A Bake Off in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  Harriet Hardy only ate a bite of her bread and butter, I noticed, and one tiny little cucumber sandwich, while Pierre Dupine ate nothing but two cucumber sandwiches. Sampling a dozen tea treats in advance of the hour itself leaves you without much of an appetite, I suppose. The rest of us tucked in with energy, however, as Lady Amanda poured tea for our guests.

  "I hope your stay at Cliffs House has been comfortable thus far," said Lord William. "We can't say how terribly pleased we are to have you. The whole village is thrilled, in case you've missed the rather obvious crowd of observers along the drive."

  "We are quite used to crowds," said Pierre. "I fear the program's vans draw them wherever they go. Yours seems a very charming village, though."

  "If you can tell us," I said, "what is it about Cornwall — and Ceffylgwyn itself — that impressed the producers to choose us?" I sneaked another crab scone from the platter as I asked this question.

  "I believe it was the charming photographs in your proposal. A rather zealous young man presented a sort of scenic slideshow to us, emphasizing the 'magic' of this atmosphere for the program," said Harriet Hardy, who stirred a lump of sugar into her tea.

  "I believe that would be the American event promoter," said Geoff, who managed not to smile at this accurate description of Nathan. "He's rather enthusiastic about his work, it seems."

  To my right, Kitty snorted at this remark, but said nothing as she picked apart her tea sandwich.

  "Your beautiful coast is the true reason," said Pierre. "But it helped, of course, that there is a rather popular program that is here ... you must know what I speak of ..."

  "Poldark," said all of the women at the table — including Harriet Hardy, I noticed. Her cheeks colored faintly, her expression composing itself behind her teacup, taking another dainty sip. Her intimidating, perfect posture was on display with this gesture — she looked exactly like the picture on the back of her cookbook's jacket, I realized, even twenty-something years after it was taken.

  "It is this, yes," said Pierre. "And your village itself is unique. Perhaps not its cuisine — unless I will have the privilege to dine upon something other than the very oily dish I sampled from one of our assistants. It makes the paper wrapped around it very soggy."

  I wished that the production assistant had chosen Charlotte's pasties instead of old-fashioned fish and chips. "I suppose English 'fast food' is very different from France's version," I said. "As an American who moved here, I know how different cuisine can seem from country to country."

  "True. I remember my first taste of a proper American McDonald's," said Lady Amanda, with a laugh.

  "American cuisine is fast," said Pierre. "We have a joke in my city — Americans like the oil, and the English like the boil. Except when it comes to their fish and potatoes, it would seem."

  "I think England has produced some of the finest chefs in the world," said Harriet Hardy. "France has always believed itself to possess a monopoly in the world of cuisine, but it's hardly true now."

  "That is because the English always believe their good breeding makes them the best," said Pierre. "But in France, we know simply we are the best. It is a simple bite of food which proves it, without words."

  "I'm afraid we have the same argument often," said Harriet to the rest of us, apologetically. "We've stumbled into its boundaries once again it would seem. I'm sure you all share my perspective on this, leaving poor Pierre quite in the minority."

  "I like French food," piped up Gemma. "Not snails, but, you know, cream puffs."

  "Ah, the patisserie," said Pierre, with enthusiasm. "That is where we are undisputed masters, surely. The pastry I taste in your country — forgive me — is heavy and very soft. Sometimes I put my fork into a tart and voila, a wet blanket where there should be crispness, lightness, flakiness —"

  "I believe what you are tasting, Mr. Dupine, is merely prejudice against British bakers in general," said Harriet, in a steely tone. "It's nonsense — I've tasted the same pastry crusts you have and most of them are equal to any Paris patisserie I have visited —"

  " — and even in Paris, there is patisserie invaded by English cooking," said Pierre, scornfully.

  It was just like the arguments they had during the northern competition's episodes of The Grand Baking Extravaganza. I was amazed — it was surreal that it was happening in Lord William and Lady Amanda's private parlor, with her mum's best tea service on the table and an awkward audience of estate employees.

  "More tea, anyone?" said Lady Amanda.

