Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares (2004–2014): Season 2, Episode 2 - D-Place - full transcript

The venue for tonight's second programme is D-Place in Chelmsford, Essex run by Mexican-born Israel and his English partner Tara. They've sunk £150,000 of their own money into their trendy café bar which offers a vast selection of fusion cuisine. In charge is Executive Chef Philippe, producing everything from all-day breakfasts to hoi sin noodles with an astounding lack of flair; the plastic food is dire and boomerangs back from the dining room as soon as it's cooked. Restaurant manager, spunky Essex boy Dave, loathes his chef, and their mutual hatred spills over into permanent running battles. Faced with dysfunctional staff and a disastrous menu, Gordon is about to face the longest week of his professional life. Can he quell the panic, banish the deep fat fryer and bring D-Place back from the dead, or will it disappear forever?

And now we return to 2005 where
Gordon gets to grips with another
Kitchen Nightmare.

Contains strong language
from the start and throughtout.

If we're going to do horrible food
let's do it all the time.

If you cooked like this in France
they'd hang you

from the Arc de Triomphe
by your bollocks.

'I've got seven days to transform
the food and banish the bullshit.'

The oven's not
even hot enough to roast a potato.

We can't even cook a fucking burger
in there.

'But the staff are at war.'

You don't look an idiot.

I do, cos I'm serving someone
your fucking shit food.



'If I'm gonna get
this place back on track...'

Go, three club sandwiches, quick!

'..something's got to give.'

If you're not interested on pulling
on the rope, fuck off.

I have had enough of this.

Hang on. Hang on, let me finish.

Are you ready for this?

Yes. >

Big day, uh? Don't fuck it up.

Essex, an ancient Saxon county,
more recently

colonised by Essex girls,
boy racers and footballers' wives.

And now a Mexican...

Calling Dave.

..called Israel.



Find out why he's not here.

Five years ago
he brought trendy fusion cuisine

to the heart of Chelmsford.

He opened D-Place Cafe-Bar.
It seemed that he'd found

a winning formula.

Great place, great music,
great service, great food,

the right price.
And it worked perfectly.

Over the space of two years
Israel built a mini empire of

five businesses.

But success didn't last long.

Fusion restaurant and bar.

'Three years later
all but D-Place are gone,

even this place is hanging on by
a thread.

If I don't do something drastic

then, you know,
this business will go down the pan.

Having invested a £150,000 and with
a quarter of a million pound loan

from a national brewery
Israel and his partner Tara

are at their wits' end.

So you've had the success then.

It was busy. Now it's
pissed through your hands.

Classic example in business,
trying to run before

you can walk without consolidating.
How quiet is it?

As bad as it's been.

The restaurant's losing money,
the bar is supporting

the restaurant. The sales have
dropped

by more than 50% in
comparison to three years ago.

How desperate are
you to get it back?

Very. Desperate.

I'm at a crossroads. >
Do I still give it

another go or do I return the keys
to the landlord next month and say,

"I'd better go
and do something else."

< You don't look like a guy that
would give in easy.

No, I don't.

Israel is up to his neck in debt

and doesn't own the building.

If this goes tits up,
he and Tara will lose everything.

Yeah, I said to you, "Ten second."

In a last-ditch attempt to win
back customers, Israel has employed

one time wannabe fighter pilot,
now high-flying executive chef

Philippe Blaize.

Can I have two avocado and shrimp?

With 25 years' experience,
Monsieur Blaize came hot

from the multi-million pound stables
of Belgo and Planet Hollywood.

I thought, "Well,

"why not give a try
to the countryside of England."

At Planet Hollywood,
I had 150 people working for me,

you know, so here it's a lot
different.

You know, I've got,
er, two or three chefs, you know.

We get some great feedback,
but the only problem is that

the guests don't come in.

Even on a dead cert like Valentine's
night, out of 84 available seats

only 24 have been booked.

But at least that means the
missus and I can get a table.

Ah, happy Valentine's Day.

From the Valentine special menu I'm
having a scallop and shrimp cocktail

for mains and a tiramisu
creme brulee for dessert.

Sorry, I decided to bring it myself

because I had trouble getting
a waiter.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

Phew, microwave rice straightaway.

God!

Just a...just a mess really.

Nice scallops
need cooking ten seconds each side,

but they're chewy
with overcooked dried prawns.

They're fucking, it's there.

Dave.

Dave.

Phil's nemesis and maitre'd
is 25-year-old Essex boy Dave Bone.

I think you need to have
quality rather than

quantity on a night like tonight.
Treat people with the respect

they want and the special manner.
How is your meal?

We'll go straight to
the creme brulee I think.

Straightaway?

Didn't you ask for
the tiramisu, though?

Isn't it a tiramisu creme brulee?

Sorry, do you work here?

Straight to dessert, please.
Rubbery and overcooked.

I'm sorry?

I said, "Rubbery and overcooked." >

And I'm not the
only one complaining.

I ordered salmon and...

er, which sounded lovely and,
but it just wasn't quite cooked.

