Mary Berry Biting Into Things

Candice’s Cups:

“I thought you told us there was whiskey in these Candice you manipulative little bOH SWEET LORD THERE IT IS”

Mary’s a sucker for a wee dram.

Selasi’s Perfect Sunday Roast Accompaniment: A longtime fan of stating the unconscionably obvious, Mary rewards Selasi for yet another no-nonesense, say-what-you-see, couldn’t-be-arsed title by cracking out this little corker. The rhinobite, characterised by the use of the nose as a central canine to hold the bitee in place, makes easy work of this overcomplicated yorkshire pud. Giving the delicious but slippery filling very little wiggle room, this bite ensures that Mary’s core tenets of grace and dignity remain safely intact, and our heroine emerges smelling of (candied) roses.

Tom’s Norse Nonsense: On the rare occasion he’s not going around being a total serial killer, Tom likes to massacre something altogether different: Norse mythology. An accomplished scholar of the storytelling traditions of Northern Europe, Mary’s not having any of it. Not one bit(e). In a classic display of her inimitable wit and rye humour, she elects to *troll* him with this toothless bite. Not even dignifying his bread with her retractable teeth, she simply mushes the mie de pain between her gums until it makes like the corpses of Tom’s victims in his upstairs bathtub and dissolves. 

Selasi’s Bedouin BS: If there’s one thing Mary can smell a mile off (as well as burnt biscotti), it’s a tall story. And you best be sure you have your story straight before you bend Mary’s ear because, make no mistake, there will be consequences for porky pies. Here, Selasi learns this lesson the hard way. Mary doesn’t break out this savage front bite for anything less than the most woeful of transgressions, and Selasi’s crumby narrative is just that: a total crock.

Tom’s Fennel Churros Snake In The Yas:

YAS 👏

YAS 👏

YAS 👏

Mary slays the serpent.

Hastings Old Town Gingerbread Story: In a classic display of her ability to adapt her mastication to any occasion, Mary tucks into the gingerbread vignette with a move appropriate to this historic seaside town: The Brexit Bite.

Traditionally, of course, this bite involves chewing off your nose in order to reprimand your face in some way. Mary has, quite sensibly, decided to eschew this slightly draconian execution in favour of a more ceremonial version of this once-in-a-generation bite. 

After informing Paul quite firmly that she has had enough of Fructis-basted experts, she turns and, without a single thought, bites through the gingerbread and swallows. Without chewing. The remaining gingerbread pieces shattered forever. Total devastation.

One thing’s for sure. Mary’s *certainly* not cleaning up the crumbs.

Gingerbread Punt: 

And I know when that sidebite bling That can only mean one thing...

BISCUITS

Pistachio and Lemon Drizzle Cake: There’s only one way to eat a drizzle cake, and Mary’s no newcomer to such things. Here, an incredibly rare sighting of a front-bite in the wild is accompanied by all the requisite accessories. As is customary, Mary is delving into that drizzle dripping in gems, stones, and a hot polish. There’s only one word to describe this bite: opulence. She. Owns. EVERYTHING.

Jaffa Cakes: Or, as Mary’s Australian second cousin on her father’s side says: 

GIF-a cakes…

…

TOTAL ECLIPSE

Chessboard Box: Tamal knows how to treat his Queen.

Little does he know, he’s just her bit on the side.

Check mate.

Dorret’s Almond and Apricot Biscotti: Every bite has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Unless Dorret serves you biscotti that is.

If Mary’s eyes could kill...

Behind the Scenes: Mary and Paul take five in this rare glimpse behind the scenes. Ever the perfectionist, Mary attempts to teach Paul the intricacies of the side-bite, hoping that, one day, he might finally make her proud. Paul’s more interested in his phone though.

His Fructis-smeared phone.

Walnut Cake: Well, well, well. No warm up required for Mary here. Barely has another season of tent tantrums gotten underway, and Mary’s already bringing out the big guns: the Sidewinder. Not one for those with a low bite clearance, the Sidewinder requires Mary to combine her signature side-bite (obviously), with a fork-load turned through 90 degrees. She makes it look easy. The vertical prong alignment requires extraordinary jaw agility and can result in serious injury if not executed by an experienced professional. Jane Fonda found this out the hard way, and sports a hole in her right cheek to this day.

(PS Candlestick, or two Easter Island heads kissing?)

Apple and Lemon Kites:

(a Hymn)

Let’s go fly a kite,

Up to the highest bite,

Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring,

Up to sweet Mary’s face,

Side bite so full of grace,

Oh, let’s go bite a kite.

Strawberry and Raspberry Cheesecake Brioche: Three berries for the price of one here, as Mary treats us to the rare 'tri-berry bite'. Popular amongst conspiracy theorists and cyclists alike, the tri-berry has only ever been witnessed once before, during the Berry family reunion of 1976, when three Berrys bit into a Battenberg at basically the same time. A powerful and mystic trinity not to be (eaton) messed with.

Ciabatta: A Play in One Act

Paul:

(in a rubbish Italian accent but doing the hand gestures) 

Ciabatta?

Mary:

(no accent, just the hand gestures) 

No, I paid full price thank you very much.

(savage side-bite)

Fin

Scenic Biscuits: Mary just *can’t* with Iain’s Wild West Scene right now.

She simply cannot.