Original subtitles

Owner parts restaurant is in dire straits.

New owner Sue Ray has sunk everything into it.

The customers are nowhere to be seen.

The kitchen's down to two staff and

the money has nearly run out.

I'm going in to identify the problem.

I'll find out if the market's there, if the team are pulling

together, and if the head chef is chewed up enough.

I've got just one week to turn this restaurant into a viable business.

The honeymoon's over. I've got to start making profit now.

next to its posh neighbors ilkley and skipton sits sylvan a little working

town yet to make its mark on the culinary map of britain lots of fish

quite a quaint little place little small yorkshire town owner parts wine bar and

basement restaurant on the high street was taken over by its current owner just

over a year ago in her time sue ray has sold everything from donkey rides to

cavity wall installation

But the restaurant business is totally new to her, and so far, the locals

biting. Good afternoon.

Good afternoon.

Two? Two, yes.

Hi, nice to meet you. Likewise.

So how's it going?

A bit quieter today.

How many are you having for lunch?

About two.

Two, I'm ready. That's it.

And last night?

Last night, I think we did only two again.

That's all.

Two customers the whole night? Two customers the whole night, yeah.

Unfortunately, it's a start of death.

Absolute death.

The stark truth is that two -thirds of restaurants don't survive past their

first birthday.

And as things stand, food's in danger of adding to those statistics.

At the last resort, she's placed all her trust in a 21 -year -old head chef.

Together, they believe that fine dining will guarantee Bonaparte a brighter

future. It's like being an artist, you know what I mean? You just start from

nothing and create something, so I think that's why I love being a chef.

From a humble start five years ago washing dishes, Tim has had a meteoric

Obviously I would like a couple of restaurants, maybe three.

Being Leeds and London, New York, you know, wherever, just big cities.

So that's my main ambition, and obviously to make a lot of money.

Tim's ultimate dream is to become a TV chef.

You put Parmesan through this, sir. But for now, he's embracing his first

opportunity to run his own kitchen.

And how did you find Tim? He found me.

He knew I'd been struggling with chefs and lack of them.

And he's very ambitious.

He must be fucking good if he's the head chef at 21, though.

Either that or he's a fucking good bullshitter.

Tim. Pleasure to meet you, sir. Light wine.

And? Pleasure, Lee.

Lee. So you're the head chef? Yeah.

And you're the... Well, you obviously will be the second chef. There's only

of you.

Busy lunch?

No. No?

Absolutely not. No. I didn't think so. Were you standing there twiddling your

thumb?

No?

Sue's food takings are a dismal £200 a week.

She should be clearing at least ten times that, but she's not even covering

Tim's wages, let alone food costs and overheads.

Chef can't get excited unless there's customers to cook for.

I'll never know how good they are unless there's any customers in the fucking

restaurant.

Tim, how many's booked?

None, Gordon.

Nothing at all?

No. Chances of walk -in, perhaps?

Don't want to put you on a little bit of pressure tonight.

Right. It's five to six.

I want you to get out on the street, go knock on a few doors, and invite some

locals to dinner.

Get your coats on and fuck off with some customers. If the customers won't come

in on their own free will, these two young chefs are going to have to go and

drag them in.

Fine dining requires the ultimate in presentation, surroundings and service.

But most of all, it requires faultless food.

You just need the people coming in now.

It's like a big cake. You've got all the ingredients and you can mix it. You've

just got to find the right consistency to make it right.

The reputation of this place can't be that great.

Even with free food from the fine dining menu on offer, they've only managed to

pull in 11 guests.

For any head chef, this would be a walk in the park.

Where do the tickets go?

Well, I just put them there because we never really get enough to worry about

it. Oh, not me. That's fine.

Who's doing what? Who's doing the fish?

I'll do the fish.

And what would you like to do tonight?

I'll do venison.

I'm trying to think. How do you organise your kitchen?

Lee, take care of the hot starters. I'll do the cold starters. You do the fish,

I'll do the meat.

We'll jump on to the puddings together.

Lee will stand here and I'll do this one. When I'm not doing anything, then

just jump on and help him out. Do you know how to organise?

Within reason. Within reason. Okay, here we go. Where did you put red barley?

With the first orders in, now I can really see what's going on in the

What was that?

I touched a loaded bowl.

You're going to send the bread first, aren't you? Yeah.

Never mind fine dining. They can't even get the bread right.

It's fucking frozen.

Get it back in the oven.

Are the pigeons ready? Yes.

We're about to put them in the bin, because the bread's frozen, pigeon's a

and the fucking bread's not even out there.

