All language subtitles for Nada.S01E04.en-en

Hello?

Good morning, Ignacio.

I'm glad I found you.

Oh, Manuel...

What are you doing up so early?

I barely slept last night.

That girl you brought
kept you awake?

Where did you find her?

I ran into her on the street.

Listen to me.

I'm glad you called me,
otherwise, I was going to call you.

I think we were drunk last night and...

Don't worry.

No hard feelings.

That's exactly why I called you.

We go back a long way.

No need to apologize
for drinking and talking...

I'm not apologizing.

I'm asking you for a divorce.

What are you on about, jerk?

I want the dissolution
of our friendship bond.

I didn't like a bit
what happened yesterday.

No need to put anything on paper.

We are two gentlemen.

If we coincide in any event,

we just make a protocol greeting gesture

and utterly ignore each other.

Is that alright?

Don't be a jerk...

NOTHING

Nada.

Episode four.

To eat the hoof.

Comerse un garrón.

To go stoically,
although not voluntarily,

through a particularly annoying
and/or embarrassing experience.

I really like
the food in Buenos Aires.

Although Manuel
gets angry when I say so.

He tells me that talking
about Buenos Aires' food makes no sense,

because the native food
of Buenos Aires doesn’t exist.

It’s a playful mixture of Italian dishes,

Spanish food, and Argentine beef.

Personally, I prefer
the “bife de chorizo a caballo.”

The “bife de chorizo”
is an exquisite piece of beef.

Very tall, about 2 inches high, grilled.

Steak “a caballo” means that it comes
with two fried eggs on top.

A fine metaphor
for the masculinity of the horseman.

Recommended.

I recommend it.

- Exchange.
- Money.

Dollars, euros, reais.

Dollars, euros, reais exchange.

Dollars, euros, reais.
I pay more.

Currency exchange, miss.
I exchange reais.

Exchange.

Currency exchange.
I pay more.

Dollars, euros, reais.
I pay more.

- Exchange. Exchange.
- Currency exchange.

- You said 2,500 dollars, right?
- Yes, sir.

Perfect. Just a sec.

Exchange 2,500.

Do you know what you need here?

Some nice artwork.

Not these frugal trinkets.

And do you know what you need?
A cell phone.

No cell phone yet?

No, I don't have a cell phone.

Having one saves you
from coming.

How?

You'd send me a WhatsApp
asking me the pricing,

then how much you want,

and I'd send you the money.

Easy.

- Do you know what a text is?
- Yes, of course, I know.

I don't use a cell phone
out of conviction, not because I'm stupid.

Don't be mad. It's just safer.

Very well.

- Here it is.
- Let's see.

Will you count it?

No, I trust you.

How are you taking it back?

She'll take it.

Turn.

Yes. Up here.

There you go.

Give me one.

OK.

Thanks.

Fake it, girl. You look like a robot.

Oh, sorry.

Go to the car and wait for me.

I'll buy something
and will be there in five minutes.

Shouldn't I come with you?

No, no. Go.

Are you uncomfortable?

Does the money bother you?

I ate too much.

Tell me what you think.

I'm all ears.

About what?

I want to hear your opinion.

Oh!

Everything was delicious.
I loved it, really.

Look, Antonia,

Chinese gastronomy

identifies three portions.

Wen, Zhao, and Wogh.

How did you come to Buenos Aires?

In a minibus.

I took one from Guarambaré
to the Asunción terminal.

From the Asunción terminal, another one
to Encarnación. Six hours or so.

And another minibus
from Encarnación to Buenos Aires.

Around 16 hours.

Almost a whole day
without eating anything.

You arrive, buy a hot dog,
and recover some energy.

That is Wen,

the hunger portion.

Do you follow me?

Yes. Wen.

Then you arrive
at the boarding house, unpack,

and go to a pizza place at night.

That pizza is now a choice,
not a necessity.

That is Zhao.

