Image Description: An overhead view of a fictional baked-goods town called Walnutford, designed in the style of a map. A glossy custard river runs horizontally from left to right across the centre of the image, gently curving as it flows. On either side of the river is a bustling town made entirely of baked treats. You can see pies with lattice and star tops, croissants, bread rolls, loaves, tarts, and pastry parcels, all arranged like buildings on a map. Whipped cream puffs and green fondant leaves appear like trees and parks. The ground looks like it’s dusted with fine flour or biscuit crumbs. At the top centre, large white text reads “YeastEnders”, with “Walnutford” in smaller letters below. The entire scene is warm, golden, and surreal – a deliciously baked parody of the EastEnders opening titles.
Episode Four – Rumours and Raisins
Preparations for the Walnutford Food Fair are in full swing. Inside The Queen Victoria Sponge, there’s a scent of warming spices, treacle, and rising tension.
Phil the Pudding leans over the counter, a wooden spoon in one hand and flour on his chocolate glaze. There’s a faint scorch mark on his back where the oven door got too personal.
“This is your nan’s recipe alright,” he mutters, stirring slowly. “It’s lumpy, old-fashioned, and blames you for everything.”
Peggy Cherry Bakewell is pacing by the bar, apron dusted with almond flour. Her blonde icing bouffant is holding strong, but her cherry keeps twitching.
“Respect the sponge, Phil,” she snaps. “That’s decades of tradition in that bowl.”
At her usual table, Dot Crumble peers through her icing sugar glasses.
“Word is they’re planning a reveal. Chantelle and Rye-an. Something big.”
Stacey Swiss Roll struts in from the Square, jam swirled with anger.
“They’ve been whispering round the back of the bakery,” she says. “I heard Rye-an say the words ‘sponge sabotage’.”
Sharon Scone gasps, her cherry tilting slightly. “You don’t think they’d… tamper, do you?”
“Wouldn’t put it past them,” mutters Peggy. “They’d ice their own gran if it meant a front-page spread.”
Over at Ye Olde Crumb and Butter, Chantelle Chia Bun checks a delivery with extra care. Rye-an Crust is scribbling something onto a folded napkin. Something jam-stained and suspicious.
“Deliver this to the judging tent,” he says. “No name. Just the truth.”
Chantelle raises an eyebrow. “You sure about this?”
He smirks. “They wanted war. Let’s see how they like a raisin scandal.”
Back at the pub, Dot Crumble has cracked open a dusty old recipe ledger. Her pastry hands tremble.
“Look at this,” she whispers. “Nana Bakewell’s sponge always used golden syrup. But their version? It’s made with dark treacle and raisins. They’ve changed it — that proves it’s ours.”
Peggy narrows her eyes, then speaks slowly.
“Then that’s our proof. The original sponge was never raisined. We just need to bake it bold… and serve it hot.”
Sharon perks up. “I’ll do the icing. I’ve got steady hands.”
Stacey snorts. “Not when Dennis Danish is around.”
Sharon flares. “You don’t know anything!”
“Girls!” Peggy barks, stepping between them. “Save it for after judging. Right now, we’ve got a pudding to protect.”
Duff duff duff… a raisin rolls ominously off the counter.
Blind Man Makes 