* ADAM (voice-over): Jean Luc, my mentor, the guy who gave me a chance as a chef, said to me it was God who created oysters and apples, and you can't improve recipes like that. But it is our job to try. (bell clangs) (BLUES MUSIC) Being a young chef, I sure as hell tried. I spent ten years cooking in Paris and became head chef of Jean Luc's restaurant. I was good. Some nights I was almost as good as I thought I was. (to himself): 999,696... (men speaking indistinctly) ADAM: 697... (voice-over): At least that's what I'm told. (to himself): 698... 699... (voice-over): Then I destroyed it all. My devils chased me out of Paris and I washed up in New Orleans. I sentenced myself to hard labour shucking oysters. (to himself): 999,999. (voice-over): And today's the last day of my penance. One million. (exhales) MAN: You could give me a raise and we'd be good. MAN: Where the hell you goin'? Hey! (train horn blaring) (MUSIC CONTINUES) (indistinct conversation) WOMAN: He complained about the eggs. He said they were staring up at him like the eyes of a dead clown. He said he knows you from Paris. He called you "Little Tony." (knocking on door) It's your father's hotel. You can let yourself in. The boudin noir was cooked yesterday. It was warmed up five hours under a heat lamp. A little crust had formed around it. Are you drunk or stoned? Or stoned or drunk or something else no one apart from you has ever been? You're serving seared tuna. What happened to your self-respect, Tony? Mm! This from a guy who once stole methadone from a dying sous chef. You used to run the best restaurant in Paris. Yeah. And you destroyed it. Good. Anger. Hi, Tony. You know, after you disappeared, Jean Luc and I had to close the restaurant. There were rumours you had been stabbed to death in Amsterdam. There were drug dealers. And Jean Luc's daughter claimed you made her pregnant. And now I'm back. I'm going after my third star. If you try to start a new restaurant in Paris, there are at least a dozen people who will try to have you killed. Oh, no, no, no. Not in Paris. Here, in London. I'm gonna take over your restaurant. (chuckles) Ah. My advice to you, chef? If you want to live a long life, eat your own tongue. DOORMAN: Good afternoon, sir. Adam! Jesus! MAN (voice-over): So, where you been? ADAM: Uh, Louisiana. -Doing what? -Shuckin' a million oysters. (laughing) Why? Ah, gave up drinking. Oh, good for you. Along with, uh, sniffing, snorting, injecting, licking yellow frogs, and women. (man laughs) Three years without a word. Nothing. You bastard. Celia's gonna be delighted. Thank you. She missed you, you know? She really worried about you. When Jean Luc died, we were afraid that... You didn't know? Oh, I'm sorry. I know how close you two were. He was a great chef. Hey, eat. That is something, huh? Sweeney! You just received one of the best compliments I've ever heard. This is Adam. Kinda notorious, back in the day. Adam has just said your cacio is one of the best he's tasted outside of Rome. What's your name again? Helene. Next time you make cacio, toast the pepper first to remove the moisture, and then you want to grind it by hand, yeah? -Hello? -Yeah. -American? -Yeah. -Yeah. Arrogant prick. -Well, he's a chef. Jesus. Still crazy. ADAM: Oh, shit. Adam? (grunting and groaning) ADAM: Don't kill me! Don't kill me! Michel! Okay! Don't kill me! (breathing heavily) (laughs) It's okay. I had a long time to think about what you did to me in Paris. When I was your sous chef at Jean Luc's, we were like brothers. So when I left, it's only natural that you were... hurt. So you took your revenge. Look, Michel, I don't know why I did that. I-I know it was terrible... but... what exactly did I do to you? No. Conti told me you're going for the third star. I need a job. In Paris, they say we are "old school." (Michel laughs) Oui. Mr. Jones? Mr. Jones, your credit card has been denied. There's no longer sufficient funds available to cover the cost of your room. That's okay. I'm friends with Tony Balerdi. Tony said to tell you that your knives are in the bag. (quietly): Fuck. (various overlapping, indistinct conversations) Yes, mate? What can I get you? Him. You marinate the lamb in za'atar and lemon zest, right? Yeah. And yogurt, too, yeah. -Gorgeous. -Thank you. Look, Mr. Jones, I just want to say, I... you've always been a, a hero of mine. We studied your menus and recipes-- A hero or a god? I... (chuckles) I don't know the difference. Would you work for me for nothing? For nothing? For food, for meals. Yeah, absolutely. Yeah, if I was learning loads-- yeah. Would you pay me? (chuckles) How much would you pay me to work for me? Would you pay me a hundred pounds a week? Two hundred? Three hundred? -(inhales, stammers) -I'm trying to make a point. Your resume is great, this lamb's fucking fantastic, but you lack arrogance. And to be in my kitchen, you have to defend yourself. Okay. No, you mean, "Fuck you." (chuckling) Yeah. Yeah, fuck you. (chuckles) Okay. Now the most important question. You have a spare bedroom? (cookware and utensils clanking in distance) (quietly): How long did you say he could stay? Do you think he's drunk? DAVID (quietly): He doesn't drink anymore. Are you sure he's famous? If you're a chef, he's like... The Rolling Stones. Oh. He scares me. He's a two-star Michelin chef. (chuckling): He's supposed to be scary. Well, two doesn't seem like many. To get even one Michelin star, you have to be like Luke Skywalker. Okay? To get two, you have to be... eh, whoever