Hell's Kitchen, Season 2

Virginia:
It's my coconut and pomegranate root salad.

Gordon:
And what's cooked on the plate?

Virginia:
Hmmm.... the nuts are toasted.

Gordon:
(sarcastically) The nuts are toasted?

Virginia:
Yes.

Gordon:
Well fuck me! We've toasted nuts for 29 minutes and then grated a coconut! [tastes her food] It's fine. [Virginia smiles] As far as rabbit food goes because it's all raw and crunchy.

[During prep, Tom is sweating into the boiled tomatoes]

Gordon:
Tom!

Tom:
Yes, chef?

Gordon:
You're sweating in the fucking food! We're in danger of being closed down before we even open. Get it in the bin and start again.

Man:
[comes up to the hotplate] Gordon?

Gordon:
Let me just serve this table.

Man:
Why is there no pumpkin in my risotto?

Gordon:
Right, can you get out of the way? One spaghetti, one risotto.

Man:
I want the next pumpkin risotto.

Gordon:
Oh? Are you always going to be that rude and interrupt when I'm trying to talk?

Man:
I just want more pumpkin, that's all I want.

Gordon:
Right, well I'll give you more pumpkin and I'll ram it right up your fucking ass. Would you like it whole or diced? Can we get security and get Knob back to the seat please, yes?

Man:
I just want pumpkin.

Gordon:
This has been open for an hour and a half. We have served fucking zero.

Polly:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
I've put more food in the bin tonight than I've ever seen in ten years!

[With Polly on appetizers, nothing has come out of the red kitchen in 90 minutes. Heather is now on appetizers and has brought them to the pass.]

Gordon:
Service, please.

Sara:
Yay!!! [Heather tries to shush Sara] Sorry. Sorry.

Gordon:
What's going on?

Heather:
Nothing, chef. Nothing chef.

Gordon:
Who's shouting and screaming? Hey, Sara, let me just tell you something. You're not a fucking cheerleader so stop acting like one. Because we have nothing to fucking smile about. And listen, ladies, that has been one hour and forty minutes for four starters. And personally, I wouldn't laugh, or scream, or start wetting your knickers, because that is fucking embarrassing.

Heather:
Yes, chef.

Sara:
(interview) Nobody deserved to be shouted at. I feel like a little worm on a big fucking hook right now!

Gordon:
Just take one good look at yourselves in the mirror, 'cause it's a fucking disgrace!

Virginia:
What do you guy think we should do about the sauce?

Rachel:
What have you got?

Virginia:
I have a whole bunch of lamb stock and...

Maryann:
This is veal stock! This isn't lamb stock, this is veal stock. There's no way in hell we can pass this off as fucking lamb sauce.

Virginia:
(interview) I was totally desperate. Desperate enough to go over to the other team and ask them for some lamb stock. [crosses into the blue kitchen and goes over to Giacomo] May I have some lamb stock, please?

Giacomo:
I don't think so.

Keith:
[laughs] No way! Get out!

Virginia:
Please, you guys?

Keith:
No way.

Virginia:
You guys don't want to share any with me? You guys don't know if you might need something in the future.

Keith:
I don't give a fuck.

Virginia:
(interview) It was horrible. It was horrible. No matter what I did, something was messed up.

Gordon:
We are so fucked it's unbelievable.

Customers:
[chanting] I WANT MY FOOD! I WANT MY FOOD! WE WANT OUR FOOD! WE WANT OUR FOOD!

Gordon:
Listen to that shit! (to Jean-Philippe) I can't take it anymore. Shut it down. (to both teams) Stop! Turn it off!

Gordon:
(to the Blue Team) Okay, listen up, here we go. On order, two covers table 24. Appetisers: one spaghetti, one Salad Saint-Jacques. Entrées: one duck, one chicken. Let's go, all together.

Tom:
Would you please repeat it chef?

Gordon:
Move your fat ass, and read it yourself, okay?

Tom:
Fair enough, chef.

Gordon:
Four minutes to the window, one spaghetti, one Salad of Saint-Jacques.

Gabe:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Four minutes?

Gabe:
We need two quails, chef, with that?

Gordon:
Two quail? Gabe--

Gabe:
No, no, I know chef--

Gordon:
Sh--shut the fuck up...

Gabe:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Would you [voice cracks] MIND not being so rude?!

Gabe:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
There's quail nowhere on that ticket!

Gabe:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Just listen!

Gabe:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
Concentrate!

Gabe:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
4 minutes to the window!

