Completely Worth The Calories: "The Great British Bake Off" Episode of Supernatural
Chapter Four: The Showstopper Challenge
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The next morning, Sam sets their offering of cake down on the makeshift miniature stone alter as Rowena casts the necessary spell. The little clearing in a copse of birch and hazel near the Dark Hedges is the perfect place to perform the summoning ritual.
It doesn't take long. The sunlight is out-shown by a bright, blinding light. Sam and Rowena both shield their eyes, and when they lower their arms again, a pudgy, middle-aged man in a cardigan and wellies is standing with them in the clearing.
"Mornin'," he says, cheerfully. "Something I can do for you two?"
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The boys better have the whole faerie problem well in hand, because Crowley doesn't have a thought to spare for the case. He's back in the Tent, and it's finally time for the Showstopper Challenge.
"Welcome, bakers, to this week's Showstopper Challenge! After this challenge, one of you – " Sandi pauses, looking meaningfully around the Tent and mutters "hopefully" before continuing " – will be crowned the first Star Baker of the season. And one of you will, regrettably, be sent home."
Crowley works his jaw, and glances around at the competition. Now that they're certain none of the bakers are responsible for the disappearances, he can give the bake off his full attention and talent. The Highland lass in the oversized sweater and complete lack of self-confidence has surprised no one except herself by pulling into the top ranking. The impatient, smartly dressed Iranian scowled and clicked his tongue at himself throughout the challenges, and yet he clearly did well in the Signature and came third in the Technical. A few other bakers are doing equally well. It all comes down to the Showstopper Challenge.
Not that he can actually be crowned Star Baker. The original twelfth baker will be reinstated, and the show continue without the retired INTERPOL agent from Leeds. None of that means Crowley wants to win any less.
"As it's Eggs Week," Noel continues, "this Showstopper Challenge is to craft a three-dimensional display of something personal to you and which, like an egg, embodies new beginnings. Whatever your Showstopper is crafted from – choux pastry, challah bread, brioche, eclairs – it needs to be rich in eggs, stable enough to stand on its own, beautifully decorated, and taste delicious."
"Do you know what any of those types of baked goods are that you just named?" Sandi asks, in their typical banter.
"I've hosted this show for four years now, and I still have no idea," he admits.
"Right then" Sandi smiles in utter defeat. "Ready, set…BAKE!"
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Sam and Rowena wait impatiently in the clearing near the Dark Hedges.
"Faeries are known for being mischievous. Do you think we can trust them to keep to the agreement?"
"Honestly? I have no idea, Samuel. I've never had any dealings with the fae folk here in Ireland. Nothing against them, but they are the sort that amateurs and would-be-witches like to claim they derive their powers from. Always just seemed best to me to stay away. That and – " Rowena reaches up to pat at her elaborate coif. " – all this reminds me a bit too much of home. I've had enough of both Highland poverty and Highland magic to last me multiple lifetimes."
Sam supposes he can't argue with that.
There's another bright, blinding light, and the fae shaped like a middle-aged man out for a muddy morning walk along the hedgerows is back. This time, he is accompanied by four, befuddled looking individuals.
"Your bakers." the faerie says, still rather cheerful. "And it's been agreed – we'll accept the weekly offering, for as long as this "bake off" continues here in Country Antrim, without any more fuss. Happy ending all around, I'd say."
Rowena smiles sweetly, and reaches for the hand of one of the bakers, a stylish young woman in a 1950's lemon-printed dress and apron, who appears more curious than bewildered by her situation. "Very kind of you. It's been a real pleasure."
Sam can only hope that, now that he's ensured Crowley has absolutely no chance of being crowned this week's Star Baker, the demon will be willing to say the same.
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The Tent has become a place of mad creation.
The film crew with their cameras scatter around the bakers to catch every cake going in and out of the oven, every blunder, every moment of triumph or failure. The pressure is on, and will surely only mount as the four hours assigned for the Showstopper challenge melt away in the heat of the Tent.
While most of the bakers are using some variant of choux pastry or chiffon cake, and in a rather daring move the petite librarian with the winged glasses is using stacked quiches, Crowley has settled on crepes. Specifically, a crepe cake.
In the limited time afforded the bakers, Crowley needs to make twenty perfectly round and equally sized crepes, a considerable amount of coffee flavored pastry crème, a dark charcoal-colored and whiskey flavored white chocolate ganache, and a specifically shaped caramel cage. He also needs to make his own fondant and marzipan, in a variety of colors, to use in the decoration of his show-stopping masterpiece.
The crepe batter is whisked together and set to rest for an hour. The egg yoke mixture for the pastry crème is just beginning to lightly bubble on the stove. Crowley realizes he's smiling. He's in rather good spirits, actually. This case, despite the absurdity of the former king of Hell participating in a televised baking competition, has turned out to be rather enjoyable.