At least my pudding should be
a safe bet. It's a French classic

so Philippe should be able to
make it with his eyes closed.

And it looks like he has.

Creme brulee, it's liquid.

It's a first for me,
I've never had a runny creme brulee.

I should have asked for a straw.
It's fucking embarrassing.

Oh, come on, it's not all right.

Excuse me, Dave.

< No. No, no.

Like, listen to me.

I don't want to. I don't want to.

OK, then, go.

I'm the person who looks an idiot.

No. No, no, you, you don't..

Because of you.

You don't look an idiot, OK...

I do - I'm serving
someone your fucking shit food.

Look, Dave,
go back to your restaurant.

Anglo-French relations
seem to have hit a new low.

Yeah, and I'm saying to you
when it's ready I will ring.

It's Valentine's night and
all I can hear is

the fucking chef shouting. Let's go.

We made hard work of nothing,
and what I didn't experience

was any passion.

Well, I did think that,
er, the scallop dish was,

was actually very, very good.

The ones I ate were like rubber.

Hmm.

And I'm really sorry but I've never

known a Frenchman to make such
a shit creme brulee in all my life.

We've got a lot of work to do.

Hmm.

Fuck me.

'Awful food, bad service.'

Cor, fucking hell,
definitely not "D-Place" for me.

Fuck me.

Israel and Tara have sunk everything

they own into D-Place and they're
hugely indebted to the brewery.

The odds are really stacked
against them, but I like them

and I also like a challenge.

I want you out of the kitchen.

Goodbye. You can go to the toilet.

Lunchtime in the kitchen is the
busiest time of the day and

Philippe is back to his normal menu.

I'm really hoping it's a damn
sight better than last night's crap,

otherwise we really are
in the fucking shit.

Cheeseburger, Thai noodles.

The Thai noodles coming now.

With over 40 dishes to choose from,
Philippe's menu is global both

in size and choice.

What is that?

This is salsa sauce.

Holy fuck.

'Everything from all day
English breakfast, Hoi Sin noodles

'to Mexican Platters,
this is definitely more confusion

'than fusion. Some of it's
even served in a bread bin.'

People don't eat out of that surely?
Are you taking the piss?

Well, we, we give it
a bit of a foliage.

70% of Philippe's food is bought in
ready prepared.

And what's happened to that?

'The Frenchman even gets his
baguettes delivered frozen.'

Fucking hell.

'And buying in ready-made food is an
expensive false economy.'

What's the most popular dish today?

Er, the hamburgers and the crepes.

Are they home-made though?

Er, yes, they are.

All right, upstairs.

Oh, finally. Thank you very much.

You've only just fucking rang it!

Philippe's two sous chefs, Munya and
Alsyma, are young and inexperienced.

They clearly know nothing beyond

Phil's warped culinary world.

And what's that in there?

Splash on sauce.

Uncle, Uncle Ben's? Fucking hell.

When do you want to be a head chef?

Three years.

Fuck me,
you'd better move your arse.

All right, where have they
all gone now?

I've got a table here ready.

Munya,
when do you want to be a head chef?

Well, maybe in about ten years'
time.

Probably have my own place I think.
That's what I would like.

'They may be hungry for success,

'but if they think this is cooking
they're in for a surprise.'

Very lumpy that, isn't it, no?
It looks like fucking porridge.

'The bells. The bells.'

Can you tell me if this is starter
and this main course or is it

all together?

Yeah, please, because I can't guess.

You didn't take the Nicoise, the one
which was here was the Greek Salad.

Lunchtime service should be
a quick turnaround, but with all

the cock-ups the customers are lucky
to get their food within 45 minutes.

And it's not helped by the
full scale war raging between

restaurant manager Dave and
Philippe.

What is it between you and Dave,
cos you hate each other, right?

Er, pretty much, yeah.

And when the food does make
it out to the customers, it comes

boomeranging back just as fast.

Phillipe. He said it's not cooked
properly.

Which one?
It's my mistake obviously,

er, I should have spotted it
before it went out.

And it's
not just the undercooked fish

that slips through Philippe's net.

What happened?

She just said it's
a bit runny inside.

What's going on? The plates are
fuller coming back than going out.

He said it's not cooked properly.

It's not what?

It's not cooked properly.

It tastes shit.
Stodgy and fucking disgusting.

How many is cooked there?

'Burgers can be barbecued, grilled
or fried, but the secret to success

'is to cook them to order.'

Look how thin they are.

We don't cook burgers now,
they're not even on order.

Er, we're pre-cooking them either
for tonight or even for tomorrow,

because the thing is...

For tomorrow?

The thing is, the oven is
very, very slow and we can't put it

any higher than that.

Have you lost the plot?

No.

Have you gone a little bit
fucking bonjour?

No.

And so how are you gonna
cook that again tomorrow?

Er, it will be reheated in
the microwave.

Holy mackerel!

'And the tortuous treatment of
innocent food doesn't stop there.'

And you deep-fried the bacon now?

We do, yeah.

Did you cook like this in France?

