Page 11 of Baking Battles

Not only is Paulina unpacking ingredients from her bag, brazenly adding unapproved contraband items to her worktop display, all neatly labelled in rustic looking little pots. Pablo is complaining about the provided food colourings, needing the exact right shade of violet to match the elaborate designs he has laid out over the counter.

Alima refuses to talk to him, claiming that he will steal all her amazing ideas if he comes anywhere near her workstation. She hugs him though, and tells him to stand up straight. Own this shit. She is apparently also on a mission to ensure her brother meets a sticky death, should he film her from an unflattering angle. She laughs and straightens her hijab. Her laughter calms him down, just enough to steady his nerves and stop him throwing up in the studio dustbin. He tries to stand up straight. Look confident. But the FrognerFruer woman is wearing heels, so high, that Mattias is already dizzy just watching her trying to balance on the spongy studio flooring, and that Magnus Steingrímsson just won’t stop drumming that damn metal whisk against anything within his reach.

On top of that they are now filming the introduction of the judges. Yeah. Because it’s a competition. Like Mattias had forgotten that tiny insignificant detail.

There she is, the one and only Isolde Arild. Of course. Serious foodie, trained chef and sought-after social media influencer. Alongside Herman. Herman, who only goes by the name of Herman. Because when you are a household name, people will always know your face, even though nobody ever remembers your last name. He’s immaculately dressed in a suit, obviously tailored to his exact measurements, his hands manicured into perfection for those close-up shots, and the woman next to him, obviously his assistant, is fanning him with a paper fan, whilst pushing the thick-rimmed fashionable glasses he wears, up on his nose. Then she holds out a small mirror as Herman inspects his image, obviously content with what he sees as he shoos the assistant away with an irritated scowl.

“Positions!” Caroline’s voice rings out through the air and Mattias lines his feet up by the markings taped to the floor. He knows where to stand. How to hold his hands.

“Change Mattias Strømme’s top.” She calls and points at Mattias, who is now shaking just a little. He should never have agreed to this. His workbench is empty. His mind is racing. And all he can remember is buttermilk. He has asked for it. They have it. And cardamom. He can do this. It’s just muffins. Right?

The purple-haired stylist is back, yanking Mattias’s top over his head, then making him cringe with embarrassment as she roughly towels him down with the hand towel that she swiftly tucks back into her belt. Pablo hums in appreciation behind him, whispering something that Mattias only half gets the gist of. Something unrepeatable that oddly makes him smile.

“Arsehole.” He calls over his shoulder and Pablo snickers behind him.

“At least I get to view that delicious arse of yours as I bake. I think I’m good.”

“I could get you done for sexual harassment.” Mattias is joking. Truly.

“You wouldn’t. Because you are loving it.” Pablo whispers back, before Caroline shouts “SILENCE!”

And so, it begins.

There is Christopher, who starts off by his now almost expected silence, letting the room just take him in, his mouth curled up in his trademark almost-smile. His eyes glittering and crinkling just a little around the edges, before he finally takes a breath to introduce Isolde, who slides into view, a vision of blonde hair and white teeth. Swiftly followed by Herman, who expertly reads his lines off the teleprompter, cocking his head just slightly before glancing back at Christopher, who turns to the contestants to introduce the first challenge.

They do it again. Patiently repeating the lines from different angles whilst Mattias sweats under the bright lights. He hardly flinches at the makeup person wiping his forehead and dusting him down with another round of powder, hoping that the wetness under his arms won’t show.

It doesn’t. And Mattias lets himself get sucked into the weird twilight zone that is film work. When he can immerse himself in his task, like he does on the financial segments of the morning show. When he feels safe in his little bubble of numbers, and rules. Just like this, but different. Because the ingredients he has asked for are discreetly placed on his worktop, and his mind starts to rattle off measurements and amounts. He has always had the brain for numbers. His mind is rational and precise, and he checked the recipe beforehand, memorising the method, timings and dividing up his hour into tasks. He can do this. He can.

“Mattias, how did your love of baking come about?” he hears Christopher’s voice somewhere on his right as Isolde dips a teaspoon in his almost-finished batter.

