’s going on there. It’s a bit of a vicarious vacation to the bake shops of the old country where they make little choux buns that look like nuns and something called Eton Mess. The boys perked up with the giggles during one episode where not one but two contestants made spotted dick. We have to watch most episodes with closed captioning and google so we can look up words like treacle, baps, sultanas, and various temperatures. They don’t broil, but grill. Math is plural. And there’s a lot of proving. Everyone seems to have a shared dessert vocab including Victoria sandwiches, Jaffa cakes, Banoffee pies, Tear-and-Shares, and Bakewell. I’ve found this show to be a font of new nicknames, particularly for Nate. I’m especially fond of dampfnudel.
They almost lost us when the comedic hosts changed to a vampire rocker paired with a grandmotherly Dane. I’m not exaggerating when I say the season finale when Nadiya won was one of the sweetest, happiest high’s we’ve had during the entire lockdown life.
We just wrapped up Season 10 and were pleased to be joined by Nate for the final few episodes. Just in time for his birthday cake inspiration. He must have finished YouTube.