Alec Guinness was. But if you manage to get three... (chuckles) (cookware and utensils clank and rattle) ...you're Yoda. Well, what if he's Darth Vader? Sara, I went crazy on summer vegetables on a bed of ricotta for you. And for your carnivore boyfriend, tea-smoked mackerel with duck egg. And then we have bouillabaisse followed by escargot with garlic and parsley butter. (Sara giggles) What? David says escargot is old-fashioned. Keep eating. (FUNKY MUSIC) HELENE: Is this a joke? -Is what a joke? -You leaving me a note to meet you at a Burger King. Hmm. No joke. No, this place is easy, accessible, and cheap. It's easy to find. They don't kick you out if you talk to yourself, which, for me, is crucial. Sit down. Mmm. You want some lunch? No, not here, no. Why not? I prefer to eat food cooked by a proper chef. You don't like people on minimum wage? (chuckling): Mr. Jones, I'm a sous chef. I'm a person on minimum wage. You know why people like you don't like fast food? Sorry. "People like me"? Because it's food for the working class. -Excuse me? -Justify why it costs $500 more to eat at a place where we work than it does at a place like this. -No. -'Cause you can't. Because the food here is made with too much fat and too much salt and too many cheap cuts of meat. You just described most classic French peasant dishes. Burger King is peasants doing what peasants do, giving a cheap cut of meat a little style. Goulash, bourguignon, cassoulet. Shall I go on? -I really have to go. -What you should have said is that the problem with this place is it's too consistent. And consistency is death. Consistency is what every great chef strives for. No, a chef should strive to be consistent in experience, but not consistent in taste. It's like sex. It's like, you're always headed to the same place, but you got to find new and dangerous way of getting there. I wish I could say it was nice seeing you again, Mr. Jones, but I'm happy where I am. Good luck. Adam Jones. My God. One hoped you were dead. Closed down any, uh, good restaurants lately? I don't close good restaurants. My reviews close bad ones. I need you to help me kick this arrogant city's ass. I'm back, and I'm gonna cook like we did in the old days, before we started warming up fish in little plastic bags. You know, when I lie awake at night and list my regrets, you're one of them. I say to myself, "Simone, you're a lesbian. Why did you sleep with Adam Jones?" (chuckles) Simone Forth is here. Sorry, who? "Who?" The restaurant critic of the fucking Evening Standard. This is dry! The grouse is dry and the sauce tastes like... Everything is fucked! We're finished! She will destroy us. (shouting in French) You set this up? Your restaurant is fucked unless you let me cook for her. You are insane. Wait, wait. Wait! (SUSPENSEFUL MUSIC) (MUSIC CONTINUES) Service. The bastard could cook gravel. (chuckles) (sighs) I want to make amends for Paris. (Tony chuckles) So I hand my restaurant over to you, and it's you doing me a favour? If your father didn't own this place, you would have been fired years ago. Michel will be my sous chef. Max is in. Max is in jail. He's out in two days. Also I found a chef de partie who doesn't know -how good she is. -"She?" Ay. (inhales) Right there, the whole thing falls apart. Because in three days you will be fucking her, in another three you will dump her, and then she leaves with screams and tears. No more women. I've been sober two years, two weeks, and six days. Now, I want you to talk to your father. My father is sick. Your father's not sick. He's dying. I'm giving you a chance to finally make him proud of you. -You are the best maitre d' in Europe. -(clicks tongue) My kitchen is going to be the best in the world. And we're gonna get the third star. WOMAN: The money the Balerdi family has agreed to pay to renovate the restaurant is contingent upon you showing up here every Friday. (doorbell buzzes) I'll be taking samples of blood to test for drugs and alcohol. Should a test prove positive, the family will withdraw their financial support for your restaurant immediately. I've been psychoanalyzing Tony Balerdi for many years. Do you attend meetings? No, I'm not much for groups. How do you to plan to maintain your sobriety? (in English accent): Oh, long walks in Walden Wood. (normally): The power of prayer. You have a disease; there's no shame in seeking help. I run a group here on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10:00. You'd be more than welcome to join. You could make the sandwiches. I don't make sandwiches. Well, I've injected so much junk in my life, there may still be stockpiles in my ankles. (sighs) In my experience, people who come in here and make silly comments are generally frightened of what they might reveal if they really took the time to be themselves. Oh, I haven't been myself since the '90s. Do you have a fear of needles? Well, that question indicates a serious lack of research. Did you ever see that movie, Seven Samurai? That's how I want my chefs to be. (ETHEREAL MUSIC) Chef. Chef, I'm afraid there's been a complaint. (low conversations) Do we have a problem? (sighs) Please don't fight him among all this bone china. It'll be me who picks up the tab. Hello, Reece. A little bird told me you'd lost your touch, so... A little lobster confirmed it. Leave us alone. (sniffs) So, not dead. Apparently not. Ah, looks can be deceiving. I mean, "dead" these days can mean barbecuing chicken wings with minor celebrities on morning television. (laughing): I'll