“Cardamom.” Isolde interrupts, with a smile to the camera. “You are staying traditional in your flavourings, Mattias. A safe choice if you can pull it off. Cardamom is notoriously tricky in baking due to its tendency to produce a dry end result.” She nods into the camera, then turns to Mattias with another perfect smile. She’s made for this kind of work, just like Christopher is. Her perfect features, and slim frame, showing off the designer jumpsuit she has been poured into. Red lips and bouncing curls hugging her shoulders. She’s pretty, yet not Mattias’s type, at all. He shudders at the thought. All that perfection, the expectations and everything else that comes with trying to live up to someone else’s ideals. Nope. No. Never again.

“I am hoping to produce a moist sponge with just a hint of flavour. Something sweet to go with a morning espresso. To start off Christmas morning.” Mattias responds, feeling a little faint. He can do this. He can. “And to answer your question, Christopher, I discovered baking late in life, as an activity to do with my young daughter. Baking is great for little hands, exploring flavours and textures as well as developing an early grasp of maths.” Mattias is just making it up as he goes along, but as no one is shouting, “Cut!”, he just smiles and breathes out in relief as the camera moves on to Pablo. Pablo, who goes off on a tangent about colour schemes and napkins and the health benefits of coconut oil, even before Christopher has had a chance to introduce him.

He’s surprised how well he manages to keep it together. His muffins rise to high pretty mounds, just like he had been hoping, the colour the right side of brown. His pancake challenge works out more than satisfactory. They all need to produce a stack of twelve pancakes, and Mattias does. His pancakes are uniform and clean, stacked in a pile like they have been asked to. Ida bursts into tears when her batter runs out after pancake number ten, Alima burns every single one and Jacob causes the days first, “Cut!!!” after setting his apron on fire.

Magnus Steingrímsson turns out to be a clear danger to them all, producing twelve perfect pancakes without much trying, and Paulina risks the wrath of the judges by sneaking in a wholemeal flour instead of the required wheat. Siv-Linda has agreed to an egg substitute and her pancakes are surprisingly perfect whilst Mehmet hasn’t started frying when the timer signals the end of their pretend hour.

And Mattias has his shirt changed again and Pablo claims to sport a boner behind his apron. It’s funny how Mattias just laughs.

“I’m too much man for you to handle, Pablo.” He teases, turning around to wink at the man who pouts in his face, curling his fingers, teasing him into moving closer.

“If you would let me, my dear Baby-Bi-Boy, I would drag you off and show you what a real man feels like, right now.”

“If I would let you, you wouldn’t survive it.” Mattias teases back, his face flushing with embarrassment at the words his mouth is churning out. He’s never like this. Ever. And Pablo’s laugh just eggs him on.

“You just can’t handle the fact that you want me, baby.” Pablo purrs from behind his bench.

“See?” Mattias snickers and turns around to face him. “Illusions of grandeur, Pablo. I’m quite sure I can resist you.”

“Resist who?” Christopher asks, stopping to lean against Mattias’s workbench as Mattias gratefully grabs a towel from the purple-haired stylist. He needs to ask her name. He needs to stop being ridiculous with Pablo. And he needs to figure this Christopher out. This Christopher who just smiles at him and makes his face radiate more heat than he is comfortable with. He blames the studio lighting. He thinks. He hopes. Damn this. Damn Everything.

“Mattias here, wants me.” Pablo purrs. “I mean, do you blame him? Because look at all this, Christopher.” Pablo lets his hands shimmy down his hips, twirling around, making the flour on his apron form a little cloud around him. Smiling seductively at Mattias, who has gone full-on tropic, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. “He could have all this.” Pablo continues. “And he still tries to resist me. The boy is confused, these baby bi-boys are all confused. We just need to rein him in, Christopher. Bring him over to the right side of the rainbow tracks, because Mattias here needs cock, don’t you Mattias? Come on Christopher, put him right.” Pablo looks at Christopher like he is begging, then pouts at Mattias again, who now feels just as uncomfortable as he probably looks. Wiping his hands on the towel over and over, trying to figure out how the hell to respond to that.

“I’m not really bi, Pablo.” he tries.

“Of course, you’re not, baby.” Pablo snickers. “Who would be with all these glorious men on this set? I mean, look at Steingrímsson in those leather pants.” he continues, a little too loud for Mattias’s liking.

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