I’mreallylaughing at his impression of Sonja (we both now have a very strong distrust of her bordering on serious dislike) as we enter.
We’re a lot less snarky with each other now than we were earlier on when we were cooking together. It’s like we’ve settled into something approaching, well, a team.
‘What are your thoughts on the berry compote?’ I bother to ask Jake as I work out the exact final desserts we’re going to make.
‘No thoughts,’ he tells me. ‘We both know you’re in charge and it would be better for everyone if I don’t think, just do as I’m told.’
I smile. ‘Perfect.’
And it is perfect. The three judges are all around, and they keep popping up, separately and together, for food-related chats. I’m an extremely keen home baker (and, obviously, like half the nation, would very much fancy my chances onBake Off) and I’m really enjoying myself.
Jake tells me that he definitely can’t do anything as advanced as cracking eggs without getting shell in the egg, and that the idea of keeping a yolk intact blows his mind. He’s also never whisked anything before. Since he’s already ruined several eggs, I decide he can just wash and grate lemons and carrots and weigh things out.
He’s also pretty good at passing stuff to me, it turns out, and we end up working in perfect harmony, very much like two people who donotloathe each other. You might almost say that Sonja’s team-building weekend is working, although I’m not sure she was intending it to work likethis; I think she was hoping for arguments, or breakdowns from me over having to do activities I hate, and certainly not for us to begin to get on well through both refusing to do the tasks.
We’ve made a trio of desserts for everyone: mini lemon possets, mini carrot cakes (little friands) and mini raspberry tarts, with lemon-flavoured crème fraiche (which Jake does in quenelles, which he’s very proud of) and the berry compote. It’s all very classic and not pushing the boat out flavour-combination or idea-wise, but I’m very proud of it because, although I say it myself, I think it’s delicious, and so do all the judges.
‘I’d hire you,’ Angus, the chef, tells me, and Fenella, the baking judge, agrees. I’m beaming from ear to ear.
The plated-up desserts are carefully put to one side by waiting staff as Jake and I go to join the other pairs in a separated-off part of the tent, which serves as a dining room.
We are all, as we were at lunchtime, seated at separate tables in our pairs, and then we’re served cheese fondues, with each table having their own fondue in the middle.
‘So, just to clarify,’ Jake says after ours has been placed on our table. ‘You don’t like cheese fondue, and Sonja knows that?’
‘Yep. Can’t stand it.’ I have my face turned away because (OTT, I know,but…) stringy melted cheese makes me gag slightly, and the smell isstrong.
‘So, what, you’re going to eat dry bread this evening for your main course? This is ridiculous. How do they keep their viewers? How is that good TV? Exciting! Watch now! Woman looks away from fondue and eats bread! I mean, please.’
Out of the corner of my eye, which is trained very much away from the fondue, I see Jake indicate to one of the staff.
When the man comes over to our table, Jake says, ‘I’m so sorry, but my companion has a cheese intolerance, so we can’t eat this.’
‘Sorry, intolerances had to be mentioned beforehand,’ the man says.
Jake raises an eyebrow, and the man wilts slightly before our eyes.
‘Firstly, it’s rare for an entire meal to be cheese,’ Jake says, ‘and secondly, Sonja was aware that Freya doesn’t eat melted cheese. We’d love anything else. We obviously don’t want to make any work for anyone; we will happily eat something very basic, some of the leftovers from the lunch task.’
The man asks us to give him one moment, and then shortly afterwards turns up with Sonja.
‘I can’t eat melted cheese,’ I tell her.
‘Won’t, not can’t,’ Sonja says.
I shake my head. ‘Can’t.’
‘You told me you don’t like it, not that you can’t eat it. Are you now self-identifying as dairy intolerant?’
I gasp at the sheermeannessof her.
Jake just shakes his head sorrowfully. ‘Sonja. There’s literally a camera right behind you. You literally just admitted on camera that Freya told you she can’t stand melted cheese and then you chose to serve her cheese fondue. I feel as though it doesn’t take a lawyer to point out that that isn’t acceptable. If you don’t have any food available that Freya can eat, we’re happy to leave and go to a restaurant. Or get a takeaway.’
Sonja looks at Jake for an unnervingly long time, eyes narrowed, and then smiles (eyes still narrowed). ‘Of course. We’re very happy to provide you with an alternative. Leave it with us.’
As she walks away and the camera withdraws somewhat, I lean forward to say in an undertone, ‘Okay, so now she’s going to spit in our food.’
‘At best. I feel like she’dpoisonit if she could.’
