Eric Lanlard is a French patissier who looks like a puggy crossbreed of Alex James, Richard Herring and Peter Andre, hiding slightly underneath a beard which looks weirdly like it’s been drawn on with a black biro. He seems pleasant enough, but with a slightly reticent, sod-you-gits manner, like the whole thing was his agent’s idea, which it probably was.
The format is pretty standard, and inexpensive. It opens with a gushing fruity voiceover about the ‘master’ over a montage of Eric slebbing it with Amanda H and Claudia S and the like, followed by a few standard pan shots across his lovely puds. Eric makes a carrot cake in his ‘home’ kitchen, deploying his essentiel cheffy accent and pink KitchenAid mixer (they sponsor him). There’s some soft-peak frosting porn, lingering soft-focus pull shots, “rosted woolnuts”, “arsing sugar”, and a great tip about pulling a knife down the centre of a half-cooked cake, the better to give it a nicely domed top. But so far, so what.
The obligatory competitive element has a trio of contestants (a classic mirepoix of posh / ambitious / worthy) piping macaroons flavoured with champagne and the like, as Eric watches them from a peephole. I think that’s what he says, anyway. There’s some seriously bored who’s-gonna-win-then cutaways before the strangely alien-like Dwayne takes it, and (after some hot pastry funnel action) gets to help Eric construct a showcase macaroon tower fit for emperors, with ganache, chocolate beads, glitter, raspberries and more which he then puts in the window of his shop. Did he mention he had a shop? Yes. Yes he did. He has also swapped his pink KitchenAid mixer for a covetable ‘Conran rainbow’ model, which I presume is a custom job cos I can’t find it on their website. Want.
The last section is suddenly riddled with sexy technique and talent and excitement. A properly-thrilled Dwayne gushes right at the end that it’s a day that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. Actually, I believe him.