Zhao.

You finally get a job,

and your boss
brings you to eat at this place.

You try half a dozen dishes,

and connect with food on another level.

The aromas, the flavors, the contrasts

take you back to different memories.

Even create new ones.

That is Wogh,

the portion of the heart.

And that's the hardest to find.

Got it. Wogh.

Remember,

Wen, Zhao, and Wogh.

Very well. Very well.

What is this, Oscar?

They asked me to bring it.

Do they know it is me here?

Yes. I don't know what happened.

I'll ask.

Is anything wrong?

They haven't charged me here for 20 years.

There must be some mistake.

Oh, dear.

We were just talking about you.

How are you? Any problem with the bill?

No... I just had a quick look.

I'm a little surprised,
because we're good, right?

I don't know. You tell me.

"Yesterday, I ventured
into this new criminal gastronomic venture

called Argento."

Don't tell me you're a regular at Argento.

I'm the owner.

"The establishment, like its name,

redounds as it talks about
mastering the local cuisine,

and its menu
highlights as evidence the locro,

the carbonada, the mixed stew,

the Gramajo scrambled
and the Salteña empanada."

I understand the problem.
You don't need to keep reading.

- Just a little more.
- I'll pay and leave.

Just a second.

"However, Argento, apart from imagination,
lacks a map.

Locro is a Peruvian delicacy.
Carbonada is a Belgian stew.

The Gramajo scrambled..."

That's fine, Vasco, enough.

"But this coarse nationalism

is a minor offense,
if one takes into account

that the dishes themselves

are colorless, odorless, and tasteless,

devoid of any creation
and without any category."

Done. Are you satisfied?

There is nothing personal
against you in that.

No, I understand you.

And you will understand

that you won't eat here for free anymore.

Neither here nor in any restaurant
that belongs to me.

Perfect. Let me pay you.

But not only this bill.

You're going to pay me for the 20 years
you've been eating for free.

I'm going to collect every fucking bill,

and you will pay me.
Is it clear?

Don't speak to me like that.

Please.

What?

Are you giving me orders in my own place?

Me, who has 30 men working here?

Me, who's in charge of all this?

You are not welcome here.

Decadent clown.

I will not allow you to disrespect me!

You should thank me

for improving the image of this place.

If people think
this mediocre restaurant is acceptable,

it's because
I've occupied a table for 20 years.

You can't pay for this publicity!

You are the one who would be owing me
money in any case.

I only refrain from beating your ass
because you came with this young lady.

What's the problem with my guest?

Are you discriminating her
for her skin color?

I didn't, I'm talking to you!

Racist!

I can't believe that,
on top of everything,

this shitty eatery
is discriminating against her

for having aboriginal features!

Get lost! Get out of here!

Charge me and I'll leave.

- Go away! Go away! Stingy!
- Calm down!

Calm down.

Madame, let's go.

Let's say no

to discrimination!

Excuse me, sir, it's for you.

Mr. Ignacio came to see you.

Excuse me sir, I can't let you in.

I have orders from Mr. Manuel
not to let you in.

He says don't be childish.

He has taken too much of your bullshit

to tolerate this mistreatment,

and don't be a coward.

Tell him I'd rather be a coward

than mediocre, an anti-Mozart

who lives off the commissions
he takes from artists.

And make him tell you
what he wants specifically.

He says that he'd rather be a coward
than mediocre,

an anti-Mozart who lives off
the commissions he takes from artists.

And what exactly did you come for?

He says he brought you
the Garrastazu

that he knew was so shitty
he would never be able to sell it,

but that he wanted to do you a favor
because he knew you needed money,

and you're too proud to ask for it.

And... oh,

that now
that you're no longer friends

he wants you to return
his 10,000 dollars,

otherwise you're a thief.

You are not a thief, sir.

Let's do this.

Tell him I'm going to give him
some money back,

and that I promise to return the rest
within a reasonable period of time.