Gabe:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
One spaghetti of lobster -

Gabe:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
- one scallops!

Gabe:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
Now, would you like me to fucking e-mail that to your BlackBerry?

Gabe:
No, chef.

Gordon:
MOVE YOUR ARSE.

Gabe:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
(to Maribel, after she spilled the spaghetti) Right now, here's what I suggest you do: buy a restaurant and put one table in there. Any more than that, you'd be fucked!

Gordon:
One duck and one chicken!

Tom:
I have a duck and a chicken ready for it's sides.

Gordon:
(to Giacomo) And taste that. Taste that there. Just taste that. Why has he fried the cabbage?

Scott Leibfried:
I don't know chef.

Gordon:
It's like glue! Is that what you want to do is to start sneaking things in there?

Giacomo:
No chef.

Gordon:
So, you agree it tastes like shit.

Giacomo Yes sir, and I still served it.

Gordon:
You still served it?

Giacomo:
Sorry, chef.

Gordon:
Hey, hey, and you want a restaurant in Vegas?

Giacomo:
A lot of work to do chef.

Gordon:
Hey, why don't you become a hairdresser? Poncing around with women's hair?

Man:
All I want to know is we're going to eat tonight or not.

Gordon:
Honestly, for the first time in my fucking cooking career, yeah? I'm in a kitchen with muppets. Thank you, sir.

[the customers have left Hell's Kitchen]

Gordon:
Ladies, just come here. Just stand there and tell what you see in the dining room. [crosses over to the blue kitchen] Hey, you, hello? Gabe. You, (to Tom) Sinbad. Shut it. (to Giacomo) Mop-head, hello? Just come here all four of you. Just stand there and tell what you see in the dining room. Right in front of your very own eyes, a death of a restaurant. [cuts to the empty dining room] Pathetic. Shut it down!

[In the challenge. The blue team has three dishes while the red team only has two.]

Gordon:
So, blue team. Tortellinis, but sadly, no sauce.

Tom:
[slouching against the counter] May I speak?

Gordon:
No tortellinis...

Tom:
May I speak?

Gordon:
...from the red team. (to Tom) May you speak? May you stand up straight and stop acting like a slob?

Tom:
Well I'm trying... no, I need to-

Gordon:
No no - cut the fucking bullshit, will you? Just stand up straight, at least look like a fucking cook!

Tom:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
[mocks Tom] Do I slouch and slob and talk like this like some big fat fucking slob?

Tom:
(interview) Who do you think you're talking to? He doesn't want to get into a street fight with me. Trust me.

Giacomo:
Chef Scott, this oven is cold. It's coming out cold.

Scott:
What, you're just noticing this now?

Giacomo:
No, I noticed it earlier.

Scott:
Dude, you don't have the fuckin' gas on, stupid!

Gordon:
Why is the oven not on? Hello, dirtbrain? Why is the oven not on?!

Giacomo:
I'm not sure, chef.

Gordon:
You're not sure. YOU DONKEY!

Gordon:
You've stopped caring now. I can see it in your attitude.

Tom:
No, I haven't.

Gordon:
Yes, you fucking have. You stopped caring now. What do you care about?

Tom:
I care about making an ass of myself right now.

Gordon:
Really? Hey, congratulations. Exactly what you're just doing.

[A red table has walked out after waiting two hours for wellingtons]

Gordon:
Missy.

Maribel:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Table has walked out. And the sad thing about it: you've given up so FUCKING easily because you don't give a SHIT! [kicks the bins] SHIT!! (to the red team) Switch everything off, yeah?

Sara:
Yes, chef.

[customers are leaving Hell's Kitchen]

Lady:
Alright, well thank you.

Man:
Yeah, thanks for nothing.

Gordon:
Everyone, shut the kitchen down.

Gordon:
(to Garrett) There's not even an ounce of salt in there. Are you serious? We can't send any food, Garrett... GARRETT... Unless we've tasted anything. If you haven't tasted your own fucking food, what chance have you got!?

Garrett:
None.

Gordon:
I'd rather fuck off for a burger!

Gordon:
(on Maribel's potatoes) Maribel, what is that?

Maribel:
It's mashed potatoes, chef.

Gordon:
Tell me why is it gone like glue? Missy, I'd get some fresh ones if I was you.

Maribel:
(to her team mates) Do we have any more potatoes, guys?

Gordon:
Oh, dear. You know what? If that's the last thing in this country to eat, I'd fucking starve.