And if you talk about packing cabbage once more, I'm going to ram up your

OK? Can we... Everything you turn around in.

Yeah, let's go.

Even when the kitchen's busy, you should be looking to get the starters out

within ten minutes of receiving the order.

Thank you very much.

These poor souls have waited half an hour for their pigeon breast with

ravioli.

And that's not the only problem.

Tim, you made a revelation?

Yeah.

It's burnt.

You don't taste that, do you? No.

Smell it then.

You honestly can't taste that burnt?

But now you point it out.

Yeah. This is really worrying. A head chef who can't even taste his own food's

burnt. He's not going to win any prizes for his control of the kitchen either.

And there's only two of them in here.

Okay,

can you hear that?

Can you hear it? Hold on, hold on. They're buzzing in the background.

veg in the microwave that should have gone with the main course four minutes

ago.

Come on, Tim. Get the fucking things out.

For some, an hour's wait is just too much.

Desperate to keep her staff costs down, Sue has got her hands full running the

bar upstairs.

and seems blissfully unaware of the farce that's taking place in the

The kitchen's a disaster.

A disaster beyond belief.

The blind leaving the blind, the left arm not knowing what the right arm's

doing. You want 50, 60 seats filled down there, and they've got 11 customers in

for dinner, and up to their eyeballs in shitter.

I mean, real shit.

Everything's going in the... For some bizarre reason, they think that ring

the sort of ultimate fine dining experience.

I don't understand what the hell's going on there.

I don't know. All I know is I'm not making money.

So I don't know what the actual weather's coming for.

But it's Sue's business, and she should be in charge.

Look at the fucking mess.

Huh?

I haven't seen such hard work, really, I think, yet.

No.

Doesn't make you feel good, does it? No, not really.

I've got just one week to make a constructive impact on Bonaparte.

But by day two, I'm clutching at straws to find any positives to build on.

Sue lacks focus and has clearly lost control.

The kitchen's such a tip, it's a health hazard.

And worst of all, the head chef and his mate just aren't up to scratch.

I must be missing something.

Um, gentlemen.

Tim, sing the dish.

Scallops. Scallops.

Can't wait to do it.

Nearly every successful restaurant has a dish that is renowned for.

I'm hoping that by cooking his, Tim will produce something truly memorable,

something truly worthy of a place on a fine dining menu.

Let's go. Thinking for this, which is?

Um, scallops with, uh, deep fried salmon and black pudding with charcoal and

layers. Mm -hmm.

Certainly looks okay.

What do you think?

Ooh.

It's got to be thick.

He's only gone and given me a rancid scallop.

Someone get him a drink.

Shit.

How can you eat that?

If you knew they were off, what didn't you say?

No, I didn't.

I didn't know they were off.

They're fucking minging.

Do you not taste that?

I do now, yeah.

Took a while to help.

I know what it means. I feel sick myself now.

It's, um... It's grim.

It's fucking grim.

And it's out of order.

Well, I didn't realise it was fucking off.

So, I suppose it's my fault, really.

That could kill someone.

That's the bottom line.

In the two days I've spent at Bonaparte, I've witnessed total incompetence in

the kitchen, total lack of direction from the management, and last but not

least, they've tried their best to kill me with a rotten scallop.

What the fuck are you playing at?

Sorry. Well, it's not about being fucking sorry.

You shouldn't be in a fucking kitchen if you don't know what's right and what's

wrong in that sense. This is basic fucking cooking, you know that?

I need to check if there's any more surprises lurking in Tim's kitchen.

Let's have a look in here.

Where are they from?

Uh, I don't know. That's the day. Would you use them today?

No. No, so what the fuck are they doing in the fridge?

It looks like rabbit shit, that one. Just some lentil.

Oh, this one's stuck to the fucking glass.

Yeah, it looks like a feet turd that's been infected with ants.

We've got fucking fur on fucking potatoes. When's that from?

I can't tell you.

What are we doing with them?

Throw them in bin. Throw them in bin. But you keep them in the fridge for two

days before you throw them in bin.

No, but you see what I'm trying to get at? Yeah. Does it make fucking sense?

or no? No. It's all this fucking fridge is jam -packed with shit, and we're

standing here saying, I'm going to put them in bin. I'm going to put them in

bin. Get them in the fucking bin!

This whole kitchen is disgustingly filthy.

In allowing things to fester, Tim's putting through his business at risk.

Fucking hell. Can we get that one cleaned out as well, yeah? Yes.

Just one bad thing can contaminate a whole fridge.

Tim may as well just chuck money out the window.

A health inspector would have a field day.

Do you know what? I'm fucking gobsmacked. You know that?