Well, er, no.

You'd be fucking shot in France.
They'd hang you

from the Arc de Triomphe
by your bollocks.

We're in the shit. >

Well, if we want to
turn the business around,

yes, er, I, I have to agree.

We're in the fucking shit.

Cafe-bar D-Place
is in deep trouble.

In the last year food sales have
dropped £7,000 a week, and,

depressingly, since I arrived I've
found few positives to build on.

It's time for Israel to pull his
head out of the sand

and smell the coffee.

Looking at the situation
I can confirm I'm shitting myself.

I'm worried about the situation
in the kitchen. The idea of cooking.

There's not a lot of
that going on in there.

No.

The standard...is pretty crap.

And what I have identified lately is
lack of pride.

Yeah, and a huge lack of respect.

Too many individuals
like you've got now will completely

fuck the business, but have you
lost respect for your business?

No, I've lost sense of
pride for the business.

It starts from the top.
You have to stay fucking strong

and on top of it, because without
your determination you're fucked,

and we need to turn their attitudes
around and get, get their heads out

of their arseholes and fucking
get this place back on track.

The animosity between

Dave and Philippe is dragging
the business down.

They're like a whinging old couple.

So on day three it's time to start
building bridges

with some tried and tested marriage
guidance tactics.

Hold out your hand.

So whilst you've got that egg

in your hand tell Dave
what you really think about him.

Well, Dave, you're just an arrogant
little bastard.

< Er, you know,

you think you know everything,
you're the most beautiful.

You're the most perfect guy there is,

and, er, that's the bottom line.

Hand out.

I think you're talking out
of your arse, aren't you?

Because when I do
try and talk to you,

and if I do shout, it's because you
argue and don't let me finish.

So from now on stop being a stubborn
fucking French bastard,

because we're not gonna work at all
and this place is gonna go down.

There's nothing that I would like
more than actually being able to work

with the manager of the restaurant.

And this whole
exercise is not personal.

It's about business
and doing your fucking jobs.

And I just beg you both
to continue talking to one another,

because that hasn't taken place.

Understand each other's jobs.

Now, shake hands.

For the better.

It's not just Phil's relationship
with Dave that's worrying me.

He seems to have lost any
real command of his kitchen.

Can I have vegetable noodle?

An efficient brigade fires on
constant motivation

from their head chef, but Munya and
Alsyma are left to fester

in bottled sauces and frozen
deep-fried food.

I've never seen a mushroom like
that before. Where are the..

They're breaded mushrooms.

Breaded mushrooms.
They're picking up one bad habit

after another, and Philippe
doesn't even seem to care.

Being in Essex, you know, people tend
to like their omelette well cooked.

So this is an Essex omelette
not a French omelette.

It's not a French omelette.

Oh, OK.

Holy Mackerel! Show me.

Yeah, Now that's a...
That's fucking cooked, uh?

It's time to find out what happened
to Philippe Blaize,

executive chef extraordinaire.

I see a man in front of me
at 40 years of age, French,

that's had bloody good jobs before
at the executive fucking level,

whether it's Belgo or
Planet Hollywood, but I don't see

anything that resembles a chef.

If you are buying so much food in
and it's making you look shit.

Yeah.

Why aren't you fighting against
that? Chefs fight for reputations

and show the hunger to the
customers of making them happy.

It's true.

Up to a point, I may have given up
because I see that there's no hope.

Thank you.

But I am still as hungry as I was
to actually do and create things.

OK, well, I want to help you,
and I want to work closely with you

to get things back on line,
just to install

that bit of fucking pride.

You've just said it.

< Get it back.

When a business stops making money
it's tempting to stop investing

in it, and it's blatantly obvious
that's exactly what Israel's done.

The dining room is tatty
and the kitchen lacks

some of the basic essentials.

You've got to give this man
the tools in order to operate

this fucking restaurant properly.
I'm frustrated that we've got

a freezer full of crap and we've
got an oven that doesn't work.

So we've got to get
our priorities right.

Your business, you're employed
as the head chef.

You both have to start speaking
the same language.

That is absolutely critical.

I hope this is the beginning of
things to change and that

if Philippe has felt in the past
that he's been put under pressure

to cut corners...then not to
cut corners without talking to me.

With the lines of communication open
and the promise of vital equipment

on the horizon, Philippe and I
can start thinking about the food.

Do you not think the menu's too big?

Yes, it is.

Maybe, finally
we're starting to get somewhere.

To pull in lunchtime diners,
it's out with fusion confusion

and in with a snappy menu of tasty,
fresh food

that can be pushed out quick.

I'm trying to lift it.

I don't want to get complicated.
These guys... No, of course.

aren't in a position to get
anything complicated done.

That's pretty obvious.

And Phil's come up with
a classic French sandwich

to get our creative juices flowing.

You're passionate about
the Croque Monsieur?

I do like it, yes.

When you're so passionate about
something as delicious as this,

how can you make that baguette with
the chicken and the plastic cheese?

This is water off a
duck's back for you.