never be that dead. I love the decor, by the way. It's perfect for stoning infidels. -What do you want? -I wanted to see how far the tortoise had gotten ahead of me. You're the hare in this analogy? It's your analogy. What happened to butter? What happened to your angel face? Oh, crack cocaine and Louisiana. I heard an idiotic rumour you're going for a third star. I heard an idiotic rumour that you'd gotten yours. Then I found out it's true. That must have hurt. Eh, I was on heavy painkillers at the time. Okay, all right, look. The whole Mozart/Salieri bullshit doesn't interest me anymore. I cook good, local ingredients in a unique, creative way to impress my diners. Well, you don't cook. You warm food up in condoms. Frying pans, flames, and booze went out with Adam Jones. And please don't think I'm impressed with the water. You're an addict. So it's not alcohol now. It'll be coke, or booze, or fucking every girl you meet, because you're addicted to the way you feel every second of the day. Doomed youth is romantic. Doomed middle age really isn't. Please don't think that's on the house. You pay your way like everyone else. Reece, in truth, the lobster was good. If you have any humanity left, leave Tony Balerdi and his father alone. (loudly): But you fucked up the sauce with too much lemon juice. (conversations stop) Excuse me one second. -Was he drunk? -Find out how far he's got and who the fuck he's got with him. Guthrie, you're out. Really? Oh, fantastic. (indistinct shouting) Nice bike. Michel's. Does he know you borrowed it? Not yet. (laughter) How are you? Good, good. (inhales) Assault? He plated the monkfish upside-down... three times. Upside-fucking-down, man. -(clicking tongue) -Come on. He was a fat fucker, and he was always chewing gum. So you-you took, you took matters -into your own hands? -Yeah, yes, I did. You know why? Because it was me who picked it up off the floor and put it in a fish locker until the ambulance arrived. I mean, people conveniently forget that part. That's a shame. (buzzer sounds) (tools whirring) ADAM: Jody! Added more tarragon. It was better yesterday. Can I try it? Come on. Mmm. -Better yesterday. -I didn't ask you. You know, I'm thinking the, uh, '89 Chateau Angelus with the pigeon. Yeah. Try this. (hammering in distance) (smacking lips) Good. "Good"? "Good" means nothing. I've had a call from a TV show today. -Absolutely not. -You know, my analyst suggested you may have an obsessive-compulsive disorder that you self-medicated for years. She thinks you should be in a program or in a group. I don't do groups. So what do you think, is it too much -or too little tarragon? -An e-mail came addressed to you. My French is rusty, but, uh, I think technically it's a death threat. Do you remember the drug dealer in Paris? Bonesis? He says you owe him a lot of money. For what? Wild guess. Drugs? Everybody does TV these days. Tell me the truth about the tarragon. It's a little heavy. Fuck off. You have to take Bonesis seriously, yeah? 'Cause he's fucking... (sighs): ...crazy. -Night, chef. -Night. -A-And what's the oil for? -Just garnish. (man continues indistinctly) -(speaks indistinctly) -Right. (speaks indistinctly) (speaking French) (flames whooshing) (indistinct chatter) (hissing) (rain pattering) You need to make a new one? Well, what are you doing? Is it ordered? Is it ordered? -Yes, chef. -Yeah, because you didn't make the new one. Why... no, why are you still cooking it? I'm talking to you. Look at me. -Why are you still cooking it? -Sorry, chef. Yeah. Go get a new one. (thunder rumbling) ADAM: How long has this been out here? Service, table four. -30 seconds to that lamb. -OTHERS: Yes, chef! MAN: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. ADAM: All right, don't let that sauce over-reduce again. OTHERS: Yes, chef! ADAM: Ca marche, table three. -One terrine, two pork, one beef. -OTHERS: Yes, chef! ADAM: Medium beef. Make sure that's medium beef, Max. -MAX: Yes, chef. -Potatoes on the beef. -I want that in 30 seconds, yeah? -OTHERS: Yes, chef! -30 seconds. -Got three minutes on that halibut. (others speaking indistinctly) Ca marche, table two. One foie gras, one risotto. -OTHERS: Yes, chef! -Followed by two beef, one turbot. Sorry I'm late, Conti. Lily was sick at school. -You're fired. -What? Take your knives and go. What the hell are you talking about? Just... go, huh? Go on. And hurry up, or you'll be late. -You cost me my fucking job! -Yes. I told you, I don't want to work for you. I see you brought your knives. I'll triple your salary. Conti said you needed the money. You want to come in here and make some real money, or do you want to stab me? You're wasting your talent there. (Helene groans) Service! Go with Michel at the sauce. Go! -Yes, chef. -How come we're slow? We're not full yet? I said, how come we're not full yet? There are some no-shows. -How many? -Four. -People? -Tables. Tell me, what else? A journalist had an advance look at the new menu. This stupid city, you know? Everything has to be... -Michel, to the pass. -Yes, chef. (sighs) Mr. Reece. I booked under the name of O'Reilly. He's my priest. I've come to deliver last rites. Lovely room, Tony-- it's very Paris 2007. Please tell Adam not to bother to come out to see me. I'm sure he's very... busy, it being opening night. Maybe not that busy. Come on! What the fuck is this bullshit! Table four, right now! Clean the pass! What did I say? Did I make a mistake this morning when I went, "How much did I order?" That