I've got a good fucking mind to get a hold of fucking Sue and just tell her to

fucking close the paper. You know that?

Because this is the fucking pit.

You should be ashamed.

Rock bottom.

I've never seen anything like this in my entire fucking life. You know that?

Because this is the fucking...

Embarrassment. To catering.

Let alone fucking ringed -out fine dining.

Let's move, huh?

Not the best start it could have been, were it? To be honest.

Fucking... Like, sort it out.

Sort it out.

The pitch is becoming painfully clear.

Tim's completely unqualified to do this job.

He's blagged his way in and Sue's been naive enough to take him on.

When you do put so much, like, hard work into creating stuff and then you don't

use it, then you get bored.

That's what I've done.

Like footballers playing, we know football, innit? They just run around,

the point? They'll sit on their arses after a while, won't they?

That's how it is.

All this ingredient's in there, and no customer's presented to.

And yet none of them have been communicating with each other, you know,

got to go tomorrow, can we turn that into a fish pie, can we do something

it? But no.

The blind eating the blind.

And every bloody ingredient in that fridge is money. Your money.

Sue has no idea what's going on in her own kitchen.

Key to any successful restaurant is regular communication between management

the head chef.

I really need to get these two talking.

My daughter just had a word with me and said she's not very impressed.

We need to keep the place clean and everything tidy, otherwise I can be...

Food.

In which case, I'm out of business.

And you're out of a job.

I realise that. Yeah, I know. And I've technically had to take it on board as

well.

Well, I just knew she had to stick her R in. She wasn't going to say, I told you

so, but that's what she was doing.

Yeah? Fair enough. She has a little dick, so what the fuck, eh? You know

mean?

Relations between Tim and Sue clearly aren't healthy.

Lee? Yeah?

Goggles?

Gloves? Before we do any fucking cooking in here now, I want the place

absolutely spotless.

Goggles on, please. That's it, show me, you handsome bastard.

It's not just the kitchen that's at fault here.

Any clued -up restaurateur knows it's damn stupid to attempt fine dining in a

basement, let alone one that's beneath a busy bar.

Sue's panic is obvious when you see the weird mix of fine dining menus and...

with crappy handwritten boards advertising TV name cabarets.

Bonaparte's image has clearly confused potential customers.

She was trying to think to do too many things, to be all things to all people.

So she was trying to have, you know, live music and have an internet cafe.

And also the impression that you got when you came in was she'd be shuffling

around in her leggings and her slippers.

I don't think she's going to attract the people that she wants to attract.

Not as nice as the one that filmed across the road.

The newly opened competition just 200 yards away has been fully booked since

opened, so the pundits are definitely out there.

It's time to find a clear identity for Bonaparte and make a clean start.

Valentine's night is just four days away.

It's one of the most important nights of the wrestling calendar, and it can make

or break a new venture.

If we're going to reinvent Bonaparte's image, We've got to do it now.

But will Sue accept the drastic change of direction I'm about to propose?

It's clearly not going to work at the fine dining experience.

Does Tim know how much pressure you're under financially?

I say flippantly.

You know, I'll end up going bankrupt if you're not careful, but he doesn't

realise how true that is.

Yeah. I mean, how close are you in real terms?

In real terms?

Um, probably.

I've got probably...

Three months, maximum.

Jesus.

You know, I'm willing to take constructive criticism. It's not

Otherwise we'd have more people in. The basics are wrong. I mean, the basics are

so, so wrong. And, you know, it's embarrassing.

It's got to go back to comfort, rustic, easygoing food.

It's got to become more of a bistro, because the place oozes that kind of

I know Sue's convinced, but I'm going to flush out Tim's pretensions to fine

dining once and for all.

And he's providing with evidence that he can't fail to take on board.

Gentlemen. Tim?

Right, this is a sea of scallops with a baby black pudding, with a nice

Hollandaise cayenne pepper sauce, and a bit of deep -fried parmesan.

It looks like potato, but I'm not sure.

First time you had a scallop? Mm.

And this is a beef and ale pie.

I'll have a bit of beef. I'm a patient.

Patient.

Mm.

Yeah? Beautiful.

The scallops and the black pudding.

And the parma ham.

How much do you pay for that?

Well, I wouldn't pay a lot, would you?

Well, I don't know. It's got up to there anyway, hasn't it? So, £8 .50. £8 .50?

What, for the one portion?

And what would you pay for the pie?

Oh, about £8. About £8.

£7 .95.

Oh, what a fire off. An £8 .95. Well done.

Which one would you prefer?

Well, I like the pie, personally.

Well, I like the meat. I'm definitely a meat lover.