You're a Frenchman,
this surely must be

the kind of food you like cooking?

Yeah, it is.

I've seen you more relaxed
in the last ten minutes

than I have in three days.

Yeah. Yeah.

It would be nice for you

to give a little bite to the guys
and tell them about it.

Yeah, I will.

Show them a little bit of
sort of passion.

At last, some real food,
and it smells delicious!

All the way from Dijon.

Uh? You're happy with
that one, aren't you?

< That's beautiful.

Very nice.

Yeah. >

Alsyma, what do you think?

Nice. I like it.

Munya, baguette?
Chicken baguette or Croque Monsieur?

I think the Croque Monsieur's
much better because

it looks better, tastes better.

We're gonna take a picture.
Why are we taking a picture?

For records of it?

It becomes idiot-proof.

No matter how easy you think
this sandwich is,

it's still possible to damage a
business on a shit sandwich.

In the past year Philippe
has already changed the menu

four times to no effect,
so it's not surprising that Israel

needs a little reassurance that
another new menu is the right step.

If we agree that we're gonna cook
it this way and he changes it

and cut corners - that is
frustrating.

When I talk about reintroducing
menus I'm not talking about fucking

food that's over his head,
I'm talking about soups, sandwiches

and straightforward dishes

that you can identify, that are
idiot-proof and fucking delicious.

Yeah. That's music to my ears.

That's all.
But it's not just the food

that's been letting the place down.

Dave Bone has been a worry
to me ever since I arrived.

He's talked the talk
but done little to back it up.

You have fallen for the biggest
problem any restaurant manager

has with their staff,
you've become their best mate,

and that's pissed off a few people
in here.

You can't afford to run this
restaurant as your social event,

otherwise, mate,
you won't be here for much longer.

Turning it into my own show

is probably not the best
for business but the easiest.

You're running a fucking smart,
cool cafe bar.

New start. >

Stand apart from your staff.

It's time for a peace summit
between the warring factions.

So I've asked Israel to come up with
an exercise to promote communication

and trust between the kitchen
and the front of house teams.

You add your onions into it and you
start smashing, yeah, or mashing..

They're going to be making
Guacamole, but there's a twist.

And the teams are...

Philippe,
you're partnered up with David.

CHEERING

The person in the back is actually
making a guacamole, but you're all

going to be putting a blindfold on
so you're going to have to depend

on the person in front of you
directing you.

We're going to have to depend on
the restaurant helping the kitchen,

and the kitchen helping the
restaurant. Put his blindfold on.

Just the head, not the neck, Dave!

Hands behind your back. Three
minutes starting from...

now!

Very softly, pick up one!

And if you pick up the bowl
next to it.

Slowly, cos you're digging in.

It doesn't matter that's OK.

Not a peach, a pinch, as in a pinch.

Oh, pinch? Sorry.

Halfway there.

Eat it Munya, you're a chef.

Point your finger.
So stop, stop moving. Stop moving.

What's that?

That's me tasting it.

Israel, how are we doing?

We're done.

Now give it another mash.

Stop. Bowls in front.

OK, this one.

Oh!

It's quite nice.
Nothing's mashed up.

So whose fault was that, Munya's?

I guess I was the
one that couldn't see.

Hmm, not bad.

Nice, but there's no Tabasco
in there. Dave and Philippe's.

Yours were the best.

Thank you very much.

Yeah? I think Dave gave
you more encouragement there

in the last three minutes
than he has done in two years.

No matter what happens from this
day on you guys have got to get on,

because if the head chef and general
manager get on then everybody else

underneath you follows suit.

Do you understand the
importance of that?

I think we did quite
well from the start.

Totally. Totally agree.

Give him a kiss. >

No! Let's not go that far.

Here's to bonding. The happy couple.

Cheers.

Philippe and Dave.
Go on. There you go.

The bonding masters.

One small step for Philippe
and Dave,

but potentially a huge leap
for the business.

I am never going to put
your finger in my mouth again.

You put your finger...!

No, yours.

My finger in your...? Jesus Christ!

By day four Israel's ready to
grab his business by the balls.

This is his last roll of the dice

and he wants to start with
consistently good fresh food

from the kitchen.

Philippe, are they the new potatoes?

Yes, nicely roasted.

They don't taste very nice.

They just taste bitter. They haven't
gone into the fryer, have they?

No. No.

You're sure you haven't
put them in the fryer?

Yeah.

Er, look, mister. Let me just have a
quick word - very, very important.

Yeah.

This man is paying your salary.

Yeah.

His business is about to close.

Do you understand
how critical the situation is?

I do.

So pay the man fucking respect
and tell the truth.

You have deep fried those potatoes.

No, these two have
never been deep fried.

They are wrinkled, dehydrated and
they've been in the deep fat fryer.

That's, that's not dehydrated.

You're talking to a chef, and for as
long as I've got a hole in my butt,

big boy, those fucking potatoes
have been in the deep fat fryer.

Don't fucking lie.

I know what I did.

You know the oven's not even
hot enough to roast a potato.

