"The Great British Bake Off" doesn't want to learn from its mistakes

"I don't feel like we should make Mexico jokes, people will get upset" Noel Fielding, wearing a Party Central sombrero and a sarape, mused at the beginning of "The Great British Bake Off's" ill-fated 2022 "Mexico Week." His similarly dressed co-host, Matt Lucas, responded: "What? No Mexico jokes at all? Not even Juan?" 

In that moment, it was evident that the "Bake Off" hosts were trying to use stale humor to address just how poorly the show's internationally-themed baking weeks had been received in seasons prior. The show's 2020 Japan Week was described even by British newspapers as being "borderline racist," while Eater London termed it an "Orientalist mess," featuring Lucas "mishearing" katsu curry as "cat poo curry" and reminders that Paul Hollywood once confessed that he doesn't believe Japan understands baking — on a show about Japanese baking.

Mexico Week, filled with lazy stereotypes and a purposeful obtuseness about the preparation of classic pastries, didn't fare much better as Eater London's James Hansen ultimately declared it "the nadir of the show's fall from grace." 

In speaking with Salon Talks in January, "Bake Off" judge Prue Leith acknowledged that the series had made some mistakes, though denied ill-intent: 

What was so upsetting about it was the idea that we would somehow want to be either patronizing or mocking. The truth is that on "Bake Off," we make jokes about everything, but we certainly would never do it being anything other than friendly. People got upset because the hosts wore sombreros and ponchos. But you can't arrive in Mexico and walk through the airport without people wanting to sell you ponchos and sombreros. Yes they're clichés, but then a hot dog is a cliché and Americans don't mind if we make a hot dog.

The show's producers have now responded, too, announcing in advance of the new season, which premieres later this month, that "Bake Off" would discontinue internationally-themed weeks for the foreseeable future. The series' executive producer Kieran Smith told The Guardian that the show was "going very traditional."

"We didn't want to offend anyone, but the world has changed and the joke fell flat," Smith said. "We're not doing any national themes this year." 

Instead, the contestants will focus on "cakes, biscuits, bread, patisserie, chocolate," plus Smith adds, "party cakes is a new theme."

In light of all the missteps, it makes sense from a brand safety standpoint that "Bake Off" would scrap theme weeks and "return to the classics." That said, the series has long been lauded for being comforting, educational and accepting. In its tone and gentle touch, it broke the mold as a cooking competition series during a time when other food television was becoming increasingly cutthroat. So why couldn't the show apply that same ethos to its theme weeks?

I suppose it's easier to just retreat when one's mistakes have been called out, but it's a shame that "Bake Off" couldn't just learn from those mistakes and come back with a more nuanced flavor. 

There are many beautiful examples (from Anthony Bourdain's salty "Parts Unknown" to Phil Rosenthal's decidedly more saccharine "Somebody Feed Phil")  of how to approach food traditions that are different from your own with curiosity and delight, rather than suspicion or superiority. And it's not like the series creators don't have many people in their orbit, including former contestants, who could oversee theme weeks. 

I look to Nadiya Hussain, the beloved winner of the show's sixth season. Following "Bake Off," Hussain starred in a two-part BBC One travelogue called "The Chronicles of Nadiya" which followed her as she traced her familial and culinary roots to Bangladesh. It was thoughtful, informative and fun — which is likely what a Bangladeshi "Bake Off" theme week hosted by Hussain would feel like, too. 

While it may be easy to dismiss "Bake Off" as just another cooking show, with an average audience of 9.2 million real-time viewers, the series had a unique opportunity to use food as an accessible, yet powerful, means to bridge cultural understanding. For instance, following Nadiya Hussain's turn on GBBO, she was described in a British government report on community cohesion as having done "more for British-Muslim relations than 10 years of government policy." 

Now, not every cooking show or personality needs to do that, but this is a time where "The Great British Bake Off" could have committed to leaning into the kaleidoscopic world of pastry that exists outside the Eurocentric cannon. Yet, to borrow a line from another famed cooking series, they instead decided to pack their knives and head home.