All language subtitles for ramsay_s_kitchen_nightmares_s01e01_bonapartes

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.