can't be right! Michel, -where's my pig? -Yes, chef. Coming, chef. -Carrots! Carrots! Carrots! Carrots! -20 seconds, chef. ADAM: What the fuck is this? You don't give me a plate?! (objects crashing) ADAM: Why are you fucking with me? You're handing me a plate with nothing on it? What the fuck's wrong with you?! I said 40 seconds with a warm ingredient. It develops a crust around it. (speaks indistinctly) When you're ready to cook, let me know-- I'll be right here. -Where are we with the two turbots and two pork? -Coming right up, chef! MAN: 30 seconds on the spinach, chef. -Pork! -(indistinct talking) Fuck! Fuck! (metal objects continue clattering, spinning) (metal objects come to rest) Michel, to the pass. Yes, chef. Clean it up! (indistinct chatter) (whispers): Fuck. Where is he? Outside. Throwing up. (coughs, spits) (door creaking closed) I'm gonna give everybody who had dinner here tonight their money back. And I'm gonna write to each and every one of them and apologize... (clears throat) and apologize, 'cause of the fuckin' disaster that happened here tonight... was my fault. My fuckin' fault. I gave you this to use, right? -Yes, chef. -Because each slice of potato for pommes Anna has to be exactly two millimetres thick. Did you think that was a joke? -No, chef. -Did you measure your potato slices? -No, there was no time. -There's no time. You just have to know. But you don't know. I thought you did. I'm sorry. -(mandolin clatters) -My fault. If it's not perfect, you throw it away. Regardless of time. Eat it. (sighs) Yes, chef. Now spit it out before you die of "who gives a fuck" scallop. I kinda made a mistake with you. I didn't know you were deaf. -I'm not deaf. -Then how come I left you at the saucier, then I find you at the poisson? MICHEL: Adam... I'm not talking to you! How did you turn a beautiful, fresh piece of turbot into a pale, lifeless turbot fuck-all? How the fuck did you do that? Apologize to the turbot 'cause it died in vain. (Helene scoffs) (whispers): I said apologize. (sniffs) To the fucking fish. (exhales) (chuckles): Turbot, I sincerely apologize. Do you ever take a chance? -Do you ever take a chance in your life? -Yes. I came to work for you, didn't I? You don't get to talk back. That wasn't a fucking question. -Tonight went wrong because... -You're a piece of a equipment. -...your menu lacked balance. -Until you run your own... -Everything was designed... -...kitchen, you say, "Yes, chef, -...to shock. -"whatever you want, chef,... -To shock. -...right away, chef," -and then you shut the fuck up! -That's a fucking impossible line to walk! You're a fucking poison, you know that? You're a fucking infection! Get the fuck out of my restaurant! Don't ever fucking touch me again. -(door bangs open) -Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out! Get the fuck out now! (Adam clapping hands) Everybody get the fuck out now! -(exhales) -(door creaking closed) (Adam exhales) (Adam exhales) Call the TV people, tell them I'll do all their shows. There's not gonna be another empty table at this restaurant again, Ton. (door opens) (door creaking closed) WOMAN (on TV): ...Jones. Adam, good morning. -Morning. -Thanks very much for coming in this morning. Now, listen, tell us why you've agreed to come -on our show this morning. -Um... well, um, uh, Friday night, uh, Adam Jones at The Langham opened up, and it wasn't... let's just say it wasn't perfect, and... Is that the man who makes you cry? ADAM: I like things to be perfect, so... we are offering free dinners before we reopen next week. WOMAN: Wow, well, that's a big deal. -All week. In that case, but, um... -Mm-hmm. -Well, why... -I think I'm gonna cook for you today, too, right? You are supposed to be cooking for us as well, but before people get too excited, I imagine that those tables -are all booked up already. -Yeah, they are booked, but, um, in the restaurant business there are always cancellations, so... Come have your breakfast. (singsongy): And it's your favourite. LILY: Turbot? Not again. You can have chocolate puffs, too. (car horn honks in distance) It's good. Better than yesterday? (chuckles): Okay. Granny'll pick you up after school, okay? -You can't come? -I've got to find another job. Baby, I'm sorry. I'll try, okay? (Helene sighs) -Be good. -WOMAN: Lily? -I'm sorry. -Come on. -HELENE: Bye. -TONY: You know, what you said about the menu is right. Adam goes for fireworks. But he can be okay. I've actually seen him be okay. You know, when we all started at Jean Luc's-- Michel and I, Reece, Max-- he was different. He had a difficult childhood, you know? His father... (exhales) No mother. Handed off from one relative to the next. Listen, he really wants you back. And also, I think... he likes you. So that was Adam liking someone? I said I'd get you back. -And I'll double your salary. -He already tripled it. (chuckles): Well... then it's times three and then times two. You can learn from him. Use him as a stepping stone to get your own star. His cooking style is out of date. This isn't Paris five years ago. Tastes have changed. (laughs): The commis call the frying pan drawer "the museum." Did you know that? Yeah. (whispers): Fuck. (sizzling) This is equipment. And this is a chef. It's a sous vide, or water bath-- it's used for poaching food at fixed low temperatures. It's a condom. She has an idea. -Using condoms? -We can finish the meat on the fire. There's nothing wrong with that, but we use this to seal in all the flavours: vegetables, herbs, spices, marinades, anything