We can't even cook a
fucking burger in there.

They've been in the fryer.

Tell the fucking truth.

Look, they went in the oven, OK?

Tell him the fucking truth.

He's so adamant. I've even started

to doubt my own judgement,
until I track down Alsyma.

How many trays of potatoes
did you fry this morning?

I've fried everything here.

You fried all four?

Yes.

And who told you to fry them?

My chef.

Your chef? Yeah. Why did
you deep fry the potatoes?

You said it earlier -
it's because the oven

is nowhere near hot enough.

Right.

Can we get back to basics now,
and cut the fucking crap?

Yeah.

Sorry, but I fucking hate liars.

It's not right, Philippe.
But it's me who's asking you.

Yeah, in front of the camera.

Look, forget about the
fucking camera. I don't...

Don't you think the only reason
I'm doing maybe this

programme is because it's
the last thing I can do to save

the business?
I want honesty from you.

Don't be ever be scared
of looking like a prat.

I'd rather be an honest prat

than a lying prat,
cos then you lose self-respect.

My mistake -

I can only apologise for this.

If there's one thing worse
than a chef who can't cook,

it's a chef who tells porkies.

My workload has just doubled

and there's only one way out
of this calamitous cul-de-sac.

To get this place back on line...

..we're gonna have to
close for two days.

There's no way we're ever gonna get
the food back up to scratch

while you're sending what you're
sending out.

I need 48 hours. We'll work on

tidying up the dining room,
painting,

and every member of staff working

for that goal to get it fresh,
and then two days in the kitchen

to get it on track.

How do you feel about it, Israel?

We can't afford not to take money,

but we can't afford not to
have a future business.

Yeah.

Something that we need to stop is
the bullshit.

I need people to be honest with me.

Philippe, are you ready for this?

If it is to make the business
better I'm a 110% behind it.

It's not just the kitchen,
you know, yeah?

I'm talking about
the dining room.

There's a serious, you know,
improvement there to take place.

It's a lack of pride.

A lack of pride. And the potatoes
was a prime fucking example.

Cut the bullshit.

You hit the nail on the fucking
head, and those that are pulling

on the ropes stay and work,
those that aren't interested

on pulling on the fucking rope,
fuck off!

Day five at D Place in Essex.

I've established the chef is

to be kept on a very short leash,
and his food is beyond tragic.

So for the first time in four years
Israel must shut D Place down.

Hello Michael, I'm just returning
your call.

With no customers,

we can throw everything at
revitalising the image.

And most importantly,
the godawful menu.

Whose fault is it really?

It's mine. And nobody else.

Now it's a fresh start,

let's get it back on the road and
very soon we'll be on the motorway.

When a restaurant drastically
changes its food

it's important to back it up with
the right atmosphere.

A couple of coats of paint is an
easy way to dazzle your customers

and give you a second chance.

Today was just about
getting the whole place back..

..to look sharp, crisp, clean,

er, and nice and walk in
and say, wow, yeah, I like it.

The kitchen's been scrubbed clean
and the oven's fixed at last.

But that's not all.
For Phil, it seems all his Noels

have come at once.

I'm shaking.

I, I'm actually going to have
a kitchen with proper equipment.

Israel and Tara must be bleeding
somewhere.

This one's going home with me, I'm
sleeping with it tonight, not Dave.

From now on, plastic sauces and
frozen foods are barred.

The new menu will be cooked
strictly from fresh ingredients.

And our first buy is
a four-kilo ham.

Drizzle. Drizzle the honey and the
brown sugar over...

'It's a delicious deal at a cost of
just £10,

and with a little lateral thinking
it's a potential money-spinner.'

This ham, how far has it gone?

Fried eggs with ham,

Croque Monsieur, pea and ham soup.

Can you see just how much money
you can generate from one ham, yes?

Surrounded by all this fresh food
there's a tangible change of energy

in Philippe's two young chefs.

Hmm, the seasoning is,
it's quite even, so...

It's quite nice, that's fine.

It's not, it's not too much.

While Munya attends to the soup,
Alsyma's carefully preparing a pot

of delicious bubble and squeak.

What do you think?

Just a little bit more salt.

Little bit more salt, yeah,
good, I'm glad you said that.

Fresh food.

Fresh food. Fucking hell.

Their careers are in your fucking
hands, you know,

you're supposed to be guiding them
through this, you know that? Yeah?

How many big chefs did you work
for when you were their age?

Quite a few.

Yeah? And did they kick your arse? >

Oh, yes.

Yeah? Do you hate them for it?

I love them for it.

You love them. Do you think they
love you when you show them nothing?

No.

I think now I'm gonna learn.

You made that from start to finish.
Do you know what I'm gonna do?

Take a fucking photograph.

No. No.

Philippe?

That's your reference. Yes.

At last, it feels like
we're getting somewhere.

The chefs are enthused and the
dining room has been transformed

almost beyond recognition.

But as it stands

the outside of the building is
selling all their hard work short.

The building's beautiful. Yeah.

