Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares, Series Four

Gordon:
(narration) Sentimental old actor Allan Love's posh seafood restaurant is about to fold. And he's harboring a dark secret.

Jamie:
(interview) One would think that if you open a seafood restaurant, you'd actually like to eat seafood...

Allan:
I have a bit of an aversion to fish. Just because I had a bone in my throat for three days, and I had a real problem with it; and if I get a bone, I get physically sick.

Gordon:
How old were you when you got the bone stuck in your throat?

Allan:
[chuckles] Oh, only about five.

Gordon:
Five? And how old are you now?

Allan:
Sixty-nine.

Gordon:
[Looks uneasy] Sixty?

Gordon:
How long can you both continue taking the piss out of him? That guy burst into tears in the bar. I don't know if you realise how fragile he is right now. He looks like a guy who's about to fuck off to Brighton Pier and jump off the end.

Gordon:
You can't cook in this. I can't even attempt to start thinking of a new menu. The only thing to do now is condemn the fucking kitchen.

[Gordon starts wrapping the kitchen equipment in construction tape.]

Gordon:
Fucking disgusting! Shut it down. No way anything is going to be cooked here. Dirty, lazy, fucking pigs.

[With the equipment completely wrapped up, Gordon leaves the kitchen.]

Gordon:
Carvery? My fucking arse. I'm covering my arse.

[Ahead of the first dinner with the revamped menu; John Hind, the Bishop of Sussex is arriving with his guests.]

Gordon:
(narration) I've invited the Bishop of Sussex to head up a VIP table of fellow clergymen. If the kitchen stuffs up, at least they'll grant forgiveness.

[The clergymen arrive at the kitchen.]

Gordon:
I've asked them to bless this kitchen, and pray that we never see a broccoli soup made last week anywhere near the building.

Rev Hind:
Heavenly Father, we thank You for the gift of food, to delight us and to feed us, and we ask for Your blessing upon this kitchen and these guys working here. Give them serenity, in the pressures that they are under, and give a special blessing to Gordon; we know he needs it. We bless this kitchen in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

[The night has gone badly wrong, with head chef Toby having just returned after briefly abandoning the kitchen.]

Scott:
There's thirty people out there who do not want to pay for their dinner!

Toby:
Well, I fucked up that one. What do you want me to say?

Scott:
We're talking thirty out of fifty - we're talking thirty out of sixty. That's what I've got up there, telling me they're not going to pay for their dinner! Thirty people.

Gordon:
Ask the bishop to take the place over and help. Get him to hold a service here on Sunday. It'd be more fucking successful.

Gordon:
Try not to throw it on, yeah? We're fucking cooking, we're not playing darts.

Gordon:
[To Toby, after service] Tonight's been a fucking disaster. That was bad! Watching the first fucking fifteen minutes, and the way you organise your kitchen; as far as I'm concerned at midnight, now, mate, you're not capable of running a fucking bath.

Gordon:
What dish would you like to recommend for lunch?

Daniel:
Une lasagne aux pistaches. (A lasagna with pistachios.)

Rachel:
Yes, absolutely delicious, it's not on the menu at the moment.

Gordon:
Is this... is this normal?

Rachel:
Well, yes!

Gordon (narration):
Welcome to the mad-house.

Gordon:
So we've got a pistachio nut, a walnut, and now a Brazilian nut! Classic...

Gordon (narration):
[Talking about Daniel]: Almost 20 minutes later, he's still fiddling with the salads.

Rachel:
Tu dépêches même pas, quoi! Fais un p'tit peu plus vite, s'il te plaît, pour moi! Parce que sinon, les clients vont partir, et moi, je perde l'argent! (You're not even hurrying up. Try and be quicker for me, please! Otherwise, the customers will leave and I will lose money!)

Gordon:
Is this how he normally functions?

Stephanie:
I would say so.

Daniel:
'Parce que vous êtes la. (It's because you are here.)

Gordon:
Donc, c'est de ma faute, alors? (So, it's my fault, then?)

Daniel:
Bien sûr! (Of course!)

Gordon:
Arrête tes conneries! (Stop your bullshit!)