Thank you. Gentlemen.

Thank you. One nil, you fucker.

Tim needs to learn a few basic restaurant rules.

If you don't know your market, you'll never get bums on seat.

I would probably go with this one.

Two fucking nil. Next, please.

Have you got two seconds?

Here's another one. Have you got two seconds?

Restaurants without customers will go bust.

You don't like scallops?

Three nil, you fucker.

Excuse me.

Put another way, Tim needs to start producing food that people of Silsom

be able to resist.

That is gorgeous, sir. I would pay that for that.

You wouldn't pay £8 .95 for that? In the major cities, yeah, I'd expect it.

But that is very, very reasonable and delicious.

Are you listening?

I am listening.

Be through.

That's where we're going. Yeah, fine dining.

Who's going in for it?

It's not bad news, you know that? It's fucking good news.

Yeah, and it's clear, huh?

The writing's on the wall.

She'd come to the end of the tiller up there, that's pretty obvious.

She's had enough, huh?

Yeah. Is that clear?

Yeah, it's clear. And you're fucking cocky with her, you know that? Yeah. And

she pays your fucking salary.

Are you mad?

How much have you put in here?

Nothing. Yeah, not a fucking penny.

Not a single penny.

But you've taken from it, haven't you?

Yep. So now it's time to give back. Absolutely.

And not cooking for egos. Get rid of it.

Back to basics. You know that.

What I want you two to do, just to confirm that you do know the basics,

the same time, cook me a fucking omelette.

Show me something that I can eat and be happy with.

An omelette is probably one of the first things you learn to cook at Kate and

Polly.

When's the last time you cooked an omelette?

I haven't cooked one before.

I've never cooked an omelette before.

Oh, don't be stupid.

I haven't.

Look inside.

What does that tell you?

Um, like, overcooked.

Can't it?

It tastes like fucking rubber.

We're both overcooked.

That was a bit.

By any standard.

You're a head chef.

You're taking the piss, you know that.

You are taking the piss, you know that.

Yes, got it.

Gives you nothing back.

And the whole idea of telling him off is to sort of help train him and educate

him, but... Clearly.

Not used to being told what to do.

Right, make me another omelette. Fuck it, let's go.

Any chef's worthy soul should be able to source good quality ingredients at a

good price.

The locals already think boner parts is too expensive.

They want value for money.

For Sue to start making any sort of profit, Tim needs to be clever about

buys.

I have two red bacon sandwiches, please.

And two cups of tea.

He needs to wake up to the real world.

He's clearly in need of some inspiration for his new bistro -style menu.

Thanks, Dennis. Thank you.

Let's go with that one.

Don't spit it on those new trainers, will you? No, I'm trying not to. The

Chinese tongues.

Tonight, we've got a table of four in.

I want you to buy starter, main course and pudding.

20 quid.

Five quid per head.

I want to see how clever you are with that money.

Right.

Morning. Morning.

Morning. Good morning, love.

I'm making French onion soup.

No, we're making some French onion soup today, so we're looking for some, like,

got a rustic, like, baguette. Are we doing this baguette here in this window

that bit?

Let's have a look at that.

Can I have a look at that?

Clearly, Tim's never bought anything from a market before in his life.

Discount for the trade?

Any discount for the trade?

Tim's menus are packed with expensive fish and meat cuts.

He needs to open his eyes to the tasty, less expensive options on offer.

What's that next to the pig's head?

What is that there?

That's oxtail.

Oxtail. You ever used oxtail before? No.

What would you do with a braising steak?

I don't know, really. Maybe barbecue.

We quite like on barbecue, you know, when she gets them going on.

Braising steak means fucking braising.

So it's telling you what to do with it. So what would you do with it? Braise it.

Like a stew.

You can't put that on a fucking barbecue.

You can put it with some chicken breast.

Some nice chicken breast, pal.

There you go. Look, he's shown you. It's nice. Check it.

Have a look.

How much is it?

How much is chicken per breast?

£1 .12.

That's a lot less than I get from my butcher.

Is it? Your butcher's more expensive?

Yeah. Four of them, please.

Any discount for trade? Discount for trade, how much was it?

£4 .12.

£4 .12.

That's my boy.

That was it for me.

Cheers. Can I have a bill, please?

A receipt.

With the AT.

With the AT.

You'd come again, yeah?

Absolutely. The more they see you?

The more banter you have with them, the more bargains you get with them, and the

cheaper it becomes, you know that?

Yeah. Yeah.

Oh, definitely.

Then the restaurant starts to make a bit of fucking money. Yeah.

Get the picture?