Gordon:
(to Tom) This order here is 7:35. Hello? Stop! Hey, lis--Stop! Come here, you... you idiot. Now I've FUCKING HAD ENOUGH! What I'm trying to tell you in your fucking eyeball, is that the quail in the spaghetti now, and you're putting the quail in.

Tom:
No, I have the ones there.

Gordon:
THAT'S FOR THAT FUCKING ORDER THERE!!! [pounds the counter; the restaurant falls completely silent, except for some ambience in the background.] You're not bothered, are you? It doesn't hurt, does it? [stutters, points to his heart] There's nothing here.

Tom:
No, it does. I can't yell. I can't cry. All I have to do is do it. [Tom's meat pan catches fire and Tom starts blowing it.]

Gordon:
Oh, my God. [Gordon visibly gets even more stressed.] THE DUCK'S BURNT!! YOU'RE COOKING IN A BURNT PAN, YOU FUCKING DICK!! [Tom keeps blowing the fire and it gets bigger] Oh, my God, leave it! Leave it! LEAVE IT!! JUST FUCKING LEAVE IT!! [places the pan off the burner and the fire goes out] You're going to blow fire in your face, you fucking DONKEY!!! Keith.

Keith:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Get on the meat section, and stand next to him, and don't let him cook a FUCKING thing! And you (Tom), open those big eyes and watch what the fuck this guy's doing.

Tom:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Shut it and watch!

Tom:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
SHUT IT!!!

Tom:
I'm waiting on--

Gordon:
SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU!! YOU DONKEY!!!

Gordon:
Missy.

Rachel:
Yes, chef?

Gordon:
Why are you glazing it with butter and not egg wash?

Rachel:
It was egg wash, sir.

Gordon:
What's that in there?

Rachel:
That's egg.

Gordon:
Egg yolk or egg white?

Rachel:
Egg white?

Gordon:
Oh, no. Have they all been glazed all night with egg white?

Rachel:
Wrong thing evidently.

Gordon:
Oh, no. Why are wellingtons going in now?

Virginia:
We ran out, chef.

Gordon:
You ran out?

Virginia:
Yes.

Gordon:
Oh, fuck me... ladies, I personally don't want to do this anymore. (to Rachel) I'm fed up with your shit, (to Maribel) I'm fed up with your shit. (to Virginia) You've been a fucking letdown the minute you started cooking.

Virginia:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Then you LIED to me that the turbot's en route, when she (Sara) hasn't even got it out of the FUCKING fridge! Do you want to continue like this?

Virginia:
No, chef.

Gordon:
Fuck the lot of you, is that clear?

Red Team:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
Fuck the lot of you!

Rachel:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
[pounds the counter] You! Come here, you. (to Keith) Fat fuck. (to Tom) Hey, doughnut. Come here, you. Hey, ladies, come here. Let me tell you something, [takes off his apron and throws it at Tom] Here you go! [throws his towel at Tom] Here you go! I've had enough. I've had ENOUGH! I cannot believe you're actually attempting to fucking win a restaurant! Get back in your fucking dorms, and alone. By the time you get back in here, from the blue team, nominate someone that's going tonight. And from the red team, come back with someone that's leaving. NOW GET OUT! OUT! LEAVE THE STOVES!

Lady:
I don't think we're getting dessert.

Narrator:
Chef Ramsey is giving the red team some polite words of engorgement.

Gordon:
(To the Red Team) Please, please, please, please, please, please, please move your asses!!

[Gordon checks the quail brought up by Rachel]

Gordon:
Oh, no. No, no, no. Rachel!

Rachel:
Yes, chef?

Gordon:
Come here, you. Come here. No, fuck it. All of you, come here right now. [pounds the counter] And eat. Eat that. Eat it. I'm, I'm, I'm--I'm dying to understand what's going through your FUCKING MIND! Now, what do you think of the quail?

Sara:
It's overcooked. Little too much production on the sauce chef and you can see bones.

Gordon:
What's your verdict?

Maribel:
It's dry and tastes a little burned.

Gordon:
Yeah, it's shit! A little burned?! Fuck me! Do you need some glasses? (to Jean-Philippe) Ask one of the customers for his fucking glasses. There, table seven, he's got them (to Rachel) And what's in it for you?

Rachel:
It's overcooked.

Gordon:
Pssss...fuck off will you?

