Bake Off has survived the move from BBC oven to Channel 4 table, and it’s still showcasing the best of humanity. The world is on fire: this is what we all need

Praise the Lord and pass the croquembouche – the Great British Bake Off, a teetering edifice of delicious tiny morsels itself, held together by the sweet bonds of love, nostalgia and charm, has survived the move from BBC oven to Channel 4 table.

It was clear from this opening episode that enough people had held enough nerve to resist fixing something that was never broken. The tent is up, the bunting is out and the presenters, apart from Paul Hollywood, are new but not discombobulatingly different. Prue Leith replaces Mary Berry, so we still have our experienced matriarch taking care of business. Sandi Toksvig has Sue Perkins’ wit, sheathed to the same decorous degree, and Noel Fielding has Mel Giedroyc’s warmth as well as humour. And Hollywood is still Hollywood – wise, grudging and just a weird half-notch more aggressive than the show demands, as if somewhere deep inside the master baker there is still a little boy who thinks he should be out scrumping apples instead of trying to perfect his plaited loaf.

All, in short, is as it was and should be. The work stations are pastel-hued. There is merriment over the “exposed bottoms” of the technical bake’s chocolate mini rolls and the need for “a fruity conclusion” to the signature cakes. Ad breaks have replaced the little public information films about the history of bethmännchen or the evolution of kipferl into croissant, but they fall naturally between rounds (which remain the signature, the technical and the what-the-hell-you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me-am-I-staring-at-a-cake-or-into-the-face-of-God bakes) and the warm fug of viewerly content should not dissipate too much in the intervals.

And the contestants – the contestants remain the same. For the duration of the show, at least, they are the best of humanity. They compete to produce something greater than the sum of their pantry parts. They share sieves. They take the job seriously without believing that it is serious. Your heart continues, as it did for the first seven seasons unless you had already been dead for three months, to swell with a strange mixture of awe and entirely unearned pride as the confections issue forth, along with the occasional pang of exquisite dolour when a ganache splits, a sponge sinks or a vision simply fails.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Achieving the dizzy heights of a Hollywood handshake … The Great British Bake Off. Photograph: Mark Bourdillon/Channel 4

Perhaps it’s just because they stand now against the backdrop of a world on fire, but this year’s participants seem the most lovely yet. I hope the casting people got a large chunk of the £75m sale price, because they are surely the power behind the Bake Off throne. In the first round, Noel watches Steven create a Bonfire Night cake topped with miniature toffee apples whose caramel flourishes look like flames. “I think I love you,” says Noel. “Already?” says Steven. Yan is a molecular biologist who gleefully explains how she is creating tiny balls of mango juice that look like salmon roe for her “illusion cake” in the Showstopper round. “I liquefied agar in the mango juice. Cooled some oil. Pipe in the liquid and it creates an outer wall. Science!” 19-year-old student Liam is planning to make his look like a stack of pancakes. Hollywood expresses doubt. “Trust me, Paul!” beams Liam, delivering a triumph of art on to the gingham altar a few hours later.

Poor Chris and Stacey suffered runs of bad luck, but Steven and Sophie soared – e’en unto the dizzying heights of a Hollywood handshake. “When he put his hand out,” said Steven recollecting the moment in tranquillity later, “I thought he was going to hit me.”

The whole thing was a glorious return to – or rather, retention of – form. Thank God. This is not the time for change. Kudos to Channel 4 for knowing what they had and not being afraid to stick with it. This is where I want to be when the bombs start falling.