Yeah, I get it. Thanks fuck for that.

How much do we spend?

Just over 12 quid. 12 quid, fantastic. For four portions.

Brilliant. Okay.

French onion soup?

It costs 75 pence to make a portion.

Okay. How much does it go on the menu for?

You times it by four. And that should cover everything.

$2 .95 for a bowl of soup. And we've made money on that.

And one thing we're not going to do with the ingredients we bought this morning

is waive anything.

We waive nothing.

With the Valentine's and Strava gowns are just two days away, I'm under no

illusions as to what we're up against.

Fucking limp dick in the kitchen, you know that? Go get some fucking energy.

Fucking 21, for God's sake. You should be getting fucking 12 hard -ons a day.

Not one a fucking month.

Let's go.

Lee's got a bit of now.

But I've got to hold Tim's hand every step of the way.

Are you sure you want to be a chef?

Yeah. You are, yeah? In.

Right into the centre. This is our one chance to see if Tim can cope with his

new beetroot -style food.

Turn the knife out, put it back in, and bring it to the edge there.

Yeah? Yep.

Gently, gently, gently.

Make love to it, don't fuck it.

Outside leaves.

Yeah? What do we do with them?

You throw them away. Yeah, we usually throw them away, yeah.

But before we let him loose on the paying customers, I've asked him to cook

four special people in the privacy of their own home.

What I haven't told him is for his own family.

You'd like to stir it into it?

No, you leave it dangling on top so it gets perfect. Of course you let it

fucking stir inside.

We've got soup, chicken, lemon meringue pie. Yeah.

Let's go and surprise mum and dad, shall we?

Let's go round to their house and you cook their tea.

OK. Do we need a jus, a sauce for the chink here?

Um... I don't really know. I'm asking you.

I don't think so.

Good. The center is the sauce. The garlic sauce.

Fuck you now.

Hallelujah. We don't need a jus.

We don't need any jus.

Woo!

Hello, Madge. How are you?

Surprise. I hate to use Tim's folks as guinea pigs, but...

With the three -course meal already prepared, all Tim needs to do is reheat

soup and cook the Kievs.

This should be a walkover, even for him.

He was always in the kitchen of the boy, wanting

to help bake.

Because he loves talking about it, doesn't he?

Yeah, yeah.

But then he decided whilst he was at school that that's what he wanted to do.

And he got himself a job in a kitchen.

And it just went on from there. He told me that he was going to be a chef and he

was going to the good food show to meet Gary Rhodes.

And off he went.

Fantastic. Look what's happened. Yeah.

Burn it. Don't burn it.

There we go.

Sorry to keep you waiting.

That's quite all right. He's ready.

Let's not forget, Tim is a head chef.

Don't forget your croutons.

Ladies first.

Some French onion soup.

Minus the croutons.

What are we going to do with this? Ah,

look at that.

Superb. Torched on the outside and pink in the middle.

As for the lemon meringue pie, you'll get a better reception if you threw it

them.

Tim's family wouldn't dream of criticising him, but the paying

Valentine's night won't be as forgiving.

We've got 44 booked for Saturday night.

Mm -hmm.

And you fucked it for four.

What chance have we got for 44?

I'm now starting to shit myself.

It's my fourth day at Bonaparte.

Tim's first attempt at cooking a simplified bistro meal may have

granny, but he and I both know the awful truth.

It was a spectacular flop.

You're paid as a head chef, aren't you?

Yeah. Do you think you should be a head chef?

Not really.

Thank fuck for that.

Don't start crying.

I'm not.

Well, you look like you're about to fucking bubble.

OK, so you're delighted with that, are you? Bookings for tomorrow night at

Valentine's Cabaret are piling in.

With the restaurant nearly booked to capacity.

I'm trying my hardest to stay positive. That's fine, Mr Lowe. I'm sure he'll

enjoy it.

But with just a day to go, it'll take more than high -energy drinks for these

people to pull it off.

When someone's been told off, the first thing you do in the kitchen is come back

at 100 miles an hour.

This guy disintegrates every time you tell him something. He just disappears

into oblivion and loses all sense of concentration, that little short span

he has.

Why don't you swap the roles around tomorrow? Why don't you become the sous

and Lee becomes the head chef for tomorrow night?

No answer.

Whatever you want to do, guys. It's your fucking kitchen!

You're supposed to say, bollocks, no.

I'm the fucking chef.

My name's Tim Gray. It's me on the menu.

No?

Yes or no?

Yes.

Oh, Jesus.

Maybe it's me. I should try the softly, softly approach.

We've got a big night Saturday night. It's full.

And it's the first time since you've both been here that the place is full.

