Bake Off’s Michael Chakraverty: ‘Just applying for the show was a victory over my anxiety’ The contestant suffered a panic attack while on the show, but the producers, presenters and his fellow bakers pulled him through

I had woken to a text that morning from my mum. “Be calm, be slow, be confident.” It is safe to say that these sage words were rapidly discarded as soon as I stepped inside the Bake Off tent. Within the first 12 minutes of the first episode’s signature challenge I’d managed to cut three of my fingers badly enough that I was on first-name terms with the tent paramedic and was modelling a rather fetching blue glove for the remainder of my television debut.

The pressure in the fabled tent is incredible. Even recipes you have created and practised into the wee hours at home suddenly become unfamiliar when you’re confronted with its flimsy walls, slightly bouncy floor and bright lights. The judges’ high expectations come second only to your own. And the frustration when you are unable to achieve the glittering goals in your head is immeasurable.

Couple this tension with a tendency toward the anxious, and you have a volatile cocktail on your hands. When I say tendency, I am skirting around the edges of a couple of bigger words: “Anxiety” and “Depression”. Big words with big capital letters; words that have a lot to do with the reason I applied for the show in the first place. It is hard to describe what those two words can feel like, to someone who doesn’t experience their effects.

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Their shadow sits on your back, in your chest, in your head. It dampens some emotions, and heightens others. For me, they often pull me away from things that could push me forward.

The Bake Off team softly swept in, with a producer calmly talking me through mindfulness techniques. Could I feel my toes? Good

In itself, just applying for Bake Off was a victory. I had fought off the naysaying niggles and filled in the novel-length application form. Brilliant. Things escalated rather quickly, and before I knew it, I was in the tent. Was I hoping to impress Paul and Prue? Honestly, the main person I hoped to impress was myself.

Flash forward past the blue gloves and a bundt-tin-based disaster, through becoming Bread Week’s Star Baker with the first handshake of the series (before you ask: firm and unexpectedly warm, with a twinkle in those piercing eyes) and we find ourselves in the technical challenge of “1920s Week”. I am hunched over a deep fat fryer unable to move, becoming less and less aware of my surroundings and struggling to catch my breath. The tent darkens as my chest tightens and my fingers tingle.

This was nothing to do with the scant instructions or my complete lack of knowledge of what a beignet soufflé was (there’s no Google in the tent – what’s a millennial to do?). What had happened? I had let down my guard, told myself that I wasn’t good enough and believed it. I was in the throes of a panic attack.

Suddenly, the runny choux pastry didn’t matter. The Bake Off team softly swept in, with a producer calmly talking me through mindfulness techniques. Could I feel my toes? Good. What could I smell? Breathe in. Breathe out. Noel Fielding arrived, gently calling me back to myself. Sandi Toksvig positioned herself directly in my eyeline behind a camera. The message was clear: we’ve got you, and you are safe.



What now? It was time to really prove myself. So, I kept going. I drove my mind from feelings to facts. I re-framed the challenge by setting my own standards for success, and broke down the remaining time into achievable five-minute chunks.

The result was 18 misshapen, clumsily filled beignet soufflés (but a cracking sabayon, if I do say so myself), which came second from last. But this was the judge’s result – mine was one of glowing pride. Yes, I’d struggled, but I’d also succeeded. I had pushed myself further than ever before, and that was more than enough for me.

Immediately following the challenge there was a flurry of support from the production team, Noel and Sandi and, of course, my wonderful fellow bakers. I went for a long, calming walk with Steph where we talked about everything and nothing through mouths full of ice cream. Before stepping into the tent, we had been told we were to become a family and never had this felt more true.

To say we bonded quickly would be an understatement: it was instant. We had spent so long sworn to secrecy, holed up in our kitchens developing recipes. Suddenly, there were 12 other people who understood exactly how you felt when you couldn’t get the texture of a grilled Malaysian layer cake just right.

Between challenges, we explored the grounds of Welford Park – discovering a beautiful church, where Henry played the Harry Potter theme tune on the organ to an enraptured gathering.

However, this didn’t quite break the tension of the first morning in the tent: that was to be left to Jamie. The ingredients were laid out for us well before our arrival on that first crisp April morning, so the eggs felt like ice cubes and you could have built houses from our butter blocks.

Step in the famous proving drawer; surely this would bring things to room temperature before we started? Jamie merrily popped his butter in, turned up the temperature and promptly forgot about it. In the final, silent moment before the immortal “On your marks, get set, bake” was uttered, he remembered.

The tent exploded with laughter at the sorry puddle dripping from the drawer to the floor. Priya desperately tried to mop up the mess as the rest of us tried to shield Jamie from the approach of a curious Prue. Tension: broken.

Laughter proved (sorry) to be the glue that brought us together. We sniggered into our aprons as Michelle received a telling off from the art director for using a tea towel that was intended as set dressing. We chortled as Noel tried desperately to get through his fourth attempt at explaining what a technical ­actually was. We were driven to hysterics by mere ­fatigue alone.

Between challenges, we explored the grounds of Welford Park – discovering a beautiful church, where Henry played the Harry Potter theme tune on the organ to an enraptured gathering. Helena, who had proudly declared on the first day that she “wasn’t a crier”, sobbed her heart out.

We played games of catch with lemons and limes before judging, smuggled our favourite ingredients from the tent for impromptu picnics on the lawn, and napped in a collective heap beneath our favourite tree.

The friendships forged through this experience will be ones for life, I’m sure. Even before the competition was over, meet-ups were being organised in the ever-growing eliminees’ WhatsApp group. We arranged clandestine gatherings, relishing our last tastes of anonymity for a while, in coffee shops across the UK.

While the semi-finalists battled with sugar glass boxes, Henry and I were in Wales sampling the finest local gins with Michelle. The following week, we lent helping hands to Alice and David as they practised for the finals.

I now have the Bake Off family that was promised all those months ago. Being “calm, slow and confident” is easier when you’ve got friends around you

I now have the Bake Off family that was promised all those months ago. Being “calm, slow and confident” is easier when you’ve got friends around you – and that safe space made me feel able to take control of one of the most stressful situations I have ever found myself in.

I watched myself, on national television, proving that I could do more than I ever thought.

If the past me, applying 12 months ago, had seen that version of himself, he would have dismissed it as far-fetched and ridiculous. But that would be a disservice – from where future Michael’s sitting, the feeling of pride is more than anything I can put into words.