Gordon:
[Upon seeing Daniel burning the potatoes] It's burning!

Daniel:
Non. Vous ne devrais pas essayer de m'aider. (No. You shouldn't try and help me.)

Gordon:
It's burning! Changez, changez! (Change it, change it!) It's burned!

Daniel:
Non, non, je ne le veux pas changer! (No, no, I don't want to change it!)

Gordon:
C'est brûlé! (It's burned!)

Daniel:
Je le sais, je le sais! (I know that!)

Gordon:
Rach [Rachel], the pan here's burning, I'm trying to change the pan for him, and he's just telling me, "Leave it there".

Rachel:
Il dit que ça brûle. La casserole brûle. (He says that it's burning. The pan is burning.)

Daniel:
Ça brûle, c'est normale! (It's burning. That's normal!)

Rachel:
Pourquoi c'est normale, pourquoi c'est normale? Explique-moi pourquoi c'est normale! (Why is it normal? Explain to me how it's normal!)

Gordon (narration):
Daniel is clearly hard to handle, but Rachel is the boss.

Gordon:
You're alright?

Rachel:
Uh, no, I'm not alright. I'm really fucking pissed off. In three fucking hours he could've made a fucking dish for two, and he's fucking doing it on purpose. He should be fucking ashamed. I'm ashamed, I fucking...

Gordon:
This guy is killing your business. This guy is killing your business. This is so sad, you know that?

Rachel:
He needs to get his fucking act going, he needs to do something, because we're going to fucking fall out, big time. Anyway, I'm going inside to see what's going on.

[Gordon meets the chefs after having lunch.]

Gordon:
I had lunch with Nigel. Sadly, very disappointing.

Martin:
In which way?

Gordon:
I just found it old fashioned, very boring and when you say "modern British", where was the beef from?

Martin:
Where's the beef from? It's not British.

Gordon:
The steak was cooked nicely. Pink, it didn't need all the gunk around there.

[The sous chefs, Paul and Pete, start laughing behind Martin's back.]

Martin:
It was the shark that you came for?

Gordon:
It was watery and overcooked. Where do you actually buy it?

Martin:
It was in the Indian Ocean, I believe.

Gordon:
And you buy it - (sees Paul and Pete laughing and hunched over) Guys, do you want to listen?

Pete:
Yeah, we're listening.

Martin:
Yeah, show some respect.

Gordon:
Or are you just going to stand there and piss your pants? I'm trying to have a chat, but it's very rude.

Martin:
Sorry, Gordon. Pete, show some fucking respect.

Pete:
Sorry, Gordon, carry on.

Gordon:
You can't stand up, or...? (Pete stands up straight) What I'm trying to get through is modern British. It's hard to identify anything that's modern British. So, I'm here to help.

Martin:
Okay.

Gordon:
This man [Nigel] hasn't even understood that yet. I didn't enjoy my lunch. It doesn't need to be that fancy.

Martin:
It's pretty evident.

Gordon:
And it is on the verge of being pretentious; too much style and insufficient flavour. (Interview) The Granary, it's an amazing location but everything about it is fucking wrong. The teenage bozos, they're so full of themselves, it's fucking embarrassing. The decor's flash and pretentious, and the food, well, it can't be any more further away from modern British. No wonder the fucking locals aren't coming.

Nigel:
We've never had a night like this before!

Gordon:
Why are you shouting?

Nigel:
Why have you done this to us!?

Gordon:
Why have I...what!?

Nigel:
Why did you do this to us? We've never had a night like this! Never, since we've opened!

Gordon:
Don't be so ridiculous, will you? Shit food; fucking red mullet, frozen from Thailand; the fact that we're not performing; the service is all over the place; the customers are fucking complaining...

Nigel:
90 people, without giving us any notice.

Gordon:
There's still 50 that haven't even been fucking served, so why are you blaming me for this?

Gordon:
You're a weak man.

Nigel:
Oh, fuck off, Gordon! I'm not a weak man.

Gordon:
Why don't you open your eyes, get your head out of your arse, and try to look at your business objectively? (Outside) They clearly can't cook the existing menu, they're struggling. There's nearly 60 customers still on the board. They've barely cooked 25 to 30 main courses. And, all of a sudden, I'm to blame because they're busy and they're not handling it.