Okay, and while I'm here, you're not shafting me as well at the same time,

know that. We're going to work together.

Over the next 15 -20 minutes, I want you both to think of something really

simple, menu -wise. Three starters, three main courses and three puddings.

By passing some of the decision -making back to Tim, I'm hoping to build up his

confidence and instil some pride in his food. It's hard to write a simple menu

when you've had your head up your arse for so long doing, trying to make.

fancy, silly food.

That's the kind of stuff we're going for, innit? So, what have they come out

with? Main courses, liver and onions, mashed potato, macaroni cheese, fish and

chips, mushy peas, Lancashire hot pot.

Lancashire hot pot, okay.

And you come up with the idea together?

Yeah, well, we just flipped through some books and thought, what's simple? And,

you know, basically thought, what did we used to have at school? What did we

like at school? And not forgetting, where are we? We're still in Yorkshire.

We're getting there.

We're getting there.

In devising this new menu, I'm aiming to take most of the pressure off Tim and

Lee during service.

90 % of the food can be prepared and perfected a day in advance.

Let's go.

Show me you can handle two pans at once.

As long as it's made well, it can't fail to be a hit with a customer.

There should be 15 things going on there all at the same time. Coordination,

understanding, medium.

Pink, is it well done? Onions, roasted, bang.

In short, Bonaparte's new bistro menu is designed to be idiot -proof.

Yeah, that'll definitely identify them as vegetarians, yeah? So far,

Tim's attitude towards Sue has been that of a stroppy teenager, rather than a

respectful and supportive employee.

We're going to go on tomato soup, rocket tomato soup, yeah, and some little

cheese. That's probably a first, he's actually come first.

I've had to run down and shake all the time.

I need this.

And they, oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, it'll come later. I say, I need it now.

Basically, you just put them through some butter, push them up.

Dave seems a lot better.

I don't know what he's been doing to him down there, but he's certainly

improving.

In the week I've been here, I've hardly seen Tim or Lee.

sample or season anything they've made.

No wonder their tasteless food is failing to woo the customer.

Everything we do in this kitchen has to be tasted.

I don't care if it's a fucking bread roll, a lemon meringue pie, or chicken

Kiev. You have got to start tasting things.

From now on, bland is off the menu.

And to teach these two a lesson they'll never forget, I'm resorting to dirty

tactics.

You know what a medium steak tastes like, yes?

Does that taste like a sirloin, T -bone steak, or is it a rump steak?

Sirloin. Sirloin.

It tastes like sirloin.

Here we go. Now for the pork.

Open up.

Okay. Tell me whether it's medium or is that well done? Medium.

And? Well done. Well done. None of you got that right.

Yes? Yes.

Pork. Pork and fucking lamb. Fucking hell.

You don't realise until someone blindfolds you and feeds you that your

so... non -active.

Could have been worse.

Could have been chicken.

We would have looked like fucking idiots.

Oh, shit!

Tim's had a week of non -stop grief from me.

Put the bowl down.

This boy has really tested my patience.

All right, Hank, how do we know they're ready now?

And I really don't know if any of it's sunk in.

Do what I'd love to do. Get it on.

But with more than 40 guests expected in just over two hours time, he'll soon be

tested to his absolute limits.

Oh, no,

don't tell me. It was the mud.

Can't even take a fucking penalty.

I'll say this for Tim. He's no quitter, and I don't want to see him fail.

But now he's got to prove he's master of his own kitchen.

We're not leaving this as a draw, you know that?

Hey, in cooking...

Nobody draws.

Ever. One thing's for sure. Tonight, he'll either sink or swim.

Whoa!

Yeah!

Woo! Another two upstairs.

Possibly. Okay, good news. Good news. Another two. So we're up to 48 now.

Sue's never had so many bookings. She's having to move furniture out.

To fit more tables in.

You happy with that?

Chicken Kiev with roasted vine tomatoes.

T -bone steak with homemade chips.

Because there's so many involved for dinner, I wouldn't stall them upstairs

too long. You're really going to dump us in it big time.

Cron cocktail, three -bean salad with mustard dressing.

What do you think?

Ooh, very big trip. Yes, I like it. I hardly dare say it, but this place has

a real buzz about it.

There's one thing missing.

What do you like on all your menus?

Oh, his name's not on it. Ah, bingo!

Where should we put that, on the back or...? I don't want my name on it.

We work as a team and it's a giant effort and bistro, you know, that's it.

That's the most gentle thing you've said to me all fucking week, you know that.

Thank you.

Every decent restaurant in the country is full on Valentine's night.

