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Saturday, Nov 22, 2008
As a result of this rule, ersatz "bake-off dynasties" are formed where each successive generation of the family becomes finalists two times, but no more, then passing the lore and wisdom of their bake-off secrets (Use the ingredients made by newly acquired corporate acquisitions of the parent company! Ethnic is in! Always refer to Velveeta as cheese!) to the next generation.
As a result of this practice, there are two 11-year-old finalists (11 being the youngest age allowed) in this year's competition. One of the 11-year-olds is actually competing against her own father, who apparently has yet to use up his precious two entries. This leads to a lot of speculation around the pool as to what are the odds of these little kids actually having developed the recipes themselves. Surely, if they are so brilliant as to have created prizewinning recipes, these children really ought to be turning their savant-like aptitude for kitchen chemistry toward advanced medical research or some such. As one embittered contestant hisses, "Yeah, sure, the kid came up with the recipe by herself. Jesus Christ, why don't they just send the family parakeet next time!"
The bake-off starts with a 6:30 a.m. Dixieland jazz breakfast. As I enter the grand ballroom, I am greeted by a frolicking human-sized doughboy who is available for photo ops with the guests. Pam's husband wants to take a picture of Pam and me with the doughboy, and so we are gathered up in his pristine white plastic arms. As he clutches us to his snowy chest and the picture is taken, I feel a strange brushing sensation on the back of my dress. If I am not mistaken, the doughboy is ineffectively attempting to grab my butt with his clumsy fingerless hands. I could be wrong of course, but it certainly feels like this Doughboy is coming on to me.
Marie Osmond, who will be the MC for the live broadcast, is introduced to the gathered contestants. She seems like a fun girl, who begins the day by messing with everyone's heads by getting them to look under the tablecloths for prizes that don't exist. The contestants laugh politely but seem annoyed. I have learned that there is nothing like a million dollars to take away people's sense of humor.
After breakfast the women contestants gather in the ladies' room to primp and enlarge their hairdos for the "Grand March" onto the competition floor. The place is thick with a kind of feline competitiveness. Minutes later, the march into the room of 100 ovens proceeds, improbably, to the strains of a techno-pop version of "La Vida Loca."
George and Sally Pillsbury, a waspy and elegantly handsome older couple who seem far more Pepperidge Farm than Pillsbury, take the stage. With the air of dignified royalty, they declare the bake-off festivities officially begun.
As an event, the actual bake-off is as breathtaking as the simultaneous opening of hundreds of cans and the whacking of hundreds of tinned dough containers would be. Since each contestant is expected to prepare their recipe three times, the event is due to last for three hours.
I decide that since I cannot possibly interview all the contestants, and since I have worn a low-cut slinky dress, I will focus my attention on the 10 male contestants in an effort to get one of them to spill the scandal I am searching for. After some misses, I finally hit it off with a contestant who ultimately becomes my Deep Throat. "Cupcakes" I call him, since that's what he's making. Right away he remarks that I am the only journalist who has used profanity with him. Since I swear like a longshoreman on most, if not all occasions, it comes as a surprise to me that the working press is apparently not supposed to "work blue."
Nevertheless, Cupcakes agrees to meet me for a more extensive interview "after all this is over." I am sure that this will finally lead to the big story. I can hardly wait, but will have to as the bake-off crawls on.
There is a minor flurry of excitement as Pam is the first contestant to finish her entry and hand it off to the judges. Marie Osmond finds this significant and hauls the camera crew over to do an interview with Pam. Pam, high on frozen broccoli and adrenaline, grabs Marie and shouts confidently into the camera that she's, "gonna take this thing with broccoli!" Later, during the live daytime CBS broadcast that must have thrilled many ones of viewers and enraged millions of soap opera junkies, it is this line that gets the biggest laugh of the show.
As the contest moves on with the kind of fast-paced excitement usually only found in beach erosion, the other journalists begin trying to stir things up. Stacey Sweet from "Inside Edition," who seems like an incredibly game girl, tries to create a rivalry between Pam and the oldest living contestant in the competition. Stacey aggressively tries to get Pam and the Grandma to talk smack about each other: Since they are both using broccoli, Stacey figures this a natural for a Tanya/Nancy feud. However, both women graciously back away from the obvious catfight that Stacey is attempting to whip up.
At some point Sally Pillsbury, who might be the coolest person at this event, comes over to Pam and congratulates her on finishing first. Sally is the kind of fantastic old lady I have always wanted to become. Loaded and elegant, she has the raspy voice and wry manner that leads me to believe that she knows how to kick back and have a good time. As Pam heads off to do yet another interview, Sally remarks, "There goes our girl." By now, I am convinced that Pam "Quick and Easy" Norris will be the million-dollar winner, will be our girl.
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