Gordon:
When was the last time you trained a waitress?

Nigel:
I've got to look after my customers. This is nonsense. Right? I've told him what happens. I told him what fucking happens.

Gordon:
Talk to me!

Nigel:
Why? Because you don't listen! I'm in denial! I do this all the time. This is how I run my fucking restaurant! It's not true!

Gordon:
That's why you're in this shit, you fucking fat idiot!

Nigel:
No, it's not! Don't call me fat, you are a twat! Do you know that?

Gordon:
You stupid joke of an idiot! You're in denial!

Nigel:
You stupid fucking silly-looking cunt!

Gordon:
This is how you run your business?

Nigel:
You're a fucking knob! Fuck off!

Gordon:
Oh, you walk away now.

Nigel:
Go and talk to the customers! Go and talk to the fucking regulars out there! See if they've ever seen a service like this!

Gordon:
And what are they going to say to me?

Nigel:
Go and ask a regular!

Gordon:
That you're the best host in fucking Hampshire?

Nigel:
Probably, some of them.

Gordon:
Are you that fucking blind?

[right before dinner service]

Gordon:
[sees Pete snickering] Okay, what's funny, Pete?

Pete:
Nothing.

Gordon:
Go on, share the joke. Go on.

Pete:
It's just...

Gordon:
You may be eighteen years of age, but you're still fucking old enough to get kicked out. Okay?

Pete:
Yeah.

Gordon:
So fucking calm down, yeah? Show a little bit of fucking respect, yeah? And let your cooking do the talking.

Gordon:
(voiceover) Martin isn't directing his chefs. I've got to step in.

Gordon:
Come on, Paul, help him put them on the plate as well. Talk to me. When I tell you you've gone flat as a pancake, I really mean it. The customers are backing up, we're in the shit and...

Martin:
There's too many hot starters, Gordon.

Gordon:
Oh, come on! Don't give me that limp excuse. There's a fishcake and mushrooms on toast. The soup's in the container.

Martin:
But they've ordered eight of them.

[Paul starts barking at Gordon]

Gordon:
Can you shut up a minute? Yes?

Martin:
They're not ordering any...

Paul:
You're not helping us, you're giving us all this!

Gordon:
Sorry?

Paul:
You're not helping us!

Gordon:
Say that again?

Paul:
Ah, fuck off!

Gordon:
Did you just tell me to fuck off? Is that the thanks I get? Listen, let me just tell you something to your face. I know you think it's cocky and smart and fucking hard.

Paul:
No, it's not that.

Gordon:
Hey, I'm talking to Martin and you shout over me and you're saying "Well, I'm all the way over here shouting." You've got a lot to learn. This is what happens when a kitchen's not committed. A chef who tells me that two hot starters is too much. One fish cake to reheat, mushrooms on toast, and the chippy little (BEEP) in the corner shouting his mouth off. You'd think someone would show a little bit more balls than that, wouldn't you?

Gordon:
(narration) Let’s see what this ex-trucker can do. [At the entrance, reading the menu] An eating experience you must try. Steaks, local produce, chicken dishes, duck, lamb shanks. Oh, lovely. All food is freshly cooked. Fuck me. [Enters the restaurant] Hello.

Michelle:
Hello. Michelle. Pleasure to meet you.

Gordon:
Michelle, nice to see you. Your blouse matches the wallpaper. I feel like I'm tripping out. Never touched the stuff, but I feel like I've just swallowed an E. Holy crap. (Narration) Compared to the hideous wallpaper, the menu is very attractive. Simple, freshly cooked food. On paper, it looks delicious.

Mick:
(In the kitchen) Orange squash, spoonful of gravy. Rich and meaty, it's called, yeah. A lot of them say it’s the best they've had. So it can’t be that bad, can it?

Gordon:
(Narration) First up: Mick’s house special, duck with orange sauce. (In the dining room) Yikes. Ooh-la-la.

Michelle:
There's your potatoes. I’ll just get the vegetables for you.

Gordon:
Jesus Christ. Fuck me, do I need sunglasses? What is that sauce?