Virginia:
All right, let's do it again guys, come on. [Jean-Philippe returns with a pair of glasses]

Gordon:
There they are. There's the gentleman's glasses. I'm serious now! Does anyone need a pair of glasses? Fuck off, Jean-Philippe. Did you really think I was going to go out there with the quail, burned to a cinder? (Rachel doesn't answer) Did you really think I was going to send that? I need to know in your mind. Did you actually think I was going to serve that? (still no answer) Come here, you, come here. [leads Rachel into the pantry] What the fuck are you doing? Do you want to go home?

Rachel:
Ahem.

Gordon:
No, no, tell me now!

Rachel:
I will not let you down tonight.

Gordon:
You already have! I want to pull it back!

Rachel:
I will get you through entrées.

Gordon:
I know damn well you can do it. I can see it in your eyes. I can identify with the hunger but right now, missy, there's just a blonde empty fucking head.

Rachel:
I won't let you down.

Gordon:
Get it together, communicate, open up and start talking to me. Now move!

Rachel:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
This is your time now to step up and get your team together.

Keith:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Those two, yeah? Are cooking like donkeys. Come on! Donkey's Kitchen, should we change the fucking logo? D.K.?

Garrett:
No, chef.

Gordon:
Come on, Garrett! Keith and Garrett! You just got all quiet! None of you are working as a team! Where's the lamb SAUCE?!

Heather:
Come on, man!

Garrett:
I just need a--

Gordon:
WHERE'S THE LAMB SAUCE?!

Heather:
Right here, chef.

Garrett:
Lamb sauce is coming up.

Gordon:
There's just nothing coming together!

Garrett:
Right here, chef.

Gordon:
Thank you very much.

Garrett:
Not a problem, chef.

Gordon:
Oh, fuck off, you fat useless sack of fucking yankee-danky-doodle shite. Fuck off, will you please, yeah?

[Gordon checks on wellingtons brought up by Rachel]

Gordon:
(to Maryann) How's it cooked?

Maryann:
It was cold.

Gordon:
Uhm, Rachel, come here.

Rachel:
Yes, chef?

Gordon:
Just touch that. What's the lamb?

Rachel:
It's well done.

Gordon:
It's requested pink. That's cooked to fuck! [pounds the counter] It's barely edible!! [sits down] Aw, for God's sake!

Rachel:
Rachel, this is pitiful. Rachel, you suck.

Gordon:
(to Rachel) Stop right there. I'm going to put you out of your misery. Switch it off. [crosses over to the blue kitchen] Just stop. Shut it down!

Heather:
Yes, chef.

Narrator:
Although dinner service is finished, Chef Ramsay is not finished with one of the chefs.

Gordon:
(to Keith) You've got that spoiled brat syndrome. That huffy puffy, turn your eyes, fold your arms and you don't even look at me in the eyes.

Keith:
I didn't mean that, chef.

Gordon:
Deep down inside, you've got a big amount of talent there, you know that. But my biggest problem is no one's noticed it properly. Has anyone ever told you how good you could be?

Keith:
No, chef.

Gordon:
You can cook, big man, you know that. The first hour and a half of service, you were running it. Then you made one stupid mistake. The quicker you get rid of the attitude, you're going to shine.

Keith:
Yes, chef.

Heather:
(referring to herself, Keith and Garrett) We're going to be the final three.

[While unloading ice from a truck]

Keith:
Heather is one tough bitch!

Heather:
I'm the toughest bitch there is.

Heather:
I was sweating like Tom today.

[Gordon and the red team walk into Nick & Stef's Steakhouse]

Gordon:
So this place is renowned for its steaks.

Narrator:
Now the red team has moved onto entrées at another Hollywood hot spot.

Maribel:
Nice and private, very nice.

Narrator:
And Virginia has an important question for the owner...

Virginia:
What's the one key thing that you can honestly say? I'm saying like right when you think of it. What can you tell me here right now? I'm saying like...

Narrator:
...if only she could ask it.

Virginia:
...What have you learned now that you didn't know then when you opened up a place?

Joachim Splichal:
You need consistency. That's it. Consistency.

Virginia:
I just find it very, I love the fact that you grew so quickly. I mean that's so...

Sara:
(interview) We were like "Shut up! Shut up!" At what point is Virginia not fake?

Virginia:
...so on and so forth. But, you know anyway...

Maribel:
(interview) "Blah. blah. blah. Yadda. Yadda." Virginia, she annoys me.

[The chefs meet in front of Chef Ramsay]

Gordon:
Garrett, yesterday when I went out with the girls, you... gave me this (the finger). Right now big boy, you've got nothing to be brash, cocky or show such attitude over. Do you want to go?