OK.

About how much money?

Not sure, I spent a lot on that phone...

Tell him 3,500.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Here's the painting.

Mr. Manuel says you can keep the painting.

Fine.

As he wishes.

Sir,

I don't want to bother you,

but this girl won't stop calling.

My daughter?

No. Well, your daughter always calls too.

But it's that other one,

this journalist Silvina.

What for?

She wants you to do an interview
for her show...

Picnic of Ideas.

What a horrible name.

She says she talks
to intellectuals and writers

who think about Buenos Aires,
to create a space for reflection,

and that it would be
a great honor for her if you accept.

Will there be dough?

- Sorry?
- Are they going to pay me?

She said they give a bottle of wine
to their guests.

Which wine?

Well...

Let's see how this tastes.

On my way here,
the taxi driver called me "ma'am."

"Where are you going, ma'am?"

Maybe because of this blouse
my mom lent me?

I like it because I can wear it
without a bra.

But it made me look
like a "ma'am."

Does it bother you
that they think you're married?

No, because I was married before.

But not anymore.

What about you?

Are you married?

No, not right now. I was, though.

Why not anymore?

Did you misbehave?

It must be tough to be married
to such a sophisticated man like you.

A dandy like you.

What do I know?

It's a bit chilly out here.

Could we continue in a warmer place?

We thought that this square
conceptually defines you.

It is so porteña,

but at the same time,
it has a somewhat wild side.

Doesn't it?

But if you're cold,
we can bring you a blanket.

You'll be warmer.

- Get him a blanket, please!
- No, no.

It's not necessary at all.

Why don't you ask me
a little more specific question?

Otherwise, we're going to stay here
all afternoon.

Relax. It's going great.

You are loosening up.
Don't you feel it?

Yeah, whatever.

Tell me.

What do you do for a living?

Is this a game?

Why? Don't you want to play with me?

I prefer to answer you.
So, what do I do?

Well, I write,

and I like to eat.

What are you writing now?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

My editor

is threatening me with a lawsuit

because he paid me in advance twice,

but I have nothing new to say.

So I dedicate myself to filling my time

with nonsense such as this interview.

You're cynical, huh?

Cantankerous,
as my grandmother would say.

Sex and food.
Do they go hand in hand?

I think so.

Note that eating and mating

only have a one-letter difference.

It's better not to be too full
to have sex. Don't you think?

Yeah.
Better to eat after fucking.

Suppose I go on a first date
at your house.

To eat.

What would you cook for me?

Well, I'd make you a lobster thermidor.

Before cooking it alive,

you have to tickle its belly,

so that it relaxes
and gets more tender.

And then...

Slash!

How mean!

My tummy is making noises already.

Can you hear it?

- Come, come closer.
- What? OK...

You see?

I love looking at men's hands.

For me, each scar tells a story.

And your hands are a battlefield.

I can imagine them
fighting between furnaces and blades.

You have very nice hands.

I've never thought about it...

Manuel Tamayo Prats.

Food critic. Writer.

Porteño. But above all, a man.

Can I give you a hug?

I do it with all my guests.
It always ends like this.

But if we haven't even...

Yeah, yeah...

Cut. That's a wrap.

Well, we're done.

- Oh, are we?
- Yes.

This is a gift from production.

Oh! Thank you.
Thank you very much.

No, thank you.

That's good...

Your cousin gave me your address.

I didn't know
you were in Buenos Aires.

What about the girl?

Did you bring her with you?

She is with my grandmother.

I see.

Antonia, I came because...

I've been looking for a job
and I can't find anything.

Things have been difficult
around here.

Could you lend me a little money

until I get a job and pay you back?

Since you have a fixed salary here,
I thought you could.

No, I can't, Aldo.

Come on, Antonia, why not?

So now that you're doing well,
screw the rest?

You have some nerve, Aldo.

You never gave any money to your daughter,
and now you come to ask me.