Michelle:
That thing? Maybe it’s the orange squash he uses.

Gordon:
(Narration) Did she really say, "orange squash"? (Back in the dining room) It looks like someone has dropped a fucking lemon tart on my plate. [Samples the duck.]

Michelle:
It gives it colour.

Gordon:
[Spits the duck out] Fuck me. Worse than fucking Benylin.

Gordon:
Is it local lamb?

Michelle:
They're- the're actually vacuum packed ones. Uh, actually, they can last for about a year.

Gordon:
Just say that again?!

Michelle:
The- they're bought in, they're vacuum packed; the lamb shanks, and they've actually got a life shelf of about a year, and they don't have to be kept refrigerated.

Gordon:
Holy fuck.

Michelle:
Yeah...

[Gordon calls out Mick on the duck with orange sauce.]

Gordon:
So it's all about the duck?

Mo:
Yeah, go on.

Gordon:
What the fuck did you put in that sauce? It's like some fucking sci-fi sperm!

Mo:
[scowls] Sci-fi sperm!

Gordon:
Yeah, where's the orange juice? [Picks up a bottle of orange squash] So, it's an orange squash?

Mick:
Yes.

Gordon:
A concentrate?

Mick:
All the reports from the people were, "We love the sauce." And the lamb shanks.

Michelle:
You've got to be honest. I've never heard one complaint.

Gordon:
As a restauranteur, or whatever you want to call yourself, your responsibility is to provide them with at least something fresh. And especially for 11 fucking quid.

Mo:
(appealing) Help.

Gordon:
Well, he's a stubborn fucker, this one.

Mo:
I know he's a stubborn fucker.

Michelle:
You got that right.

Mo:
I'd be the first to admit that. But we desperately, desperately need help from yourself. And I'm sorry, I'm going to be emotional.

Gordon:
I don't want you to get upset.

Mo:
[Breaks into tears] I am! My husband's been slaving to death, and we work so hard for this business, and it's just killing us all!

[Gordon visits The Runaway Girl for the first time.]

Gordon:
What the fuck is that? Looks like a hair-dressing salon. Dreadful. Absolutely shocking! Spanish tapas bar? I mean, looks like a fucking lap-dancing hole.

Gordon:
(voiceover) That stale slop is an embarrassment. It's time for head chef Richie and sous chef Jonil to face the Spanish Inquisition. (To Richie) Excellent. So you're the head chef?

Richie:
Yes.

Gordon:
(To Jonil) And you're the sous chef?

Jonil:
Yes.

Gordon:
Right. How can the fish in a stew be dry? When was that cooked, the fish? Because I can guarantee that wasn't cooked this morning. The duck was sweet as fuck. It was like a mouthful of sugar.

Richie:
That's how it was supposed to be.

Gordon:
Oh, fucking hell. That's not Spanish tapas.

Justin:
We've never had a set of complaints about any particular dish.

Gordon:
Right.

Justin:
There's never been one thing that has been sent back, and quite the contrary, we were having compliments.

Gordon:
You shouldn't use your customers like a hairdryer, blowing smoke up your arse. All I want to know from my customers is the negatives. We've got a problem. The food's an issue, but on the top of the fucking food, we can't eat inside a night-club. End of fucking story. Tonight, I'm going to be in on service, and I want to see the place under pressure. Because if it's that bad with nobody in, I can't fucking wait to see what it's like when the place is full. Thank you.

Richie:
(Interview) When you walk in here, it does not look like a fucking restaurant. You know what I mean? Looks like a fucking strip-bar. I know this, yeah? But he [Gordon]'s got to realise: I can fucking cook.

[Gordon returns to The Runaway Girl on the second day.]

Gordon:
Titty bar. [Enters the restaurant] What was the first thing you thought about this morning?

Justin:
What I've done is, I've dug out 30, 40 comments cards, and just taken them off the top of the pile. And all they're saying is, "Great food"; "Great atmosphere"; "Great food"; "Great atmosphere"; "What would you change?": "Nothing"; "What would you change?": "Nothing".

