Show Time.

Remember that feeling you get when you've entered in a sponge competition and the day is getting closer and closer but you feel terribly unprepared and you want to keep practicing for a few more weeks but it's in, like, two days so you'd better get busy making the real life one that is GOING TO BE JUDGED? I'm sure you know that feeling well.

It's been a month of highs and lows (and yes, I'm talking about the size of our sponges). There have been crusty ones, lumpy ones, solid ones and sunken ones. Wrinkly ones, holy ones, pretty ones and stuck-in-the-tin ones. Regardless of the outcome, these sponges have brought us together with friends and family and have given us the privilege of being the benefactors of some tips and tricks from our experts.

All in all we baked about ten sponges each. Here is a handy pie chart to see where they all ended up. Feel free to do the maths regarding the number of eggs we used and the time we must have spent standing around beating them.

We used Nigella's recipe, Stephanie's recipe, the Woman's Weekly recipe, the Nursing Mother's Association recipe, Marion's recipe and Roger's recipe. By the end of it we had both developed our own, so we'll add Jess's recipe and Leanne's recipe to the list. Did we find the perfect one? Not yet, but perhaps it's less about the perfect recipe, and more about the perfect relationship between the cook and the recipe. And like all good relationships, it takes commitment, patience, time and a sturdy sense of humour.

Cooking the competition sponge was a lengthy affair. We both made three attempts and it's harder than you think trying to decide which is the best. From where I was standing I could see flaws in all of them - all different, but all seemingly fatal. A massive hole in the top, torn sides, cooling rack marks, uneven tan, sinky middle - you name it, my sponges had it covered.

Cue project philosophy: leave perfection at the door and just have a go. Quit looking at shortcomings, and start looking for strengths. My competition sponge was chosen for its positive attitude and kindness towards others, as well as its mostly consistent colour on top. Jess's was chosen for its ability to work well under pressure and it's smooth, golden surface.

When I dropped them off to the Homecraft Pavilion there was a nervous, busy energy in the air and the officials had it all running like a well-oiled clock. I bid the sponges farewell as they were put into their glass display cabinet and I knew that we had done all that we could. I'm not going to lie, I was also dying to hear the inside scoop on how Roger's sponge was looking...

The verdict: There was a limited field of four sponges. Roger's was a little brown around the edges, so he was pipped at the post by mine, which achieved first place. The other two were sponges that anyone would be happy to enjoy at afternoon tea, so that's a definite win too, right? Roger was gracious in defeat and called me up to congratulate me; he had the prestige of winning Best Exhibit with his ginger fluff, so all was right with the world. Phew - his youngest granddaughter has secured her cake stand.

[JESS EDIT - LEANNE FREAKIN' WON THE COMPETITION! And to boot when I went to visit the winning sponge that was perched so elegantly behind the glass in the case everyone was talking about it.]

I'm thinking that next year we we campaign to get as many sponge entries as possible, and really give the show judges something to ponder. Who's in?

Tips from the Experts: Roger

5-time Senior Homecraft Sponge Sandwich Winner

A retired dairy farmer may seem an unlikely sponge master, but who can argue with five wins at the Bendigo Show? He's won a glass cake display stand each time, and each of the girls in his family have been given one. His youngest granddaughter is yet to get hers, so in the unlikely case that one of us beat him, we'll be giving our display plate to her.

Roger is a gentle man with a dry sense of humour; he was kind enough to cook a sponge while we took notes, but assured us that he would leave out something vital or add something in. It seems a bit cruel, but you can hardly blame him, given that we will be his (underqualified) rivals. We are left floundering about what's solid advice and what he's put in as a decoy.

Side note: Roger's wife, Glenys, is a steward at the show. With a resume this solid I don't know why they haven't gone into sponge consultancy. Glenys is an accomplished cook in her own right (toffee apples for the church fair!), but leaves the showing of sponges to Roger.

Roger's tips include:

• Separating the eggs is bullshit. (His words, not mine.)
• Warm the eggs by bathing them in hot water for a few minutes before cracking them.
• Beat the eggs on a medium speed for 18 minutes with a stand mixer.
• Use wheaten cornflour, and the brand of the ingredients is of no consequence.
• Custard powder in the recipe results in immediate dismissal by the judges.
• Measure out the cornflour then add an extra tablespoon full 'for the pot'. (What is this, a pot of tea? Oh well - who am I to argue?)
• Use a whisk to incorporate the dry ingredients. A whisk! 
• Grease tins with Copha after heating them up a little on the stove. Line the bottoms with baking paper.
• Weigh the mixture when it goes into the tins to ensure exact halves are achieved.
• Find the ideal height for the trays in your oven. Roger has them two spaces from the bottom of the oven but this will differ depending on your oven.
• Roger actively endorses tin-banging prior to putting sponges in the oven too. 
• When arranging the two sponge halves for showing, place the bottom half upside down on the plate and the top half right-way up. 