you want sealed in. We adapt. You good? I am. You? Yeah. Good. Okay. HELENE: Okay. -(man speaking indistinctly) -Yeah. (speaks French) Works with the bass. Chef? -Chef? The menu. -Hey. Right here. (indistinct chatter) Mm. Pigeon. Perfect with the beef. It's 5:30. Can I please see the menu? The critic from the Times is coming. All new? Oui, chef. Aprons up! (indistinct talking) (camera shutters clicking) -ADAM: Two minutes on the mackerel. -OTHERS: Yes, chef! Where's that turbot? Coming up, chef! -One minute on that pork, Max. -Yes, chef. Good. This is my private number. Who gave you the number? No, no, no, no. There's no table. And please don't call this number again. Okay? WOMAN: Adam Jones at The Langham. Excuse me. Excuse me. The Times. Emile. (whispers): Ay, Papa. (objects smashing) (panting) I have almost everything I own invested in this restaurant. You're worse than schoolgirls. * HELENE (voice-over): Read the review? ADAM: Yeah. I don't know why you're so happy. I'm thinking of firing you. And everyone else. -It's fantastic. -Well, glad you're happy. Well, you're not, obviously. ADAM: Cooking's an expression of what? -Tell me. -At it's best... of sustaining someone, of love. That's bullshit. "Adam Jones at The Langham is now one of the best and most interesting places in London to come and eat." Which part of that don't you like: "one of" or "interesting"? I don't want my restaurant to be a place where you come and eat. I don't want my restaurant to be a place -where you fucking... -(Helene laughs) -I mean, we should be dealing in culinary orgasms. -(laughs) When's the last time you had an orgasm that was... "interesting"? Remind me never, ever to discuss food with you in public. ADAM: People eat because they're hungry. I want to make food that makes people stop eating. You're being stupid. Cooking is an expression of who we are. Right now we're two stars. Both of us. It's a two-star review. Now, we can keep on cooking and be interesting, but I want people to sit at that table and be sick with longing. And I need you in order to do that. -(sighs): Good night, chef. -Good night, chef. -Morning, chef. -Morning, chef. (ringing) Mmm. (chuckles) -Morning, chef. -Morning, chef. HELENE: Quick, quick! Mummy, I want some biscuits. No, we're late. We'll get something on the way. And Granny'll bring you a surprise when she picks you up from school, okay? Sweetheart, please, come on. Lily, we're late. Lil? Please. Come on. One, two, three. TONY (voice-over): Have a look at the new menu. A few items will seem familiar. Most are new. And most of our guests will be a bit uncomfortable at first. Do you know about the Michelin men? -It is a book. -It is the book, Yana. The Bible. TONY: Michelin sends its inspectors to restaurants to eat and award stars. One. Two. Three. -ADAM: Or none. -No one knows who they are. No one. They come, they eat, they go. But they have habits. They have to stick to a routine to give every restaurant the same chance. Michelin men eat in pairs. KAITLIN: Sometimes the Michelin man could even -be a woman. -They always book a table before 7:30. The first of the pair arrive early and has a drink at the bar. His partner arrives half an hour later. One orders the tasting menu, the other one a la carte. Always. They order half a bottle of wine. They ask for tap water. They wear business suits. They're polite-- but attention, they may place a fork on the floor under the table to see if you notice, and they wouldn't drop it because that could make a noise and make it too easy. ADAM: Everything from now on must be perfect. Not good, not excellent... perfect. If they find one single thing wrong, they will kill us. And they will come for us soon. -How long on the lamb? -MAX: Give me two more minutes, chef. Adam. (clears throat) There are two men at the kitchen door wanting to see you. They're French. -Service! -Should I tell them... -Canapes! -...you left half an hour ago? No. They'll just come back. -Michel, to the pass. -Yes, chef. (low conversation) (men speaking French) TONY: You all right? Yeah. Fine. Chef, just careful, it's hot. (yells in pain) (groans) MAX: What's wrong? What's wrong? Let me see, let me see, let me see. Oh. You need a Band-Aid. Michel. (speaks French) (indistinct chatter) (door creaks) (siren blaring in distance) Sorry, chef. I was taking my break. Stay. I want you to try something. I'm working on a, uh, Ratte potato -and truffle. -(traffic passing in distance) And I used a little bit of your beef sauce. That's good. It's my daughter Lily's birthday on Thursday. Conti used to let me have the day off so that I could throw her a party. I was hoping I could maybe miss the lunch service on Thursday. The problem with being good is you become indispensable. I need you here all day Thursday. Yes, chef. (door creaks open) -Max, truffles. -Got them. -HELENE: David! -Yes, chef? -Fish! -Yes, chef. Chef. It's not cooked. -Sorry? -Raw. It's not cooked. It's fucking raw, David! It takes a real genius to fuck up the sous vide, David, let me tell you. HELENE: One mackerel, one scallop, two veal. Where's my fish? -Coming. -David! -Yes, chef? -Hurry up! When are you gonna do something about Medusa out there? You're pushing her too hard. If you're not careful, she's gonna end up like you. And we can't have a kitchen with two of you in it. It's the end of service. She should be fine. If not, we need to know that. She wants to be like us. In order to do that, she's got to live the life. I liked her better