So show it off. Get rid of all the
tacky shit stuck to the front of it.

Now that you see it
from a different point of view,

we're promoting drinks, we're saying
cocktail night Thursday night,

and we've got a menu displayed
in a tatty board there.

Yeah. You're waking up to it,

and I'm glad you're opening
your fucking eyes. It's important.

And fucking "D Place", well, that's
got to go in D bin.

I think it's a big consensus, we're
going for, Saracen's Cafe Bar.

Fucking perfect.

Israel, it seems,

is now on a crusade to bring
D Place back from the dead.

Now get out there
and tell the world about it.

'We've got just one day
before the customers

return to a fully booked grand
re-opening.'

Everything depends on the kitchen
perfecting each and every new dish

on the menu.

Nice fried eggs, turn down the gas,
I don't want the yolks broken, OK?

'They may be easy-peasey,

but consistent quality will be
the key to ensure repeat business.'

You have to get in there
and really concentrate, yeah?

This is so fucking easy.

The centrepiece for our menu is
going to be the most famous buttie

in the world, the Club Sandwich.

When I started cooking, yeah,
I had to make these for a living.

Every day the same.

Every day the same.
Are you agreeing?

In just 12 hours, the chefs
and the front of house

have got to function
as a tight-knit, well-oiled machine.

Chicken avocado salad, that's the
ham roasted with double fried egg..

And a minor miracle has occurred.

Salmon fishcake, tartar sauce.

Dave and Philippe are
communicating... civilly.

Fantastic,
they all look really nice.

The food is looking 200% better, but
to please our lunch-hour crowd

tomorrow the grub
will have to fly out.

'I need to be sure these boys
are really on their toes.'

I'll do the toast.
When that goes to twelve...

We go.

Go! Three club sandwiches, quick.

I'll do the bread.
Quick, quick, quick.

What are you doing first?

Avocado.

Come on! Tomorrow we're
fully booked for lunch,

fully booked. Philippe,
it's not funny, you know that?

Yeah, I know that.

Alsyma's the only one who's putting
his bacon on.

Who else is going to
put their bacon on?

I am.

When? Tonight?

No.

Allez!

< Need the bread, please.

Don't.. Yes, here we go.

Hey, presented beautifully?

Anyone thought about
starting their French fries?

No.

Oh! Allez.

Start to get your fries on, OK?

Thank you chef.
Look at the speed of you.

Fantastically fast. Is the
executive chef gonna come in last?

That's mine.

No, that's his, that's yours there.

Allez Munya, come on.

Don't quit, big boy, do not quit.

You never,
ever throw the towel in on service.

Just come up to the hotplate
and accidentally drop your plate.

Drop it. No, drop it. Oh, shit!

Oh, merde.

Merde, damn. Shit, Munya!

Hey, listen,
all three of you well done.

That was fucking excellent, yeah?

The speed, working under pressure
and concentrating was phenomenal.

And the best sandwich...

..is yours, Philippe.

Great! Without him even knowing it,
I've just managed

to demote the executive chef to the
club sandwich chef.

Now, tomorrow we've actually
got a chance

of fucking surviving
a very busy lunch.

10am launch day.

With 70 customers booked
in for lunch no-one can afford

to be ill-prepared.

I'll be running checks and
checking out the kitchen, right?

It's a delicate balance.

We've got our new menu.

Are you ready for this?

Yes.

Our big day, don't fuck it up.

The waiting staff are only just
up to speed and one weak link

could bring Israel's last remaining
business tumbling about his ears.

I think it'll go well.
I'm nervous, em,

cos everybody's on edge. It's like
opening a brand new business.

Er, I've done it before and I
know how disastrous it can be.

First thing I've got to say is
D Place

is defunct, it's gone.

Yeah? Welcome
to the Saracen's Cafe Bar, yes?

We work together as a team,
we understand each other, yeah?

There's going to be several
customers that are going

for a 30-minute lunch, that's a soup
and a sandwich, a soup and a salad,

whatever they prefer
within 30 minutes.

I can guarantee if they leave under
30 minutes they'll be back next week

three or four times
between Monday and Friday.

Get it right, yeah?

This is it.
Without you I can't do it.

Consistency. Alsyma?

< Yeah.

Bingo!

New order.

Two tomato soup, two sandwiches.

That's the, the quick deal, yeah?
30 minutes, yeah?

< Yeah, it is.

Well, tell the brigade.

'The lunch deal is cheap, at just
£6.50.'

Is the bacon on for the
Club Sandwich? Is the toast in?

It's going in now.

'Come on. To make it
worth Israel's while, Dave must fill

the restaurant twice over,
which means turning the tables fast.

'This has to go like clockwork.'

Three more minutes.

Three more minutes? Excellent.

Em, two seconds. Philippe. Philippe.

Philippe?

Thank you. Yeah?

What's that in there? A new potato?

Where did that come from?

I know we've got to push it out

and move our arse,
but we're not gonna serve that.

What's burning?

Turn it over.

Medium. Fucking hell.

