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: Horst has done time. Linguini
: What for? Colette
: No one know for sure. He changes the story every time you ask him. Horst
: I defrauded a major corporation. Horst
: I robbed the second-largest bank in France using only a ball-point pen. Horst
: I created a hole in the ozone over Avignon. Horst
: I killed a man... with *this* thumb.
: What are you doing? Linguini
] Uh, I'm cutting vegetables. I'm cutting the... vegetables? Colette
: No! You waste energy and time! You think cooking is a cute job, eh? Like Mommy in the kitchen? Well, Mommy never had to face the dinner rush when the orders come flooding in, and every dish is different and none are simple, and all of the different cooking times, but must arrive at the customer's table at exactly the same time, hot and perfect! Every second counts, you CANNOT be MOMMY!
: [Linguini is making a mess at the kitchen
] What is this? Keep - your station - clear! When the meal rush comes, what will happen? Messy stations slow things down. Food doesn't go, orders pile up, disaster! I'll make this easier to remember: keep your station clear, or I WILL KILL YOU!
: Thank you, by the way, for all the advice about cooking. Colette
: Thank you, too. Linguini
: For - for what? Colette
] For taking it!
: Listen, I just want you to know how honored I am to be studying under such a... Colette
: [pins Linguini's sleeve with a knife
] No, you listen! I just want you to know exactly who you are dealing with! How many women do you see in this kitchen? Linguini
: Well, I uh... Colette
: [pins Linguini's sleeve with another knife
] Only me. Why do you think that is? Because haute cuisine is an antiquated hierarchy built upon rules written by stupid, old, *men*. Rules designed to make it impossible for women to enter this world. But still I'm here! How did this happen? Linguini
: Well because, because you... Colette
: [pins Linguini's sleeve with a third knife
] Because I am the toughest cook in this kitchen! I have worked too hard for too long to get here, and I am *not* going to jeopardize it for some garbage boy who got lucky! Got it?
[she sweeps the knives off Linguini's arm and he falls to the floor
: [sitting up, chuckling
: When I added that extra ingredient instead of following the recipe like you said, that wasn't me... either. Colette
: What do you mean? Linguini
: I mean, *I* wouldn't have done that. I would've followed the recipe, I would've followed your advice, I would've followed your advice to the ends of the Earth because I love you... r advice. But... Remy
: [whispering desperately
] Don't do it... Linguini
] I have a secret. It's sort of disturbing. I have a ra... I have a raaaaa... Colette
: You have a... rash? Linguini
: No no no. I have this-this tiny, uh, little... little...
: a tiny chef who tells me what to do.
: Bonjour, ma chérie. Join us. We were just talking about my inspiration. Colette
: Yes, he calls it his tiny chef. Linguini
: Not that, dearest, I meant you.
: I hate to be rude, but we're French!
: I know the Gusteau style cold. In every dish, Chef Gusteau always has something unexpected. I will show you. I memorize all his recipe. Linguini
: [writing in notebook
] Always do something unexpected. Colette
: No. Follow the recipe. Linguini
: But you just said that... Colette
] No-no-no-no. It was *his* job to be unexpected. It is *our* job to... Colette
: [together, as Linguini rewrites the advice
] ... follow the recipe.
: Larousse ran gun for the Resistance. Linguini
: Which resistance? Colette
: He won't say. Apparently, they didn't win.
: [to Linguini
] Ugh, your sleeves look like you threw up on them. Keep your hands and arms in, close to the body, like this, see? Always return to this position. Cooks move fast, sharp utensils, hot metal, keep your arms in, you will minimize cuts and burns and keep your sleeves clean. Mark of a chef: messy apron, clean sleeves.
: [reading a recipe
] Sweetbread a la Gusteau: Sweetbread cooked in a seaweed salt crust with cuttlefish tentacle, dog rose puree, geoduck egg, dried white fungus? Anchovy licorice sauce... Uh, I don't know this recipe, but it's Gusteau, so... Colette
] Lalo! We have some veal stomach soaking, yes? Lalo
: Yes, veal stomach, I get that. Linguini
: Veal... stomach?
: Stop that! Linguini
: Stop what? Colette
: Freaking me out!