before. Just wanted to tell you. I had dinner with Tony last night. He wasted his night off with you, huh? (chuckles) We talked a lot about you. Isn't there a rule that analysts have about discussing patients with other patients? I'm not your analyst. Thank God. (chuckles) You know he's in love with you, don't you? Yes. He didn't relaunch the restaurant to impress his father. He did it for you. Yeah. He wants you to get your third star. Even after all the pain you've caused him. He wants to see what you'd be like without a knife in your hand, fighting for your life. You know, people pay prostitutes extra to fake orgasms. Maybe Tony pays you extra to fake concern. Tell me what frightens you. Spiders. Death. (chuckles) Well, or maybe the imperfection of human relationships, the imperfection of others, -of yourself. -(sighs) What happens if you get this third star? Oh, no, not "if," "when." All right, when you get it. Celebration. Fireworks. Sainthood, immortality. Perfection. Mm-hmm, sure. What happens if you fail? Plague, pestilence. Seas rise, locusts devour. The four horsemen ride and darkness descends. Death. Sure. Okay, this is for free. Someone told you when you were very small that you were good and the world was good, and everything naturally would be good. And then the serpent served you a bad apple, and for all your bullshit, you can't take bad. Not in a-a souffle, not in an apple, and crucially, not in a person. Should I be writing this down? 'Cause I don't have a crayon. Whatever it was, or whoever it was, in the past, it's time to get on with it. And you can't do this alone. There's strength in needing others... not weakness. Make sure to thank Tony for those kind thoughts, Doc. Oh, that wasn't Tony. That was all me. It's not OK to control your partner with threats. It's not OK to control who they spend time with,... ...how they use their phone or Facebook or how they dress. It's not OK to make them live in fear. It's not OK to say it's none of our business. Because it is our business. And it's not OK. Ever. But it is OK to ask for help. * Food's up, guys. Family meal. (indistinct chatter) (chattering continues) ADAM: One beef, one tartine platter, one turbot. ALL: Yes, chef! ADAM: Capers on the beef. Don't forget that! ALL: Yes, chef! COOK: Fuck off! For fuck's sake, fuck off! Ca va? Huh? Yes, chef. Max. Keep them under control. Yeah? Yeah. What's going on here? -(door opens) -Hello? What are you doing here? -It's your day off. -Order for table eight. I'm with a friend. It's her birthday. I want a cake. -No, no cake. -You're a chef. You can make cakes, right? No. No cake. I have sorbet. Tony, it's fine. ADAM: Tony? What's going on? What's going on? Chef, Lily didn't want to stay at home today because it's her birthday, so Tony said if I brought her into work, he'd watch her during service. And she wants a fucking birthday cake, okay? So make a cake. (door closes) (chuckles) Nice gravy. It's not called gravy anymore. Well, actually, it's called gravy again. Is the ogre in the kitchen? The one who shouts? I have no idea who you mean. You're the ogre. Yes. But I bake great cakes. Good? I've had better. -Really? -(Tony chuckles) Adam? (shower running) (sighing): Ay. Adam? (water stops) Adam? Yo. The maids don't come? I always leave the, uh, "do not disturb" sign on. We have a laundry service as well. You have an invitation. Montgomery Reece invites you to the relaunch of his restaurant. I thought he hated you. He does. That's why he invited me. Tell him yes. Well, if you go, you should take someone with you. Someone to stop you from getting into a fight with him. (sniffs) Oh, you mean like you? No. Your therapist's got a big mouth. Nothing you didn't know. You said in your restaurant everything was possible, but, um, I know not everything is possible. Besides, you're not as pretty as you once were. Hey, Tony. Uh, you hungry? Can I, can I make you breakfast or something? You mean, cook me breakfast instead of falling in love with me? Yeah. No. Thank you. I already ate. But I appreciate the thought. Take someone nice. (door opens, closes) Little more skin on the bass, yeah? -Yes, chef. -You got that, right? -Yeah. -Oh, you got to thin this sauce. It's like fucking glue. You have a nice dress? Excuse me? Do you have a nice dress? I got to go to this party, and, uh, you're the only girl that I know, so... Uh, yeah. Sure. Good. Hey, pretend you're my girlfriend, okay? If Reece knows who you are, he'll steal you away. If I was your girlfriend, you'd probably hold my arm. No, if you were my girlfriend, we would've gotten in an argument in the taxi. We wouldn't even be talking. I've been working more on the potato truffle veloute. I think we should put it on the menu tomorrow, as a sort of modern take on sole bonne femme. Michelin loves it when you celebrate French cuisine. You look great by the way. Thank you. -Hello. -Oh, hi, nice to meet you. -MAN: This is Montgomery Reece. -Pleasure. -This is Marcus. -Marcus. -Nice to meet you, sir. -Marcus, is, uh, -actually one of the investors in the other restaurant. -Excellent. REECE: Well, thank you very much. Hello, Jones. You find a nice flat surface yet? I take it you are the saucier he's been trying to hide from me this whole time, in which case, when you do get tired of him, this is what you could be cooking. You're doing me almost as good as me. And you're using butter. Where'd you come up with that idea? WOMAN: Adam? I didn't invite her. She came with another guest. Who is she? That