Garrett:
No.

Gordon:
I never, ever want to see this in front of my face again. Let's get that clear.

Narrator:
The red team has moved on to entrées and Sara has brought her lamb...

[Sara delivers her lamb to the pass, Gordon checks it]

Gordon:
What's that?

Narrator:
...to the slaughter.

Gordon:
What the fuck is that? Missy (Sara), Just what are you doing with the lamb?

Sara:
I'm learning, chef.

Gordon:
You're learning?

Sara:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
What do you mean you're learning?

[flashback to when the red team creates their own menu]

Gordon:
Sara! What is going on? Are you... fucking blind?

Sara:
No, chef.

Gordon:
What is that? In your-- What are-- I don't know what the fuck you're doing!

Sara:
Me neither, chef.

Gordon:
That is not going anywhere, missy!

Sara:
Okay.

Gordon:
Except in the fucking bin!!

[Gordon asks for Sara's lamb in the red kitchen]

Gordon:
Where is the lamb?

Sara:
It's working, chef.

Gordon:
I'm about to send the third table of entrées from the blue team and I still haven't got the lamb out from the red team!

Sara:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
Now it's turning into a fucking big embarrassment!!!

Sara:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
And I'm gonna kick you out any minute now, unless you get me a fucking lamb!!!

Sara:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
Sara! Come here, missy!

Sara:
Yes, chef?

Gordon:
I don't know if you're colour-blind or you've got a problem with your fucking contact lenses, that is blood. Look, it's blood! They want it medium, it's still fucking rare! [pounds the counter]

Sara:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
There's blood everywhere! We still haven't sent an entrée from the red team.

Sara:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
(to Jean-Philippe at the pass) Take the lamb off the menu. Stop it! I don't give a flying FUCK! (to Sara) You! Don't DARE cook any more lamb: Jean-Philippe has taken so much flak on the back of your inconsistency!

Sara:
Hmm.

Gordon:
If you're going to grill a salmon Sara, you don't tie it and fucking stuff it together. That is the third dish from the red team that is totally impractical. Can we just cut the salmon into a slice without fucking around?

Sara:
Yeah. Consistency?

Gordon:
Don't fucking dare! Don't fucking dare!! Missy, missy, come here you fat mouthed little stupid bitch!

Sara:
Yes, chef?

Gordon:
You're pissing around with something that's not working! Has that fucking clicked?

Sara:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
IT'S FUCKING RARE!! Just stop! [calls the blue team who have just completed their service] Blue team, come here! All of you! I'm so fucking determined to have a successful completed service. I've got 11 tables waiting for main courses from the red team! You (the blue team) get on the sections and work together!

Sara:
Thank you, chef.

Gordon:
I personally don't want to stick around for pretty more shit. [exits the kitchen in disgust] A fucking embarrassment.

Heather:
You've got to watch your scallops.

Sara:
Thank you, Heather. I've got it.

Gordon:
Missy.

Sara:
Yes, chef?

Gordon:
If you sauté scallops in a non-stick pan, they won't stick! That's why it's called FUCKING NON-STIIIIICK! [Gordon's voice goes falsetto on "STICK"] I don't know what non-stick means in Texas, sweetheart, but FUCK ME!

Sara:
Yes, chef!

Narrator:
Hoping to satisfy Chef Ramsay, Garrett rushes his chicken to the pass.

Gordon:
Garrett, the chicken is raw!

Garrett:
Yes, chef.

Gordon:
You're going to kill someone!

Narrator:
Garrett has just brought a dish to the pass that is not only inedible but downright dangerous.

Gordon:
You knew it's raw!

Garrett:
I'm doing it because it's faster chef. It's the only reason.

Gordon:
Faster?! You've always got a fucking answer for everything!

Garrett:
I'm just trying to--

Gordon:
SHUT IT! YOU SHOULDN'T BE IN WHITE!!

Lady:
Excuse me, Mr. Ramsay.

Gordon:
Yeah, just wait I'll be thirty seconds right now.

Lady:
Uh... Excuse me.

Gordon:
I just asked for thirty seconds, will you just be so kind, I'm in the middle of serving a table. Service!

Lady:
How long do you think it might be?

Gordon:
Would you mind taking your breasts off my hotplate? Look at that. How will I serve food with those fucking things there?

Lady:
Fuck you. [she flips a plate full of food on the tray and storms off]

Gordon:
Security, please!