We've been over this menu time and
time again,

but Munya and Alsyma are already
buckling under the pressure.

Ham and eggs. How fucking difficult
is that? You've burst the yolk.

It's the customer's privilege to
burst their own yolk, not you, yes?

'And there's only three orders on.'

Press the lettuce Munya,
and vinaigrette on there.

Welsh rarebit's all pissing
over the plate.

Where's the chef?

By 12.30 the restaurant's full to
bursting.

Do we have a waiting list?

No, it's all
down to the kitchen now.

One more club sandwich.

Another three bread.

Bur... another burger with
chips and baked beans.

Service please. Service please.

Where's the rest of the fishcakes?

I said
to take some out of the freezer.

It seems my super-basic menu

isn't basic enough for this team of
numbskulls.

They're not cooked.

No, they're not cooked, look. Munya.
Munya.

The burner in the deep fat fryer

has gone out and they've been trying
to cook chips in cold oil.

Prop... properly cooked.

No wonder.

But you can't let one problem bring
the whole operation to its knees.

We'll just fry the potato wedges
in a pan, no?

Uh? Yeah. Yeah.

Almost like a roast potato.

All together six soup.

The orders are stacking up and the
panic has already set in.

Call these new orders.

Can I have some grass
on this soup please.

< You mean chives?

Yes, just give me the fucking grass.
That's fine.

And now there's a problem
with the tickets.

Table for five.

Five.

Table five I don't have. I've got..

All communication has gone out the
window

and the customers are left
in the dark

as to why their food
is taking so long.

We have an hour for lunch,
so obviously we have to try and fit

the food in within the hour.

I've just had to phone the office and
tell them we're gonna be a bit late.

I've got to get back to work
in two minutes.

Those that are getting their food
are loving it.

But 20 minutes later there's no
resolve to the ticket confusion.

The, the ticket's gone,
it's not down there.

I know, it's disappeared, yeah.

That's why there's a problem.
They've been waiting and nobody's
cooking their food.

Phil's only guidance through this
mess are his tickets.

But it seems everyone's had their
hands on them.

I don't have the ticket back.

And if a chef loses an order

it's like a air traffic
controller losing a plane.

Dave took it, he didn't bring back.

One rib eye, rare. One side..

'And this one's going down fast.'

Side salad with avocado.

Hold on. Come here. What's going on?

Why is the food coming back?

I've got table seven
here that you've given me

that was gone a long time ago.

So we've already sent the table?
They've had it.

Oh, come on. We don't need to
fucking repeat the order, uh?

That's because the waiter
leaves the order here.

Don't, no, don't blame,
don't blame the waiter.

Doesn't put it on the pick.

No.

That's it, I'm going for a cigarette,
I've had enough of this shit.

Hello! What do you mean,
you're going out for a cigarette?

Well, no.. We're sinking.

I, I've had enough
of this shit, you know.

Yeah, but we're sinking,
you can't just disappear.

You know there's, there is...

OK, when somebody does a mistake I'm
the first to admit it,

but not when I'm covering for someone
else's shit.

Yeah, but you don't come in..

I have had enough of this.

You can't just walk out for a
cigarette Philippe, I'm sorry.

The shit's hit the fan,
I'm here to help.

Let's get back on here straightaway
and start again. Let's go, come on.

It seems Israel believes

Philippe's not entirely to blame
for this fiasco.

Why do I have a waitress going
into the kitchen with a problem

without Dave knowing?

They know there is a manager
on the floor.

He should be on the ball
with every single

fucking table once they come in.
Have they had a coffee?

Have they had a drink?
How long since they ordered?

That's what I want out of you.
It stops here.

Yeah, no, it has to stop here, yeah.

I was wrong. Israel's right.

As a manager, Dave should have
the situation well in hand.

You're in charge
of carrying the food in and out...

And it's going in and out.

you need to know at what stage...

It's going in and out.

Hang on. Hang on, let me finish.

No, don't shout at me. No.

OK. Get off the floor now, yeah?

All right. Why?

Get off the floor now, OK.
Get off the floor now.

Why?

Use the back door, please.

The catalogue of disasters
have taken their toll.

Israel's had to give away
over a £100 worth

of complimentary food and drink.
And to avoid further embarrassment

he's decided to shut the service
down after just one sitting.

How long for table four? Do you know
how long they've been in here?

I can imagine.

One hour, twenty fucking minutes.

One hour and twenty minutes.

What the fuck'll happen Saturday?

Em, tomorrow we're going to have
to get our shit together,

that's for sure.

It's been a real disappointment
for everyone.

But we can learn from today's
harsh lessons.

May I suggest, you know, only take

the customers you can do, and then
each and every day build it.

Because Chelmsford is a small,
close-knit town and if word spreads

that you've re-opened and the food's
not as good as you think

it should be
then they won't come back.

Phil's clearly been through the mill
these last few days.

Even though I didn't want to admit
it,

I have actually lost part of that
passion which I had.

Doesn't it become painful,
trying to cook with no feeling?

It's, it becomes an automatic...