is Jean Luc's daughter, Anne Marie. The Times just arrived. What are you doing here? I thought maybe you would come to Papa's funeral. Yeah, I didn't know that he'd died. (exhales) I've missed you. I'm better now. Been clean almost two years. (exhales) I went to a clinic in Milan. They helped me stop. You look good. Strong. What do you want? (exhales) Papa wanted you to have his knives. Would you like me to send them? Yes, please. (sighs) Hi. Have you been here all night? How'd you find me? Couldn't sleep, then I remembered sole bonne femme needs sole. Yeah, without skin. Sweeney's Irish, by the way, not Scottish. It's my ex-husband's name. Leon Sweeney. Didn't work out, huh? It could have done. We were really good for a long time, but... You know, we drank too much, and partied too much and... I could stay up for days, and he loved that about me. Then I got pregnant with Lily and, you know, I wanted to stop, and he didn't. Didn't or couldn't? What's the difference? Yeah. I worked in places like this all the time when I was a kid. I saved up a bunch of money, bought a one-way ticket to Paris. Lied my way into Jean Luc's kitchen. That's when Max was there, and Reece, and, uh, Michel came later. I didn't speak any French. Worked 20-hour days six days a week. I was 19 years old. I loved every minute of it. The heat, the pressure, the violence, the fucking screaming, you know, all the cooks. That kitchen is the only place I've ever felt like I really belonged. Why? What happened in Paris? I just fucked it all up. Maybe it's... Maybe I just wanted it really bad, and then when I got it too early, I didn't know how to hold on to it. I tried to control everything. Then when I wanted to escape from it... 5:00 is always the worst time for thinking things. I always think of things, like I make a list of, like, things and people I always think about right now. It's like my mom, my grandmother, Jean Luc. It's like a broken fucking record. That woman at the party was really pretty. Is she on your list? Nope. Her perfume was amazing. You smell okay. (laughs) Thank you. What about Tony? Is he on your list? Yeah, he's there. I worry maybe I'm too hard on him. At about 6:00, I decide it's okay. (chuckles) And there's you. Wait, I'm on the list? Yeah, apparently so. It's getting to be a long list. No wonder I don't sleep. Why are you thinking about me at 5:00 a.m.? I just think you and I are exactly the same, you know? All we want to do-- thanks-- is just fry some fucking fish. HELENE: I'm thinking of doing that sauce with a chicken stock base, a white chicken stock, just to lighten it up a bit. Yeah? Yeah. Adam. Yeah? (softly): This is a fucking stupid idea. (softly): It was your idea. (chuckles) (car door opens) No water bath, okay? Just slowly baste them in butter on either side. What? Okay, and then confit the rattes and then peel, emulsify in butter, stock, truffles, okay? Who are they? 30 seconds, no more. I used to worry, now I don't. Believe me, the only person who will kill Adam Jones is Adam Jones. Oh, Helene. "Oh, Helene" what? Adam? -(groans) -Jesus. (spits, coughs) I'm okay. What the hell was that? Who were those men? -I still owe some people some money. -Just pay them. It's a lot of money. -You think you can walk? -Yeah, I'm fine. You have to go and see a doctor, Adam. -No, service. -No, you're not cooking, Adam. We can handle it, all right? Just tell me quickly. Do you want me to baste them in butter? -Slowly, and then peel and emulsify. -Jesus, you're as bad as he is. KAITLIN: Tony. Tony! -What? -There's a man... There's a man at the bar. He's wearing a suit. His friend arrived half an hour later. They left their drinks at the bar. DENITIZI: They ordered half a bottle of wine, two glasses of tap water, and there is now a fork on the floor under their table. Michelin. (indistinct chatter) -Max, get my knives? -Yeah. -Where is it? Where's the order? -I said I'll handle it. -Are they seated? -What table are they at? Do we know what table they're at? -I'll handle it. -Where's the order? -One taster, one a la carte. -Jesus, look at you. Adam. -Be quiet. Just be fucking quiet. MICHEL: Service. -Is this it? Is this it? -Yeah. Michel, I want you to make the short ribs for the beef, and I want you to make the sauce for the sea bass. -Adam. -Let me finish and then you say fucking, "Yes, chef!" I want you to make the sauce for the sea bass. I'm gonna portion out that fish and the beef. Max, where are my knives?! Knives! Knives! -Yes, chef. -Max. Max, give me the knives! And I want to see every element of every garnish. ALL: Yes, chef. And remember, they're not just watching their own table! They've got eyes on everything, so everything has to be pitch perfect! Do you hear me? ALL: Yes, chef. -Yeah? -Yeah, it's good. Yeah? Other side, yeah. Five minutes. Yeah. It's good? Yeah, that's right. That should be thick. That's good, that's good. MICHEL: Thank you, chef. More salt. Like velvet, yeah? Like velvet. -Yes, chef. Yes, chef. -(speaking French) Yes, chef. Show me, show me, show me. It all has to be same size. -It all has to be the same fucking size. -Yes, chef. What do we got? Yeah? Okay, good. Every one, glaze on every one. -Double of everything. Two of everything! -Yes, chef. (mumbling) Come on, got to thicken it up. Come on, this is the dish. -You are looking at that all the time, yeah? -Yes, chef. You have eyes on it the whole time till you hit the pass. -Yes, chef. -Yeah? Look at me. -Yeah? You up for it? -Yes, chef. Yes, chef. -All right, let's