It so happens that Roger is a pretty philosophical character, and I'm glad we could spend time with him for this to surface. The take home message was that 'it doesn't pay to follow all the rules. You've got to make your own mind up.' This seems like good advice for making sponges in particular and for life in general.

The verdict: Wow. Never before have I come across a sponge with a texture this fine. It's something else entirely.

I can't wait to have a few more attempts before The Big One. I don't want to peak too early, but we have pure gold advice right here and we really want to do the competition justice. There's nothing worse than going in under-done, so to speak.

A massive thanks to Marion and Roger for welcoming us into their homes to share their tips. The cooking, the cuppas, and the chats were priceless, and it feels like the sponges are almost beside the point. We are left feeling a little bit smarter with our sponges (how can we gain in an hour and a half the wisdom these two have collected over decades?) and a big bit fuller in our hearts.

Tips from the Experts: Marion.

Adored Mum and Grandmother: Celebrated home cook. 

With a mixing spoon as worn as this, the lady must be taken seriously. Her fierce left hand can cream butter and sugar better than any machine.

Watching her bake is a joy. She's efficient, she's tidy and she doesn't bother measuring things exactly. She's so bloody clever that she doesn't need to. Mark us down as impressed.

The recipe is from a friend from a couple of decades ago and it's been making spot-on sponges regularly the whole time. It's written in her recipe notebook - so full and falling apart that only she would dare find the page it's on for fear of destroying the whole delicate, priceless artefact. The recipe doesn't mess about with melted butter or boiling water, the only flour it uses is cornflour and it requires that the cook separate the eggs.

Marion's tips for near-perfect sponges include:

• Use the biggest eggs you can buy. Grandma Carter used duck eggs, but any giant ones will do. If you're using eggs from your own chooks, give them a stern talking to about increasing their egg size.
• Make sure your eggs are room temperature, and separate them with the greatest of care. Broken yolks = unfathomable disaster.
• Beat eggs with handheld electric beaters. Standing there patiently is all a part of the ritual. Side note: the beaters are older than me, and have aged far more gracefully.
• Use a bowl with graduated sides. It's easier to fold in the flour.
• Scrape the edges and bottom of the bowl when folding in flour, and fold with a gentle and deliberate action, slowly spinning the bowl as you go.
• Weigh the two tins after dividing the mixture evenly to ensure perfectly equal halves. 
• Bang the tins a few times on the bench before putting them in the oven to remove the big bubbles.

Marion put the sponges in the oven for 15 minutes and we set about having a cup of tea. Like some sort of renegade, she opened the oven door when the timer went off, to see if they needed an extra 2 mins. After a quick and gentle prod with her forefinger it was decided they were ready. She expertly removed them from the tins onto a clean and pretty tea towel laid over the cooling rack. We promptly ate one half with our cuppa.

The verdict: feather-light and delicious with a fine, consistent texture. 

Let the Baking Begin!

Leanne's Sponge Attempt 1:

Choosing a recipe proved to be more of a gamble than an educated process. Some recipes require that you separate the eggs, others don't. Some require custard powder, others don't. Some have a little butter, others have a little boiling water. Being the beginner I am, I went straight for the recipe in the Nursing Mothers' Association of Australia Recipes For Busy Mothers book. It's a staple in my collection and always a good starting point. Add that to the fact that I am actually a nursing mother, and it seemed entirely appropriate. 

I gathered the ingredients and weighed everything out accurately. I armed myself with the electric beaters I won in a tennis tournament circa 1998, and going all out, I even preheated the oven. The only thing left to do was BAKE. 

Beat the egg whites, gradually add the sugar, add the egg yolks. Nothing too taxing there. Fold in the double sifted dry ingredients, fold in the boiling water. Here's where I panicked a little: I'm pretty sure my folding was too heavy handed and I could see a few bigger bubbles starting to get in there and the mixture lost a bit of its fluffiness. Nonetheless, I had a light, custard coloured mixture that I divided evenly into my two prepared tins, and popped into the oven. 

I set my timer for 18 minutes and sat back to do some reading. At 18 minutes (after spending 15 mins trying to find where I was up to in my novel and three minutes checking out Instagram), I committed Sponge Sin #1 and took a sneaky look at the sponges in the oven and decided that the recommended 20 mins baking time was, in fact, accurate. I left them there for another two. 