  ***

  Dinah's cottage was a small one tucked in a street mostly converted into flats and lease properties — a small, remodeled, painted one that seemed to have retreated beneath the shade of a nearby tree and some very thick shrubbery. I made my way up its stone pathway, taking care not to jam the heel of my Prada shoes in the cracks between, and rang Dinah's bell.

  Day two of the competition was tomorrow — the grand biscuit challenge. I had seen the dossier for the challenge, which required contestants to build a 'gingerbread scene' with at least four separate elements involved. No ordinary gingerbread house would do, apparently; I knew that past competitors had built amazing biscuit creations, including Santa's workshop made from chocolate shortbread, and a Swiss ski lodge from savory rye and white cheddar biscuits.

  No one came, so I rang it again. Just when I had given in to the assumption that Dinah had gone to the market, the door opened. On the other side, a slightly disheveled Dinah in a frosting-splattered apron greeted me.

  "Quite sorry," she said. "I'm afraid I had just dozed off. Come in, Julianne." I stepped inside and found the 'slight mess' of Dinah's kitchen had found its way into her sitting room. Scissored-through cardboard boxes were piled on an armchair, while sheet after sheet of large paper draped itself across a little study table, where I was fairly certain a geometry compass was driven through them rather savagely, pinning them to the table. A fine dusting of icing sugar on the table, the floor, and a nearby needlepoint throw pillow completed the look.

  "Cuppa?" Dinah asked. Despite looking and sounding tired, she managed a note of cheeriness beneath it. "My teapot is here somewhere." She stepped through to the kitchen and rummaged beneath a pile of tea towels and empty flour sacks.

  "I just wanted to stop by and see how things are going," I said. "I don't want to disturb you while you're working — I know you're probably really busy practicing —" I noticed the sheets of paper had blueprint sketches on them for Dinah's gingerbread creation. It looked like a castle, possibly.

  "I've been working since yesterday afternoon," she answered, with a weary chuckle. "Practically from the moment judging ended on the first, if you can believe that." She had located her tea pot, its cozy's yarn bobble sticking out from beneath a pile of dirty pots and pans. Brushing off some flour, she removed its lid and turned on the cold water tap in the sink.

  "Third place, though," I said. "That's amazing, Dinah."

  "Rubbish. It was too simple," she said. "It was written all over their faces. I was being far too safe by choosing a curd tart. You saw Leeman's creations — looked like a proper patisserie window, they did. And as for that girl Emily —" she poured water from the kettle into the newly-tidied teapot, " — well, all I can say is, I'm lucky to still be in this thing at all. I'll have to work twice as hard at the biscuit competition if I want a chance."

  "I'm sure whatever you're designing is brilliant," I said. "On par with any masterpiece you've created in the manor's kitchen. And you've got a whole day to figure it out, and practically a whole day to complete it in the competition."

  Dinah was still frozen at the counter, her hand on the teapot. "I've a bit of a problem with that," she said, at last. Her voice sounded funny.

  "What is it?" I asked, concerned. Maybe Dinah's gingerbread design was at a creative roadblock already.

  "Have you read the rules for the bake?" she asked.

  "Not exactly. I know it's ginger biscuits and construction," I said. "Is the
re a complication? Some trick behind the assignment?" I imagined that Pierre and Harriet were more than capable of coming up with an extra 'twist' that would cause contestants to scramble to the finish.

  "Sort of. They told us beforehand, and I thought my sister and a friend of hers was coming from Leeds. I used to always make a proper gingerbread with her at Christmas....it's a group bake, you see," she said, looking at me. "I'm supposed to have helpers, and assign things for them to do. Part of testing a baker's ability to delegate and unify, I suppose."

  Which Dinah could do blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back, I knew; but the judges of The Grand Baking Extravaganza didn't. "What happened to your sister?" I asked.

  "Not coming. Her little grandson has the flu, and her daughter and son in law both work," said Dinah. "There goes my crew — felled by germs, for there's no one else to look after the lad. I'll have to tell the judges that I can do it on my own, and see if they'll bend the rules."

  "No, you won't," I said. "Dinah, we'll be your crew."