go! -Yes, chef. -Come on, Michel. -Plates are clean. -Okay. -Starters are finished. Mains to the pass, right now! ALL: Yes, chef. Hey! Hey! -Yeah? -You're gonna wait right here. You're gonna make sure everything goes out to them. Okay, give me some room. Come on, Adam, let them go. -(panting) -Come on. Service. Fingerprints off, yeah? -Yes, chef. -Keep it level. -Yes, chef. -And exactly how I gave it to you. Yes, chef. Clear the pass. (sighs) (crying softly) (clattering) They sent it back. Too spicy. -What? -Too fucking spicy! MICHEL: Pepper. I added cayenne to it. For Paris. TONY: Michel. Michel. Michel! (shouts) (laughing) Hey! (muffled shouting) I'm gonna... (laughing hysterically) Hey! Whoa! Whoa-oh! What the fuck is that? This is like... How, what are you doing in here? What are you guys doing in here? This is so great! This stuff is so great! -Tell me... -Everybody out, now. (Adam singing dramatic theme) Get out now! Oh! (singing continues) I got it, I got it. I can figure it out. I got it. I got it. Hold on. Do I...? Yeah. (chuckles) That's it. (sighs) That's it. (chuckles) That's it. That's it. What do you do? You got to plug it in. I just don't know how you plug it in. Just let me do it! Let me do it! Let me do it! Let me do it. REECE: Jack! Just let me do it. (muffled crying): Let me do it! Let me do it! (coughing) (softly): Let me do it. (coughing continues) (panting) (crying) I'm tired. (sobbing) (sizzling) (scraping) (groans) What is this, Hell? REECE: Yeah, I suppose it is. Well, the mercy of your enemy is a kind of hell. (Adam groans) (groans) (sighing) What happened? I have no idea. You turned up out of your head. Come and eat something. (sniffs) That's your verdict, is it? What was the name of that dive on Rue Des Panoyaux Max and Michel always insisted we go to? Le Saint Sauveur. (laughs) Le Saint Sauveur. Every night. At what, 2:00 in the morning? After doing 18 hours at Jean Luc's, knowing we had to be back in the kitchen at what, 7:00? Yeah. I think I was hungover for two years. Fucking great times, though. It is a miracle any of us survived. It's good. I know. The Michelin men came last night. And? We fucked it up. (sighs) I fucked it up. Fucked it up a long time ago. (sighs) Why'd you take care of me? 'Cause I need you. We all do. If you understood that, you wouldn't fight so hard. Yeah? You're better than me. Which makes you the best. But the rest of us need you to lead us to places we otherwise wouldn't go. Now finish that and go. I'm almost certain it isn't Friday. I didn't get my third star. And yet, still alive. Well, come on then. Group doesn't start for 20 minutes. I'll put the kettle on. (car doors closing) (engine starts) (sighs) You paid them? (sighs) The debt was as much mine as yours. You look terrible. I'll be okay. (sighs) Papa's knives. He sharpened them himself before he died. He said, "Adam likes everything perfect." I have a train to catch. Anne. (knocking) (sighs) I thought this was the time you didn't come back. -Who's at the pass? -David. -What? -You trained him well. The kid's a star. Go on, tell him. I called the Michelin office in Paris this morning to explain what Michel had done to your dish. They said they had no inspectors in London last night. So... I called the number the men used to book the table. They're software salesmen from Birmingham. (chuckles) Hey, come on. Laugh or something. Thank you. (clears throat) The kitchen may be in good hands, but, uh, Kaitlin can't handle the front of the house. She's got beautiful legs, but, uh, she's not very useful on the phone. (chuckles uncomfortably) Okay? Stay here and make sure this idiot doesn't have a concussion. Okay. (chuckles) (door opens) (chuckles) (door closes) -You okay? -Mmm. Yeah. Let me see. Um.... -Oh, shit. -Hey, don't look at that. Ooh. -Jesus. -It's okay. Sit down. Let me clean you up. I'm all right. No, you're not. (exhales) (water running) (chuckles) (sniffs, clears throat) (groaning) Jesus. (exhales) What is that? It's probably a boot mark. Geez. Oh. Anne Marie paid my debt. Yeah, Reece said she might. You called Reece? I was looking for you. I was looking for you everywhere. (groans) -Oh, sorry. -No, it's okay. (whispering): I'm afraid. I don't know if I can do it. Listen. Conti and Tony and Max and David. We cook together, and we take care of each other. You can't do it alone. No one can. You have to trust us. Okay? We're your family. George, I need that sauce. GEORGE: Ten seconds, David. Sauce up. Thank you. Good. -Thank you, chef. -Excellent. Good job, man. One pappardelle, one foie gras, one halibut, one pigeon. ALL: Yes, David. (sighs) How long on the sweetbread and the burrata? Mmm, all right. -Good morning, boss. -Morning. -Chef. -Chef. (doorbell buzzes) (chuckles) COOK: Try a bit of the sauce. (talking indistinctly) (low chatter, laughing) (low conversations) Would you like to order an aperitif? No, thank you. -We'll try the Gavi de Gavi. -Certainly. A half bottle. Oh, and two glasses of tap water. Michelin, table nine. (sighs) Two customers. Late 40s. Half a bottle of wine. One taster, one a la carte. Denitizi saw one place a fork on the floor. They're here. (Adam sighs) We do what we do. We what? We do what we do. And we do it together. Yes, chef. ADAM: Ca marche, table nine. One taste, one scallop, follow one toast, lamb, one halibut. ALL: Yes, chef. Okay, clear the pass. (indistinct chatter) Ready? (SUSPENSEFUL, OPTIMISTIC MUSIC) Service. Food, guys. Family meal. Thanks. (indistinct chatter and laughter)