I am a keen appreciator of cakes and pastries of all kinds and have been known to skip the entree to leave room for dessert. I will drive for miles to find cake shops and bakeries rumoured to elevate the art (in my part of the world, this can be a very long drive indeed). Paris is my dream destination, where patisseries replete with chaussons, Gateaux Opera, Jesuites, and jalousies can be found on every boulevard. It would therefore be difficult to over-emphasize the degree to which I had anticipated Bravo's new cooking competition, Just Desserts. What could be more fabulous than pastry chefs creating nothing but sweet courses, each more ambitious and glorious than the last? This show was made for me and I impatiently awaited its debut.
Then (cue ominous music), less than two weeks before JD-Day, came the order from On High: no more gluten. None. Outlawed.
Disaster.
So it was with great fear and trepidation that I sat down with my new square-paged Moleskine notebook (creativity and inspiration guaranteed!) to record details of the pastry-cheftestants' opening salvos. I still had reason for optimism. 'There's lots they can do,' I thought naively. 'Souffles. Mousses. Nougatines. I mean, they don't need to use flour all the time, right?'
Of course, I was not taking into account the sadistic streaks in our judges, the luscious Gail (what on earth was she wearing on her feet?) and Johnny 'Pompadour' Iuzzini (I have his cookbook right here: it's called Fourplay - what a naughty, naughty boy!). The quickfire twist? Take a signature dessert and turn it into a freaking cupcake! I think cupcakes are silly at the best of times, but this was just salt in my wounds. Perfectly blameless dishes ruined by the gluten imperative: Tania's mesquite-scented cupcake (smoked gluten); Seth's basil cupcake (herbaceous gluten); Morgan's weird puffy chocolate thing (souffleed gluten). It was all too much to bear: my pen ran out of ink as I logged the roster of disappointments. Only Tim (dear, brave Tim) stuck to his guns and produced a gluten-free cupcake-shaped pistachio semi-freddo - and for his insolence was resoundingly bitch-slapped by the Pompadour. I sighed sadly and watched the devastation unfold.
The elimination challenge was no better. Beautiful mousses and flourless genoises unceremoniously dumped on top of useless pastry bases. Flans and cremeaux needlessly accompanied by fried pies (huh?) and sponges. And what was with all the unapologetic brownies and whoopie pies? It was enough to make a gluten-free dessertophile weep, and I did - the tears staining my lovely new Moleskine notebook.
Will I continue to watch Just Desserts? As a moth is drawn to the flame. There are too many delights in store to deny myself. When will the GE Monogram appliances go phoom? At whom will Zac (mistress of the bon mots) direct his venom - and will he continue to blow fairy dust all over his confections? Who will be the first to use the anti-griddle? How, in future episodes, will Danielle choose to mark her territory? (not like my Siamese cat, I hope). My early prediction for the final three: Seth (who will certainly win the bleepometer award, even if he doesn't walk away with the main prize); Heather H. (who seems pretty bad-ass, actually); and Yigit (because he worked for Daniel Boulud and I think his name is groovy). And who knows - maybe there is a gluten-free challenge still to come. My notebook and I await future developments with delicious anticipation.
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