  "I couldn't ask it," she said.

  "You don't have to ask," I said. "It's already done. You honestly can't think any one of us would leave you stranded in a situation like this?"

  "Lady Amanda's already having to make do without a cook while the place is crawling in visitors needing refreshments," Dinah argued. "And there's loads of summer visitors besides, which means there's already a dozen maintenance tasks for everyone."

  "And none of that will matter if it waits a day," I said. "All you have to do is assign us our part. And since you've done that dozens of times in the past, what could be better?" I brushed some cinnamon from the nearest chair and sat down.

  "It's a great deal to ask," said Dinah, reluctantly.

  "You didn't ask, remember?" I said. "Now, show me your designs." I reached for the sketchpad behind the tower of spices.

  Gemma volunteered instantly, of course. "Not help Dinah win?" she said. "That would be a load of rubbish, wouldn't it? 'Course, I'm rubbish at baking," she admitted. "I burn biscuits at home all the time. But I can always pipe, of course." She swept the carrots she was chopping into the soup pot — soup was on the menu pretty much every day without Dinah here to bake savories for the Extravaganza's crew.

  "And so can I," I said. "And I'll brave the baking part — just don't ask me to mix up the ingredients." I still remembered my bland-tasting treacle pudding from last week. "Kitty, you know how to bake, don't you?" Her previous job had been at Charlotte Jones's shop, where I was sure she must've spent as much time turning out Cornish pasties as she did frying fish and chips.

  "A bit," said Kitty. "Charlotte taught me to make the pastry. It wasn't my strong suit, really."

  "But you'll do it?"

  "'Course I will," said Kitty, in her usual scornful tone. "I'm not heartless. "

  "It will be good enough, I'm sure," said Lady Amanda. "All hands on deck for this one, including me — I'm sure there's no conflict of interest, is there?"

  "Actually, there probably is," I said. "We need someone else, just so the producers can't say that the estate was favoring one of their own, for instance."

  "Geoff. He makes vol-au-vents for the New Year's party," said Gemma.

  "I don't think Geoff would agree to appear on a television program, even for Dinah's sake," I said. "Besides, he's helping Lord William with the new field fences — and Lord William, of course, is yet another conflict of interest, so we can't ask him, either."

  "Oh, heavens, we will be on the telly, won't we?" Gemma flushed several shades of pink and red. "I can't be on a program — I haven't had me nails done in weeks!"

  "With a bit of luck, nobody at home'll notice," said Kitty, dryly. Unlike Pippa, Gemma took the high road and ignored Kitty's remark. I could see her flushed cheeks, however, as she confiscated Kitty's newly-chopped potatoes and dumped them into the soup with a trifle more force than necessary. Even after two months, Kitty and Gemma hadn't become friends in the manner of the original Cliffs House duo.

  "What about him?" said Lady Amanda. She was looking through the window, where a man was standing in our garden. Matthew, I thought, who was a master of treacle pudding and decent meat pies at home. Only it wasn't him — it was a figure in a suit, talking on a mobile phone.

  "Him?" said Kitty.

  Lady Amanda opened the window. "A word, Mr. Menton," she said. He turned towards her, then turned off his phone call and approached.

  "Lady Amanda?" he said. "What can I do for you?"

  "You can don an apron tomorrow morning and help out Dinah in the contest," she said, smiling brightly.

  "Um ... what?" he said. His smile became a puzzled one.

  "Please, Nathan," I said. "All you have to do is take a few simple directions from Dinah — just cut some cookies out of some dough, probably. She needs some volunteers for her team if she wants to stay in it."

  "You do have an afternoon to spare, don't you?" said Lady Amanda.

  Nathan looked as cornered as a mouse in a live trap. I could tell he was desperate to think of an excuse to get out of saying 'yes' ... but even with his awkward body language signals, he wasn't quite escaping this one. After all, it had been his idea to bring the baking contest here in the first place — and to leave part of Cliffs House in a lurch after all his talk of fondness would be nearly impossible.