And from there, everything proceeds to go wrong.
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"Mr. Hollywood! Paul! Hey, man!"
The judge pauses on his way to the Tent, and turns as Dean catches up to him.
"Dean. Glad to see you're still here. I'm about to go observe the bakers working on their Showstoppers, so unfortunately," and he starts to turn away. "can't pause to chat."
It takes all of Dean's courage to reach out and tug on the celebrity chef's sleeve. "Woah – wait. I, uh, I only need a moment. It's worth it."
Paul turns back, appears to think about it. Then waves away the usual crowd of managers and assistants. "Yeah, alright. I gotta hand it to you, mate. You are – " he sucks on his lower lip, looking for the right word. "Passionate about what you do. I'd say that's something we have in common. So, lay it on me."
This time, Dean does whimper. Just a little. Barely. He's fairly sure it wasn't actually audible.
"I did some more research. You know, into local Irish baking customs? And I had an idea, something that you could still incorporate into the show." He explains the custom of leaving an offering of baked goods in tribute to the fae folk whenever something grand or of special significance is baked. How great would it be for The Great British Bake Off to leave out one of its Baker's Baskets for the faeries, honoring this great and longstanding Irish tradition?
Paul thanks him for the idea, says he'll give it some thought. "It's always a pleasure to meet a man who really appreciates baking the way you do, Dean."
And Paul Hollywood offers Dean Winchester his hand.
The hunter stares. Then he reaches out, and accepts the handshake.
The celebrity chef slaps the "journalist" on the shoulder with his other hand, laughing. "Now, I really have to go. I'm needed on set." And he ambles away towards the Tent.
Dean is never going to wash this hand again.
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The crepes are not cooking fast or evenly enough.
The pastry cream is refusing to thicken. The ganache is too runny. The marzipan accoutrements are not looking as professional as when he made them at home, in the bunker's kitchen, with all the time to spare. Before he knows it, Crowley is losing his already limited patience.
Hollywood is roaming the room in that obnoxious way of his, passing judgement on the bakers' skills and aptitude for performing under pressure. The heat of the kitchen shouldn't bother Crowley in the least. He's faced actual apocalypses, for fucks sake. And yet, as the tension in the Tent rises, and he can almost hear the increased pace of the show's music, Crowley begins to fume.
It's hard to concentrate with all this bloody noise! As his caramel creation goes in the bin for a second time – can't keep his damn hands steady – the camera crew are back again, capturing an intrusive close-up.
He flips a crepe and it lands on the floor. Bloody Hell…
The other bakers are faring about as well. The Iranian gentleman's glare is intense enough to roast a soul on Hell's rack. The red-bearded Canuck once again abandoned his own work station to help someone else, and is now madly dashing back to work on his own Showstopper. The roomba-terrorist of a teacher's oven is belching black smoke. And the Yorkshire trio, led by the middle-aged dumpling woman, are all cursing up a storm as they whisk, paddle, kneed and generally attempt to beat their recipes into submission.
"How have I managed that?! I've skipped half my own recipe!"
"My choux isn't rising! What am I going to do?"
"Steady on, sugar!" Shouts the older woman, like she's at the helm of a ship in the worst of a raging storm, "Steady on! We'll show these tosspot judges what we're made of yet!"
The bloody comedian is back, pretending to take swigs of Crowley's very expensive whiskey and asking just how many bees Crowley had to train to collect all this honey for him. None! Crowley wants to snap. I had the fallen angel of Thursday do it for me! Now bugger off!
"Bakers, you have one hour left! Just one hour!"
The ganache is finally set. The crepes are made. The pastry crème has cooled. There is just enough time for construction and decorating. It's a mad rush to the finish.
Crowley catches himself muttering aloud as he works. About how this is all a bunch of codswallop. That he has better things to do with his time than this. That demons don't belong baking cakes. And above all – that he used to be the bloody king of Hell, thank you very much! What moment of incomprehensible insanity led him to agree to this deranged and utterly futile ruse? Someone's head was going to roll for this – or better yet, when this was all over, he'd crush someone's soul between his teeth!
The other bakers are casting him seriously concerned glances. Crowley couldn't give a rat's ass.
His show-stopping creation is nearing completion.
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As they near the Hedges Hotel and the Tent, Rowena breaks from their little group and makes her way back to the production crew. Sam is left to lead the confused bakers to the relative safety of the estate on his own.
They agreed that it would be best for all concerned if the four returned bakers remained out of sight until the filming of the Showstopper Challenge is complete. The longest-missing baker has been gone for nearly a month now, and their sudden, unexplainable reappearance is sure to cause a lot of confusion. Sam's plan is to set them up at the hotel with a restorative cup of tea and maybe a baked good, and let them be discovered by the production crew in their own time.
