The Great British Baking Show

She approaches the enormous kitchen tent:
Perhaps today’s rain will melt it away
Or the wind will scatter it across the English countryside.
Does she really belong here?

Inside, 5 hours on the clock and the challenge commences:
“A spectacular themed banquet display of 12 entremets
And a beautifully crafted centrepiece.”
Is this even possible for an amateur?

She cracks eggs without twitching,
Scaffolds them into a créméux français.
Below is a jelly fusion of passion fruit and mango
Perched atop her buttery biscuit.

With a crown of a pink-orange mirror glaze,
She trembles a prayer for her egg whites
To stay afloat, she hurls please
As she bears her spectacular monument forward.

Prue coughs. Judgement typhoons in the air
Paul Hollywood’s blue eyes: the calm before the storm?
But he swallows… and stomps… then blinks and says:
Flawless.

Poem about the Great British Baking Show, my guilty pleasure.