The competition down the road is packed to the rafters.

And for once...

So is Bonaparte.

In a small town like Silsom, business thrives on word of mouth.

And if tonight's a disaster, it could break through.

I have got this fear that we will not be able to cope with the numbers.

Especially when he's saying that 11's busy.

I don't think so.

So we'll see what he's made of.

Tim has got to get this right.

Two soups, two chicken.

OK, six o 'clock, first order's in.

Okay. Hello, chef.

Yes. Well, what is it?

Scott, first order in.

Hey, are we going to let the kitchen board call out the tickets or are you

to call them out?

Come on.

On order, two soup, two chicken, one creme brulee, one fecal tart.

Please, chef.

Let's go. Soup's made. Get it on to boil.

God, they put some water in it.

Please.

Something's burning. What's that burning?

It's on the air. It's on the grill thing. It's not the crouton, is that?

it's not the crouton.

Don't burn the crouton.

Not burning.

Soup's on, yeah?

Yeah. Pan on for the chicken?

Not yet.

No, I think we should put the pan on first, yeah? Start the chicken, and as

they're eating the soup, the chicken's cooking, yeah?

Are you all right, yeah? Yeah. First order in, it's upstairs, you're okay.

the pan's on for the chicken, yeah?

Don't burn the croutons.

Okay?

All right, how long for that soup?

45 seconds.

45 seconds.

Oh, fuck off, will you? Hey.

What the fuck are you doing?

Out of the way.

Young man.

What are you doing?

Slow down.

Talk to him.

Lee, can you send the two food, please?

Wait.

Look at the croutons.

Charcoal again.

Oh, God, it's the first fucking order.

What's the matter?

Nothing.

You're cooking like an absolute twat, you know that. Yeah. Just take your

Big deep breath and talk to Lee a little bit. You're just on your own, spinning

around, round and round and just creating a fucking bedlam. Yeah.

Calm down.

Get yourself organized.

Yes. And control yourself.

Now fucking come back to me a little bit. Come back to me a bit, yes?

I'm back.

Fucking...

Go on Timmy, fresh start or we're going to go down like a sack of shit.

That's better, Lee. Look at him, look. Hey, nice and bright.

Give us a smile.

It's well done, isn't it? Yeah. Yeah, come on, Ian.

The worst.

Two minutes to the bed, Lee.

Can I have two ovals out of there, mate, please?

On order, three prawn cocktail, one soup.

One sirloin medium, one T -bone medium, one sirloin medium. So don't rush the

start.

Got a lot of stuff to get on here.

Yeah, immediately.

Yeah.

How long for the veg? One and a half? Yeah.

Almost sending them yet?

Yeah mate, yeah.

On order, one prawns, one beans. One Kiev, one sirloin, well done.

One lemon, one brulee.

Right, Scotty, can I have two ovals out, mate, please?

Good.

Now you're talking to the whole brigade now.

Now you're talking to the team, which is fantastic.

Keep it going, yeah?

When you stop talking, we're going to go down, yeah?

Yeah. Hey, it's not quite right, but at least it's moving, yeah? Yeah.

Medium with salad. That's a medium on its own without salad. And that's a

yeah, without salad.

Keep it together, yeah? Yeah. Yeah?

Let's not get nervy. The food was excellent.

Yeah, very enjoyable.

It's what we expected to have, really. It was really tasty and really

It was nice.

How many more to come, please, Sue?

There's another four.

Four. I overbooked, actually. The local competition tonight has got 46 books. If

we do this last four, we've beaten them.

Yeah? Yeah.

Does that not just lift the morale up a little bit? Yeah?

Feeble, medium, medium, medium, medium, and a chip. Ladies and gentlemen.

Yeah.

Showtime.

Cabaret. I'd like to introduce Tom Sawyer. After Tom Cocktail, get some

on, yeah? Call service, please.

Coffee. Get away.

One.

T -bone steak, medium, and 150 here, please.

And that's all going to table 12.

When it's brown, it's cooked. When it's black, it's cooked.

What's the pastry, please?

Pies. Veg, sir. Veg, sir.

Beautiful. Two sirloins, medium.

Not finished yet, but, yeah, well done.

Tim the Grand and Grandad are celebrating their 44th wedding

At last, Tim can repay them for the rubbish he served up a couple of nights

with a delicious, well -cooked meal.

It was lovely, that.

Did it? Yeah. Hey, you hear what Grandad said? Walk back memory.

You really surprised me tonight. And I'm really seriously over the moon that you

didn't fuck it.

I'm serious, though. Yeah.

Because the first 15 minutes at 6 o 'clock, you acted like the biggest twat

Britain. You know that.