Mm-hm.
Will you find that passion again?

It has come back already.

Well, I didn't think that at lunch
when you walked out for a cigarette.

But you came back, that was the
most important thing, you know that?

Yeah. And I appreciated that.

Hey. I didn't want to do it
without you.

It's not my kitchen,
this is your kitchen.

I know.

Yeah, one of the toughest weeks
of my fucking career.

Yeah?

Oh, yeah.

Ooh, shit! Yeah, definitely.

But... get it back on track,
that's the most important thing.

Israel, keep on them.

Hmm.

Yeah? Breathing down their necks,
yeah?

Thank you very much.

Bye.
Thank you. Bye.

Thank you, Gordon.

Thank you, guys. Chef.

Thank you.

Yes. Do you really hate me?

Can I pass on the comment?

Bye, guys.

Yes. Eh?

Thank you very much.

Thank you. I'll be back, yes?

Good.

With my new potatoes.

Bye.

Bye-bye.

< Au revoir.

(SIGHS)

< You can breathe now, Philippe.

(EXHALES)

'It's been six weeks since
I was last in Chelmsford.

'I've heard rumours something
strange

'has been going on at the Saracen's
Head Cafe-Bar.'

What happened to Saracen's Head?

'In the week I spent at D-Place
it didn't take long to suss out

'that D stood for dreadful.'

And for as long as I've got a
hole in my butt, big boy,

those fucking potatoes
have been in the deep fat fryer.

The owners were in dire straits.

If I don't do something drastic
this business will go down the pan.

And the staff were dysfunctional.

From now on stop being a stubborn
fucking French bastard.

We need to change their attitudes
and get this place back on track.

Over were the longest seven days

of my life we injected some passion
back into the food.

No, that's it, that's yours there.

< Hurry, come on!

And got the team
eating out of each other's hands.

< What's that?

That's me tasting it.

It wasn't perfect.

I've got to get back to
work in two minutes.

But I felt that Saracen's Cafe-Bar
was well on the road to recovery.

All of you, well done. That
was fucking excellent.

The latest news from inside
is unbelievable.

I thought things couldn't get
any worse, but they just have.

God, how strange, I mean,
really, really strange,

Israel's no longer there. The
place has gone into receivership.

She said two weeks ago,
it doesn't belong to him.

The brewery have taken it back
and he's been kicked out.

The brewery has put the lease of
D-Place up for sale and

Israel and Tara are out on their
ears.

Ironically, the one person I
suspected might not be here is here.

Philippe Blaize,
executive chef extraordinaire.

It's very, very sad, you know.

What a shock. >

Sorry. Total, total shock, yeah.

And everything you put into it
and what the guy's done...

Yeah,
all gone down the drain basically.

You're looking clean, obviously
not making many club sandwiches.

We are actually. We are. It's one of
the best sellers.

What, better than
the Croque Monsieur?

No, it, it is better.

A better seller than
the Croque Monsieur.

What's come out the quickest?

The club sandwich.

So it appears that things were
really starting to happen at D-Place

after I left, and the food sales
were on the up.

Hello, Israel.

I did not expect to
see you here, you know that?

'But it seems it was too little,
too late for Israel and Tara.'

Oh, shit.
Very well, how are you feeling?

All right, thank you.

Yeah, we saw our last chance to get
it, to get it together and we did.

The town was buzzing with,
with Saracen's Head being able to

produce that quality of the food.
Nice, simple,

the people were saying
it was delicious.

They didn't have long to reap
the benefits. Shortly after I left

the brewery took the business
out of their hands.

Did this happen on the spur of
the moment,

and all of a sudden, bang?

We weren't, we didn't even know we
were going to be asked for the keys.

Just bought a new house, mortgage,
all at the wrong time.

You're out?

Yeah.

On your arse.
You're seven months pregnant?

< Eight months pregnant.

This is not the kind of predicament

you know, I expected to see.
Er, what did you lose?

Israel lost obviously more than I did
But mine was inheritance

from my
mother and my grandmother.

The fact that I was naive and
I didn't know how corporate

big nationals work and
the world of the accountants

and solicitors and all that crap,
I didn't know anything about it.

I know how to serve people,
how to make them smile,

I know how to deal with a complaint,
and the kitchen.

I don't know how to deal with
business, you know,

transactions of that matter,
and that's where it hurts.

I feel so sorry for them,

and I still can't quite
believe what's happened.

Er, good luck with the baby.

Take care. >

Israel and Tara had genuinely

thought they could keep the business
going, but sadly after calling

the spokesperson for the brewery it
all becomes crystal clear.

All right?

Thank you. Bye.

Er, sounds now like the brewery were

only acting in the best interest

by accepting the highest bid, and I
think Israel's been slightly naive.

No matter how good the food is
you've really got to understand

every aspect of your business, and
for the areas you don't understand

seek advice before you get fucked.

It's six and a half minutes.

That's not bad.
Does it taste as good as it looks?

Hmm. Very nice.

Thank you.

You have got your passion back.

That is fucking delicious.
Merde.