  "We're all chipping in," said Gemma. "Even Kitty, for all her prickly ways." She shot an arch glance in Kitty's direction, where Kitty was pretending suddenly to be very hard at work chopping up leeks. I could see the event promoter was wavering.

  "Please, Nathan," I said.

  ***

  Challenge number two took place in Cliffs House's grand dining hall — an impressive room that generally hosted luncheons for conferences, not baking challenges. But now, with the massive mahogany table and damask chairs removed, it played host to the signature rows of white-clad tables, colorful stand mixers, and mounds and rolls of gingerbread dough.

  The contestants had teams of friends and family with them — no more than four were allowed to a baker. Dinah had exactly four: me, Gemma, Kitty, and Nathan.

  Dinah's blueprints unfurled across the table like a massive treasure map. "This is it," she said. "I call it, 'the Grand Cornish Castle.' It's based on a print in a book I had as a little girl, actually," she added, with a slight blush. "I always loved it. This one's made up of a lot of pieces — but there's a whole afternoon, so it won't be impossible."

  We were all gathered around, wearing logo-printed aprons provided by the program, staring at a sketch of a towering, multi-tiered gingerbread castle with jagged towers that looked as imposing as the snow queen's fortress. A large dragon with biscuit wings inserted on his back was partway wrapped around it, and a row of horseback knights filed from its open drawbridge.

  It was massive, impressive ... and maybe a tiny bit ambitious for a crew of relatively inexperienced bakers? I felt a tiny wish dawn inside of me that Dinah's sister would suddenly show up with her magic gingerbread skills.

  "It'll be simple enough," said Dinah, reassuringly. "I've got the recipe here for the dough, and all the spices and dry goods are measured out in these bags. I'll need someone to mix and to bake, to make the construction icing, and some to help assemble the smaller pieces. I'm going to cut the pieces out myself, and put the main pieces together." As she spoke, she removed a series of cardboard templates from her bag, a lot of complicated pieces that reminded me of a jigsaw — the only ones I remotely recognized on their own was a dragon's head and a miniature horse.

  "I'll bake," I said, hastily. I was more adept at not burning stuff, in my estimation. And construction gingerbread was meant to be crisp, right? "Gemma can mix," I added, since I knew her dread of burned baked goods.

  "If she can make the construction frosting, that would be lovely," said Dinah. "You always make good icing, love," she said to Gemma.

  "I can roll out dough," said Kitty, who was pinning her dark curls up as she spoke. "I've got a
strong arm, Charlotte always said."

  Now Nathan snorted. "Really?" he said, raising one eyebrow.

  "What's that supposed to mean?" said Kitty.

  "That I'm looking at a skinny arm in that sleeve —"

  "I'll need you two on the assembly line," interrupted Dinah. Her drill sergeant self in the kitchen was back now, taking charge in a way that had been missing these past few weeks at Cliffs House. "There's the horse and the knights, and the little stands that hold them up.

  "Assemble things?" said Nathan. "You mean stuff that will actually be on display?"

  "Well, I don't mean to hide it under the table, no," said Dinah. "It'll be simple. Mix a bit of frosting and put them together. Gemma will be doing the decorative piping on those, and I'll be doing the castle, and the head of the dragon."

  "Attention, everyone," said Pierre Dupine. The room fell silent, suddenly. The camera crew was in place, making us all terribly self-conscious as the little red power lights became noticeable, and the judges took their places for opening the challenge. I wondered if the stubborn little frizzy curl I hadn't been able to tame this morning was sticking up on the crown of my head, but I couldn't bring myself to find out. Beside me, Gemma pasted on her best close-lipped magazine smile. Even Kitty made a self-conscious swipe towards her makeshift hair knot, as if to check it. I couldn't help but notice that she was wearing a touch of lipstick today.

  "We have seen your blueprints and your templates," Pierre said. "We have confirmed your designs and your assistants. Now you will have until five o' clock to bring your creations into fruition. We wish you luck."

  The bell sounded for the challenge's beginning. Gemma turned on one of the mixers and began creaming butter and sugar. Around us, the room was alive with the hum of electric motors and the scent of cinnamon and cloves as all of the teams sprang into action.

  ***

  Dear Diary,