All over the shop. And you pulled it back together.

And that wasn't me, that was you.

And the feedback from them out there has been brilliant.

What does that tell you? What does that put in there?

And these stupid fucking illusions of grandeur. All this stupid fine dining

crap that you're trying to do.

It's gone.

Do you understand?

Yeah. Exactly where you are now.

Yeah, yeah. Totally understand. Do you understand what you're capable of doing

within this restaurant?

Yes. Stop trying to take it beyond something you're never going to be.

You'll fuck the restaurant and you'll fuck yourself.

Big time.

To never forget tonight.

Tonight,

Sue's takings are a record £2 ,000.

I thought the guys downstairs were absolutely brilliant.

It's up to you now not to allow it to go back to where it was.

I've been too soft.

You have to be, yes, exactly.

And I'm glad you're saying it because that's what I was going to say next.

And I've also allowed him to have his head too.

Yes. I also think you've been confused to what you want because you haven't...

been focused on one direction for the restaurant because you've been jumping

over the place. And that's part of the panic. And that's wrong.

And now tonight, clearly evident exactly what you need to do from this day

onwards. And if he changes anything, I'll kick his nuts.

When I arrived at Bonaparte a month ago, it literally had no customers.

Head chef Tim Gray was a liability.

Real life feels fucking awful.

He couldn't even cook an omelette. You're taking the piss, you know that?

In one gruelling week, we transformed Bonaparte from a failing fine dining

restaurant into a buzzing beef throat.

With Tim sending out quality food to nearly 50 contented customers on

Valentine's night.

But since I left, Sue's given Tim two written warnings over his attitude.

Now I'm back, unannounced, to find out what is going on.

Turn that fucking thing off. My God.

What's going on?

Chilling.

Chilling? It's Friday night.

It's 7 .30. How many's booked?

Four. Four. And you got the music blaring away?

Yeah, I'm just... Wesley.

He's upstairs on bar.

He's in a bar. What the fuck is that in there?

Mussels. You're not serving them, are you?

Yeah. What are the fridges like?

My God, what is that sitting there?

There's mould and fur.

Dear, oh dear, so you haven't changed, have you?

Oh, fucking hell.

A whole week drumming into their thick skulls, and it comes to this.

Holy fuck!

This is a living fucking nightmare!

Nobody in this place is taking control, and in this state... A health inspector

would close them down without a second thought.

Sir, I've got to show you this because it's part of your responsibility, and

this is your gas.

There you go.

You didn't see this, did you? No, I didn't, actually.

To be fair, Mr Tim, it was doing OK. It seemed to be OK for the first three

days, and then it went.

This is not right.

This is fucking miles away. This is a nightmare, you know that? Because

more loss on top of more loss and more loss and more moles.

That's what worries me, because you need to touch that, you need to rub your

finger on that, you need to go to a chip, you need to season something, you

your finger in the tomato soup, and then they're all fucked.

You've just contaminated the whole place, and that's what really worries

This kitchen is not fit to cook a fucking thing in.

Right now.

And that's your problem.

I think I better just close.

And put due to refurbishment.

And you should bang out at Grey 3. You know that?

I've been giving him another chance and another chance.

I can't tolerate that. It's going to end up... It's a professional suicide,

isn't it?

It's common, as simple as that.

I don't honestly think he did it deliberately. I don't think he's a nasty

of work. I just think he lives in a Walter Mitty world. I begin to think

just convinced himself, to be honest.

To go from Valentine's Day evening to this is...

It's not even funny, there's just something wrong with that.

There really is.

Valentine's Day are good, man.

I don't think I've gone home to bed or whatever feeling in a better, happier

state of mind.

And tonight I don't think I could go to bed in a worse one.

It's beyond recognition, really, isn't it, how fucking stupid that...

Like someone can be, you know what I mean?

It's a dog one.

Who is that someone to?

Oh, that would be me.

Pretty much.

Yeah.

Well, at least the bar's busy. That is one saving grace. But really, thank God

she closed that kitchen down because it was fucking disgusting. I mean, really

appallingly bad.

Shockingly bad.

Just let me get on with it.

It'd be a damn sight better.

Before you rang me up, all aggressive, I was getting on with your

fine, I was respecting you, giving all the gentlemanly, bloody stuff I could

and then you went and shot it down fucking pack.

No, don't tell it on me.

If a floor is filthy... I don't want to tell you what you do, because it doesn't

matter anymore. The floor was filthy.

Does it matter?

Yeah, it does.

I think we've established that.

Look. Yeah. Yeah?

Fuck the fucking plot, that's worse.