All of which seems well and good, except for the faerie that has followed them back from the clearing, under orders from the fae in the wellies to ensure their charges are properly returned from whence they vanished. A flighty, flickering thing reminiscent of Tinker Bell, it flits back and forth about the heads of the stylish, lemony baker – who, honestly is just encouraging the thing – and Sam, glittering and giggling and generally making a nuisance of itself.
Sam and the muddled batch of bakers are passing along the length of the Tent at a distance when he catches sight of Cas, standing just beyond the entrance. He flashes the fallen angel a thumbs up, and does his best to convey to their faerie guide that its mission is complete. Failing that, he attempts to wave it away.
And then, without warning, the twinkly little creature halts in mid-air. And with a new, frantic energy, begins to fly straight towards the Tent.
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The cake is fully assembled. The caramel finally set, and with the deftness that could be attributed to his time as both tailor and torturer, Crowley extracts the center of the cake with precision and inlays the caramel cage into his creation. Some quick work with a pattern roller. The delicate application of food coloring on the marzipan by brush and on the ganache by spray. Everything oh-so-carefully moved onto the metal sheet that looks like it was pried up from the floor of the bunker's garage.
Done.
"Well. It's not a masterful revision of an entire dimension of existence," he says to himself, eyebrow raised, "but then, it doesn't have to be."
As Crowley looks over his completed Showstopper, he can't help but think about what it would be like if this episode actually aired. About Dean and Cas, Sam and Eileen piled onto their couch, cheering him on. Meg, laughing at him even as she backhandedly praises him for not completely losing his temper. Benny, no doubt concocting some smooth, seductive cocktail. Kevin and Charlie, fighting over the tartlets Crowley would of course make for everyone to enjoy during the episode. Maybe Jody and her girls would watch as well. It's a nice thought.
Crowley wipes his hands off on his apron, and sets to work doing what he and the boys do best – helping others. He joins in that final mad dash as those ahead offer a helping hand to those who've fallen behind. There's a tiered chiffon that needs straightening. Another crepe cake, a massive tower of rolled crepes layered on top of each other in a circle with their open ends gaping like mouths, need to be pipped full of crème and stuffed with chocolate-dipped strawberries. The Vietnamese gentleman is sitting casually on his stool, sipping a cup of tea, completely undisturbed by the chaos unfolding around him.
"Fifteen minutes, bakers!"
And then, in the midst of the mad scuffle, a jar of sugar upends and spills out everywhere.
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Sam stares, mouth open, at the receding flicker of faerie light, and past it into the Tent. He can't see the spilt sugar or whatever it is from here, but he's got a pretty good idea that with all those bakers running around in a mad rush, that's exactly what's happened. And he does not want to know what will become of their agreement with the fae folk if one of their own is trod or stomped on while kneeling on the floor of the Tent to count those spilled grains of sugar.
"Cas!" He shouts. The angel looks to him, uncomprehending of the danger. Sam is already charging after the faerie. "Inside the Tent! Spilt sugar! Spilt sugar!"
It takes a moment, but realization dawns on the angel's face. He can only hope Cas can rectify the situation, and quickly!
Until then, Sam will just have to hold the faerie off.
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Outside the Tent of The Great British Bake Off, Sam Winchester is making an absolute arse of himself.
Crowley watches in complete bewilderment as the moose swings his arms, grabs at empty air, and generally flings himself about the garden. He swats again, clearly manages to grab hold of something, and then digs in his heels as the invisible whatever attempts to fly towards the Tent. Under any other circumstances, and without an audience, it would be a sight to behold. Crowley cannot help the look of confused contempt that crosses his face. The world's greatest hunters, indeed.
And then it dawns on him that while apparently only Sam can see whatever he's struggling with, anyone could see Sam.
In fact, in this very moment, one of the bakers notices something has caught Crowley's attention, and is turning to look outside. He grabs the baklava-loving librarian by the shoulders, swings her around, and points at her Showstopper resting at the end of her bench. "Cake looks on the verge of taking a topple, luv!"
With a lurch, she is out of his hands and lunging across the bench. The other Yorkshire ladies are at her side in an instant.
"Do you think it needs more dowels?!"
"Oh, hold together, please!"
"How much time have we got left?!"
In the space in between supernatural catastrophe and baking catastrophe, Cas crouch-walks under the cameras' line of sight, an invisible and industrious member of the production crew, and sweeps up the spilt sugar. A flick of his wrist, and the tempting, sweet granules disappear into the nearest bin.
Sam crashes face-first into the earth, as the faerie's compulsion withers and it flies away.
And then the final call – "Bakers! Your time is up!"
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