How dare you?
What's the problem?

What's going on?

- Nothing, sir.
- What's up? Let her go.

Nothing, sir. Aldo is leaving.

- So this old guy is your boss?
- Yes, I am her boss.

Doctor Tamayo Prats.

Federal judge
in court number 6 of Buenos Aires.

This is the last time
I ask you to let her go.

Insult me in Spanish if you dare!

Do it in Spanish!

Aldo! Damn it!

I barely touched him!

Are you okay, sir?

- Yes, yes.
- I'm off!

I'm fine.

I just tripped. Tripped.

- Here.
- Thank you.

No problem.

Tell me one thing.

This boy...

My daughter's father.

Well...

He was never a father.

He barely knows my little girl.

He came from Paraguay
a while ago to try his luck.

Aldo just wants money.

I imagine that you didn't give him any.

You imagine very well.

I don't like that kid. He's very violent.

A brute above all.

Oh, well.

Was the interview good?

No.

I had to endure the cold.

Also,

that journalist was too intense.

Well, go lie down and rest for a while.

I'll take care of dinner.

Can I see the kids?

Let me see one.

They're sleeping, Dad.
It's two in the morning here.

They have school.

Oh, sure.

Good thing you bought a phone, huh?

Look at you.
I told you it wasn't that difficult.

It was about time.

Well, I already had a phone before.

The same as 40 years ago.

It works perfectly fine.

But you never answer.

You are never home.

My home is Buenos Aires,

so I'm always at home.

And don't be nasty to me, please!

What's going on, Dad?

You haven't answered me for months.

I got a video of you,
screaming in the supermarket.

Are you hiding something?

When Celsa died,

there was a shock in this house.

But I already
have everything under control.

Why don't you stop messing around

and come live with us in London, Dad?

Everything is set.

We have a beautiful suite for you.

Come on, everything is easier here.

I'm not going to London.
I don't like that city.

Oh, Dad, you are so stubborn.

Consider it at least.

It will be better!

You always say no right away.

What's up, Rami?

- Oh...
- Did you just wake up?

Look who's here.

Who is that old man?

What do you mean?

It's Grandpa Manuel.

Leave him alone.
I don't know much about his life either.

Hey, weren't you supposed
to have an operation?

Why don't you come here
where the best doctors are?

- We can take care of you...
- What? I can't hear you...

Hello?

What's wrong? I see you well.

- Yes... no... I can't hear you.
- Hello? Hello?

- It's breaking.
- I see you well!

Excuse me.

I'm not hungry.

But you have to eat something.

This is light, you'll like it.

What about your daughter?

She's fine. Well... horrible.

Every day she's more like her mother.

It's dreadful.

Don't be mean, she's your daughter.

And that's why I have to like her?

I did that girl a huge favor.

I gave her my absence,

so she wouldn't have
to carry the weight of her father.

Anyway, I did what I could.

OK.

What is this?

- Jukysy.
- What?

Jukysy.

The food of the sick,
as we say in Paraguay.

- How do I eat this?
- Here you go.

Oh.

Let's see.

What's in this?

It has water,

half an onion,

a teaspoon of oil...

two eggs, a piece of cheese,

half a cup of hot milk and parsley.

Oh, and salt.

Nothing else?

No.

Do you like it?

Did you try it?

Yes.

Why?

Let's see. Try it.

It's Wogh. The portion of the heart.

With nothing.

Just two eggs and half an onion.

Let's go.

Give me the plate.

- Where are you going?
- To work.

To work.

The unwavering goal
of honest cooking

is to preserve the intrinsic flavor
of the main ingredient.

The loin should taste like loin.

The carrot should taste like carrot,

and so on.

Spices are not decorative additions

or supporting actresses.

On the contrary,

they are co-stars in the dish

together with the main ingredient,

having the risky power
to convert each dish

into a resounding success or failure,

with no middle ground.