: Table five coming up right now. Skinner
: Coming down the line. Colette
: Set. Hot. Open oven. Skinner
: Coming around. Colette
: Oui, chef. One filet mignon, three lamb, two duck. Skinner
: Fire those soufflés for table six, ja? Colette
: Five minutes, chef. Remy
: Oh, God. Mustafa
: Tonight, I'd like to present the foie gras. It has a wonderful finish. Skinner
: Ready to go on table seven. Come on! Let's go! Colette
: Oui, chef.
: [seeing a ladle in Linguini's hand
] You are COOKING? How DARE you cook in MY kitchen! Where do get the gall to attempt something so monumentally idiotic? I should have you drawn and quartered! I'll do it! I think the law is on my side! Larousse, draw and quarter this man! *After* you put him in the duck press to squeeze the fat out of his head!
[as he's shouting, Lalo ladles some soup into a tureen and brings it to the waiter
: Oh no no no, OH NO, don't let them, don't eat... Skinner
: What are you blathering about? Linguini
: ...the soup! Skinner
: [sees the soup going out runs to stop it
] Soup? Stop that soup! Noooooooo!
[bursts into the dining room to the stares of the diners, retreats back into the kitchen and watches through the window as the waiter serves the soup
] Solene LeClaire
: [tasting the soup
] Waiter! Skinner
] Linguini! You're fired! F-I-R-E-D! Fired! Mustafa
: She wants to see the chef. Mustafa
] B-but he...
[clears his throat and goes to speak to the customer; Colette tastes the soup; Skinner re-enters
: What did the customer say? Mustafa
: It was not a customer. It was a critic. Colette
: Ego? Skinner
: Solene LeClaire. Colette
: LeClaire. What did she say? Mustafa
: She likes the soup.
] What are you playing at? Linguini
] Um, uh... am I still fired? Colette
: You can't fire him. Skinner
: What? Colette
: LeClaire likes it, yeah? She made a point of telling you so. if she write a review to that effect and find out you fired the cook responsible? Skinner
: He's a garbage boy. Colette
: Who made something she liked! How can we claim to represent the name of Gusteau if we don't uphold his most cherished belief? Skinner
: And what belief is that, Mademoiselle Tatou? Colette
: Anyone can cook.
[pause, Skinner looks around at the other cooks, who are smiling with approval
: Perhaps I have been a bit harsh on our new garbage boy. He has taken a bold risk, and we should reward that, as Chef Gusteau would have. If he wishes to swim in dangerous waters, who are we to deny him?
: [to Linguini
] How do you tell how good bread is without tasting it? Not the smell, not the look, but the *sound* of the crust. Listen.
[she presses the bread between her hands
: Oh, symphony of crackle. Only great bread sound this way.
: The only way to get the best produce is to have first pick of the day, and there are only two way to get first pick. Grow it yourself, or bribe a grower. Voilà! The best restaurant get first pick.
: People think haute cuisine is snooty. So chef must also be snooty. But not so. Lalo there? Ran away from home at twelve. Got hired by circus people as an acrobat. And then, he get fired for messing around with the ringmaster's daughter.
: [to Linguini
] Don't ever play cards with Pompidou. He has been banned from Las Vegas and Monte Carlo.
: So you see, we are artist, pirate. More than cooks are we. Linguini
: We? Colette
: Oui. You are one of us now, oui? Linguini
: This is no time to experiment, the customer are waiting. Linguini
: [poking Remy through his toque
] You're right, I should *listen* to you.
[Remy makes him slap himself in the face
: [as Collette storms away
] Colette. Colette!
: Oh, it's over Little Chef, I can't do it anymore.
[he runs outside and blocks Colette's motorcycle
: Colette! Wait, wait, wait. Don't motorcycle away. Look, I'm no good with words. I'm no good with food either. At least not without your help. Colette
: I hate false modesty. It's just another way to lie. You have talent. Linguini
: No, but I don't. Really! It's not me.
: [running his finger through leftover sauce and licking it
] I can't remember the last time I asked to give my compliments to the chef. And now I find myself in the extraordinary position of having my waiter *be* the chef! Linguini
: Thanks, but... I'm just your waiter tonight. Anton Ego
: Then who do I thank for the meal? Linguini
: Uh... excuse me a moment?
[he skates into the kitchen; he and Colette have a brief, muffled, heated argument; Colette and Linguini both come out
] Anton Ego
: [to Colette
] You must be the chef... Colette
: [cutting him off
] If you wish to meet the chef, you will have to wait, until all the other customer have gone. Anton Ego
: [settling back to wait
] So be it.