Gordon:
I can't believe you, you know that? Your business is fucked. And you revert to stupid pretentious comment cards to pump smoke back up your arse first thing this morning to say "Food's good", "Atmosphere is good", "Music is good". When are you going to stop massaging yourself and fucking get real?

Justin:
Okay, there's clearly a bigger picture which is fucked, yeah. But this is...

Gordon:
Fuck me.

Richie:
Just, this is what I'm talking about, kid. You've got to cut the fucking bullshit. Why the fuck are you still trying to make out you've fucking got something?

Justin:
Do you think-

Richie:
When the fucking- When the damage has been done. We already look like a couple of fucking tits. Yeah? You're already looking like a twat. Yeah? And this guy is too fucking clever for you. So shut your fucking mouth and fucking listen!

Justin:
I can't-

Richie:
If you do not turn it around today, two o'clock, me and him are fuckin' off! Yeah? I ain't fuckin' staying here. Just - Cut the fucking crap to turn things around! He's there to fucking turn it around. You can do it without me, or fucking with me. Because I've had enough of this fucking charade! Because I don't need this fucking shit! And I've got to stand next to him and show him fucking tubs of fucking shit, that I'm fucking cooking! You've fuckin' done nothing!

Justin:
So tell me where to go from here, Rich! Cause you're-

Richie:
You're not fucking listening to him!!

Justin:
I'm al-

Richie:
He's trying to fucking tell you! I've tried to tell you for two years! About every fucking thing! Food, bands, I've told you that, but you don't fucking understand! [explodes with frustration] So show him some fuckin' respect, or else I'm fuckin' goin' at two o'clock! And that's fuckin' it! That is it. No fuckin' bullshit!

Justin:
Okay.

Richie:
Fucking dangle me like a fucking puppet! [Pats Gordon's shoulder] Sorry.

Gordon:
Get some fresh air.

Richie:
So don't take the fucking piss out of me anymore! Fuck this shit, bruv.

Gordon:
I've never seen such a fucked up service in all my fucking life. Un-fucking-believable.

[Justin brings back a couple of steaks.]

Justin:
This was asked for well done, and this person is sending it back.

Gordon:
Well, let me just tell you something. You know, in terms of well done... [slices a piece of the steak, revealing it to be well done.] Look, we braised it. What is that?

Justin:
That's well done.

Gordon:
That is well done, so [slams the steak down, voice cracking] STOP BRINGING ME SHIT!

Justin:
What about this, Gordon?

Gordon:
That is well done!

Justin:
What about this?

Gordon:
It's well done! Look at it, it's well done! We've braised it!

Justin:
That looks pink to me.

Gordon:
That's gristle, you fucking idiot! What is that?

Richie:
Gristle.

Gordon:
Look, look, it's white inside!

Justin:
Thanks for telling.

Gordon:
Oh, my God! What a fucking muppet!

Gordon:
[Commenting on Neil's country paté] Presentation's ghastly. I mean, it's like something out of the 80's. Shocking. [After tasting it] Tastes of nothing... sad. On the verge of... depressingly sad.

Neil:
I'm cooking Gordon's risotto from scratch. I just tasted the rice I cooked this morning... and it's overcooked. And there's no fucking way I'm gonna send him overcooked rice.

Gordon (narration):
40 minutes later, my second course arrives.

Gordon:
That's a long time for a risotto.

Waitress:
Sí. (Yes)

Gordon:
Is that normal?

Waitress:
No.

Gordon:
Looks like something out of a Barbie doll's house.

Gordon:
Hola. Quelcuttis, restaurant?

Lady:
Quelcuttis?

Gordon:
Sí. (Yes)

Lady:
Recto, a la plaza. (Straight, by the square)

Gordon:
Straight down?

Gordon:
[Upon finding rotten serrano ham] What is that?!

Terry:
It's serrano ham.

Joe:
That's gotta go in the bin.

Gordon:
Oh, fucking hell! It smells... [To Joe] sme... smell that! What does that smell of?

Joe:
It smells like shit.

Gordon:
It smells like FUCKING CHEESE! [To Terry] Just smell that. How old is that?

Terry:
Don't know, but it was gonna go in the bin.

Gordon:
(to Joe) Your party is going to end with you disappearing six foot under!