All in a flurry I removed the sponges from the oven; they were coming away from the tin at the edges, they sprang back when I pressed gently with my thumb (the thumb was specified in the recipe. I dared not risk using a forefinger), and the tops were sporting a subtle tan. 

Here's where I was working from my memories of mum baking sponges: she would get them out of the oven and, with but a blink of an eye, she would have them out of their tins, up the right way and on the cooling rack. This leads me to believe that speed here is vital. I hustled thusly, and there were my two sponges. Though far from perfect, they were sitting pretty. The next logical step was to celebrate my relative success with an afternoon glass of wine. 

Upon cutting it was observed that the texture was a bit inconsistent. There were assorted sized holes throughout, ranging from tinsy-tiny to probably-too-big-to-win-a-prize-at-the-show. The colour was a robust shade of yellow and the taste was like any other sponge your grandma ever made. I'm marking this down as a win for the Nursing Mothers' Association of Australia, and a win for sponges in general. 

So what did I learn here? I followed the recipe to the gram, so I think that ruled out the possibility of a complete failure, with the exception of burning it. The folding seems to be the trickiest part. You have to be quick, gentle and thorough, and make sure you scrape the edges of the bowl with a spatula for full incorporation of dry ingredients. Weighing out all the ingredients first and having them on guard made the process quick and streamlined. I should probably take this into the rest of my cooking life. 

When I have another go at this on another day and it turns out as well as this, I think I'll chill out regarding sponges and make them for literally every event I ever attend in the future. Getting one that's show-worthy is a-whole-nother matter though. There must be secret tricks and fancy techniques to get everything absolutely perfect.

Activate stage two of this journey: call in the experts. 

Jess's Sponge Attempt 1:

Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh DEAR. A SPONGE. Breath. Ok.

I'd gone to the mother-in-law's house to get the insider's tips on sponge. She gave me her (and I quote directly here) The-Easiest-Sponge-Ever Recipe. But I proved her wrong, yes I did. I overcooked it, it had a crust. I FREAKED OUT, y'all. I was paranoid about the sifting, I was paranoid about the beating of the eggs. The recipe said a moderate oven: I freaked out about what that was exactly. But I smothered it in cream and jam and put strawberries on top and ate it. And, no I wouldn't have won a competition with that, but it got eaten (with a very polite "oh, maybe next time just a little less cooking, but just a little otherwise it's great". It wasn't great).

The lesson: even a shit sponge will taste wicked lashed with cream and jam. And, calm the hell down and just follow the directions.

Jess's Sponge Attempt 2:

Armed with a new recipe, Stephanie Alexander's, and inspiration in the form of Leanne's glorious sponge I tried again. It's a calming process beating eggs, it a simple process with such stunning results. Success, this sponge is light, soft, fluffy and encouraging. Bring. It. On. Bendigo Show! (After a few more attempts.)

The Thing: Competition Standard Sponge Cake.

You’re at an event. A ‘bring a plate’ event. Saturday afternoon tennis. A baby shower, a kitchen tea, a 75^th Wedding anniversary. You can picture it now: plates of sandwiches, hedgehog, lemon slice, jelly slice, the box of Shapes that no one admits to bringing but everyone wants to devour…

And then, a sponge.  Dusted with icing sugar, sitting politely atop a Royal Albert cake plate. A paragon of virtue amongst mere mortal contributions.

It goes largely unspoken, but it’s widely accepted that the maker of the sponge is automatically elevated to demi-god. For those who come to an afternoon tea armed with a packet of family assorteds, the sponge maker appears to possess an enigmatic set of baking skills that mean they are capable of pretty much anything. And they are probably the type of people who clean up their cooking space as they work. Sponge Maker = Brilliant Homecrafting Superhero.

Leanne: I did make a sponge once. I have no memory of the process or the outcome, or even when this mystical event happened. I much prefer to partake in the eating of sponges that mum makes. She's a well established cook who can look after six grand children, whip up a batch of biscuits, magic up a meat pie and throw together a nutritious lamb salad for tea in the time it takes me to hang out a load of washing. 

Jess: Sponges scare me. There, I said it. They're amazing when they're good and, well, disappointing when they're average. And apparently easy to make if you ask a seasoned sponge maker. I'm not known for my baking; it can be best described as enthusiastic...

So here is the plan: we will bake a sponge with nothing but a randomly selected recipe and a strong sense of trepidation. We will then seek out an expert or two for some special coaching (think agricultural show prize-winners), and finally we'll bake a sponge to enter in the Bendigo Agricultural Show 2016 Senior Homecraft Cooking section. That's right: we will throw down our very best efforts against the most revered in the business.