These so-called culinary experts
who act like they know everything

are convinced of it.

That's why I believe
the worst example of a human being

when it comes to eating,

is the one who does not know
that he does not know.

I call that...

"Stone palates."

Period.

Very well.

You didn't sleep at all last night,
did you?

I need you to take this

to my editor in an envelope.

Hand it over to Luciano Aisenberg,

and tell him
it's a preview of the best book

he's ever going to edit in his life.

And tell him that at this rate
I'll finish it in two weeks.

And here is the convincing proof.
Do you understand?

- Yes, sir.
- Repeat it to me.

I have to deliver this draft
to Mr. Luciano,

and in two weeks
you'll finish it and...

Go, go, go.

Just go.

OK.

Now comes the moment
in which Manuel called me

and asked me
to make good on an old promise.

A very long time had passed
since the last time we’d spoken.

But I won’t tell you anything else
at this time.

Let’s continue with the story.

So, obviously, there's always
room for improvement,

but I think we are more in tune
with what you proposed,

right, Manuel?

And since we've made...

fifteen versions...

it'd be good to wrap it up,

because this week
we must take it to print.

Excuse me.

No. You didn't understand it.

The book is intended
for an adult audience

with some reading comprehension skills.

We don't need to draw a knife,
fork, and spoon

so that a 40-year-old understands
what the book is about.

Let's avoid bullshit!

Think of something better.

Raise the bar.

I'm also going to try
and think of something...

Worthy!

Should I explain a little
what we're thinking?

No, leave it to me, Mabel.

OK, Manuel. OK.

We're going to make another version.

But we are also open to listen
to any proposal you have.

Yes, I know.

Me naked on the cover.

We're going to sell millions of copies.

Manuel, let's talk seriously, please.

We plan to do a big release.

It's your first book
in almost 20 years.

Right? We also need you
to think of someone

that you'd want to present the book

on the day of the release.

I don't have to think about it.

I already know who I want.

Perfect. Who?

Vincent Parisi.

What?

Well, Manuel,

I know that you have
some kind of bond with Parisi, but...

to expect him to come...?

We're talking about

one of the four or five
best writers in the world,

if not the best.

The guy must be fully booked
for the next five years.

Let's call him now.

Eh... yes, yes.

The gentleman needs to make
an international call, okay?

Of course.

Dial the number
that I'm going to give you, please.

One, two, one, two,

seven, seven, nine,
three, four, three, two.

Hello?

Hello, Vincent, my friend!

This is Manuel Tamayo Prats,

from Buenos Aires.

Manuel, I can’t believe it!

How are you?
It’s been such a long time, my friend.

I hope you’re not dying
or anything like that.

Please don’t tell me that.
I hope you’re healthy and well.

No! I'm perfectly fine.

How nice to hear from you.

How many memories
from those days in Buenos Aires.

It was just a...
I had a wonderful time,

my friend.

We'll talk more later.

Now I'm here with my editor...

and other people.

I'll put you on speaker
so they can all listen, okay?

Gentlemen, I present to you
Vincent Parisi.

Two-time Pulitzer Prize winner,

author of 18 novels,

Professor Emeritus
at Yale University...

No, no, no, enough, enough.

Yeah, yeah. OK, OK.

- Hey.
- Yes?

I am about to publish a new book.

Can you come to Buenos Aires
to present it, as you promised me?

These assholes do not believe me.

Manuel, of course,
I'd love to go there.

I don’t have much time, but any--
any excuse to go to Buenos Aires

to eat that bife de chorizo a caballo.

Don't forget the pancake
with sweet milk spread.

Oh...

I'll talk to you later,
and I'll explain everything.

Perfect.

I'll wait for your call, my friend.

- A huge hug, my dear.
- A hug.

- My friend. Bye!
- See you soon.

Bye.

What can I say?

He is my friend!

Subtitle translation by:
Mariana Rodríguez Mustafa