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 Three – Sticky Business
The morning light glows warm across Almond Square, but the mood inside The Queen Victoria Sponge is anything but golden.
Peggy Cherry Bakewell stands on a stool behind the bar, giving orders like a general before battle. Her blonde icing swirl is perfectly set, her sugar-pearl earrings glint with determination, and she’s clutching Nana Bakewell’s recipe scroll like it’s a legal weapon.
“We’re entering the sponge ourselves,” she says. “The Walnutford Food Fair is next weekend. We bake it fresh, serve it up, and let the judges decide whose sponge is the real deal.”
Dot Crumble, patched with extra icing sugar today after yesterday’s excitement, sips her tea and nods. “Proper old-school throwdown.”
Phil the Pudding isn’t so sure. His custard’s started to set in places. “You want me to bake? Last time I cracked an egg, it cracked back.”
“You’re stirring,” Peggy snaps. “Not thinking.”
Phil sighs and lumbers off toward the pantry.
Across the square at Ye Olde Crumb and Butter, Chantelle Chia Bun adjusts a glass cake dome with irritating precision. She’s sleek, seeded, and smug as ever. Rye-an Crust stands by the espresso machine, arms folded, watching the pub from the window.
“They’re up to something,” he says. “She had that look in her icing.”
“That look?” Chantelle raises a brow.
“You know. Cherry sharpened. Base tense. The Bakewell look.”
Back at the pub, Sharon Scone arrives late, jam slightly askew and powdered sugar clinging to her coat.
“I heard about the recipe showdown,” she says, trying not to meet Peggy’s eyes. “I want to help.”
Peggy eyes her carefully. “You been back over there?”
“No!” Sharon blurts, then hesitates. “I mean… yes. But only to check what they’re serving. I didn’t touch a thing. Not even a crumb.”
From the far corner, Stacey Swiss Roll lets out a snort. Her chocolate shell cracks slightly. “Cherry went missing again?”
Sharon flushes. “It fell off in the wind.”
Dot Crumble leans in. “Or into someone else’s cream horn.”
Before anyone can reply, the pub door creaks open. A tall, regal figure enters. She’s layered in filo, topped with pistachio dust, and draped in rose syrup glaze.
Everyone turns. Peggy’s cherry twitches.
“Baroness Baklava,” Dot whispers. “Chair of the Bakewell Baking League Council.”
The Baroness glides forward, voice like honey.
“I’ve heard talk of a sponge dispute. If either party wishes to submit a challenge… now is the time.”
Peggy steps forward. Her base is firm. Her swirl, unshaken.
“You’ll have our sponge by Saturday. And when you taste it, you’ll know exactly who the recipe belongs to.”
Duff duff duff
Blind Man Makes 