Gordon:
(to Sara) Missy, how many scallops are you serving per portion?

Sara:
Five each.

Gordon:
Are they small, big or massive?

Sara:
They're medium.

Gordon:
They're medium? Missy, [in a fast tone; gives her a towel] clean your fucking glasses, I'll ask you quickly, yeah? Yeah, let's do it this way. CLEAN YOUR FUCKING GLASSES!!

Sara:
Alright, chef. [wipes her glasses]

Gordon:
Carrots!

Garrett:
Yes, chef!

Gordon:
"Carrots" I said, not "Garrett".

Gordon:
Virginia, what are you doing?

Virginia:
I'm plating, I'm getting the tortellini, chef.

Gordon:
There's not a tortellini on the order.

Virginia:
But there's tortellini, chef.

Gordon:
Listen, you stupid fucking fat-mouth bitch! Bring me your ticket here, bring it here! And read it out-- Come here!

Virginia:
You're right, chef.

Gordon:
Now, will you fucking SHUT UP! [throws the ticket at the counter] YOU JUST TALK CRAP! [repeatedly pounds the counter] FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!

Gordon:
Where's that Belgian?

Jean-Philippe:
I would like to sit around with you, and stay with you, but I can't. [backs to the pass] Chef!

Gordon:
What are you trying to do, lose your virginity? [Jean-Philippe takes a look at Gordon, then returns to his station]

Gordon:
Let's go, three salmon, one turbot.

Sara:
Heather?

Heather:
What?

Sara:
Is there any salmon left in the house?

Gordon:
What's going on? What's going on?

Sara:
Chef, I--

Gordon:
What? Come here you! Tell me! I'm the fucking chef!!

Sara:
Yes, chef. I don't have enough salmon to get through the night.

Gordon:
You're not serious, are you?

Sara:
I am serious chef.

Gordon:
Hey, I'd fuck off and go and buy some if I were you.

Sara:
May I substitute using turbot?

Gordon:
Why don't you check with the maître d'? Can we serve turbot in place of the salmon?

Jean-Phillippe:
On which table?

Gordon:
Table 20. Please? Thank you. (to Sara) Hey, you, fuck off, will you? You useless cow.

Sara:
Turbot's in here. Sorry chef.

Gordon:
You know missy, you're finished aren't you?

Sara:
No, chef, come on!

Gordon:
Hey, what do you mean come on? I want you to come on! I want you to wake up!

Sara:
Chef, I told you and they're resolving it now and all I can do is give you the turbot. I have the salmon in the fridge and there's only 2!

Gordon:
That's right! And whose fucking fault was it?! Don't get fucking upset with me in my fucking kitchen when you're standing there sulking because you fucked the salmon!

Sara:
I'm not sulking chef.

Gordon:
Yeah, you're finished. Heather, get on the fish please and do something for her yeah?

Sara:
No, chef.

Gordon:
So wake up and get it back together!

Sara:
I don't need to be replaced chef!

Gordon:
Then tell her then.

Sara:
I don't need to be replaced.

Gordon:
There you go.

Sara:
(interview) I screwed up one fucking table with one fucking salmon. I wasn't beat. Don't get up all about my crotch about shit.

Gordon:
Virginia, you won the challenge. I guaranteed you a place in the final three. If you want to go, that is your choice. If you decide to stay, I'll send Sara home.

Virginia:
I understand what you're telling me that I want to be in the final three because I deserve to be in the final three, not because you're a man of your word. Not because of a friggin challenge. I want to be there because I deserve to be.

Gordon:
I can't help you anymore. This is entirely your decision.

Sara:
Can I ask a question chef?

Gordon:
Shut the fuck up for 30 seconds.

[Virginia and Keith are nominated for elimination while Heather is advancing to the final round.]

Gordon:
This...is quite possibly the toughest decision I've had to make. The person leaving Hell's Kitchen tonight and will not be advancing to the final two is........ Keith. What I am looking for is a leader. And personally big boy, you're not ready. Give me your jacket.

Keith:
[gives Gordon his jacket] So you're saying that Virginia's a better leader than me? I've been leading the whole time. Whatever station you told me, through the line with people that didn't know anything.

Gordon:
I personally don't think you're ready to lead.

Keith:
I personally think that you have a hard-on for Virginia.

Gordon:
Why did you have to be so fucking rude?

Keith:
Because you're rude to me all the time.

Gordon:
So? Now I definitely know I've made the right decision. So your attitude does stink.