Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares

This article is about the UK version. For the USA version, see Kitchen Nightmares.

Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares is a reality TV program presented by Chef Gordon Ramsay where he visits failing restaurants across the UK. It aired in the UK from 27 April 2004 to 14 October 2014.

Series One

Bonapartes [1.01]

[On his first night, Gordon is witnessing dinner service at Bonapartes]

Gordon: (voiceover) Never mind fine dining, they can't even get the bread right. (to Tim) It's fucking frozen, get it back in the oven. Are the pigeons ready?

Tim: Yes.

Gordon: We're about to put them in the bin because the bread's frozen, the pigeons are cooked and the fucking bread's not even out of there. [Lee tosses the cabbage in the pan] And if you toss that fucking cabbage once more, I'm going to ram it up your arse, okay? Every time you turn around and...[Mocks Lee] Let's go, come on! (Voiceover) Even when the kitchen's busy, you should be looking to get the starters out within ten minutes of receiving the order. These poor souls have waited nearly half an hour for their pigeon breast with mushroom ravioli. And that's not the only problem. (to Tim) Tim, you made a ravioli, yes?

Tim: Yes.

Gordon: It's burned. You cannot taste that there? Smell it then. You obviously can't taste they're burnt.

Tim: Not when I pull them out.

Gordon: Get that shit in the bin. (voiceover) This is really worrying. A head chef who can't 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!

[Microwave beeps]

Gordon: Can you hear that, hold on! Hold on! Can you hear the buzzing in the background? That's the microwave! That should've gone out with the main course four minutes ago. Come on, Tim, get the fucking things out! (voiceover) For some, an hour's wait is just too much.

Gordon: (voiceover) Nearly every successful restaurant has a dish that it's 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. (to Tim) That's your signature dish, which is...?

Tim: Scallops with deep-fried parma ham, black pudding and sauce hollandaise.

Gordon: Mmm-hmm. (voiceover) Certainly looks okay.

[Gordon, Tim and Lee sample the dish]

Tim: What do you think?

[After a few seconds, Gordon runs outside the kitchen and throws up]

Tim: He's gonna be sick.

Gordon: (voiceover) He'd only gone and given me a rancid scallop.

Tim: Someone get him a drink. Get him a drink, Lee.

Gordon: Fucking shit! [drinks water] How can you eat that? If you knew they were off, why didn't you say?

Tim: No, I didn't! I didn't know they were off.

Gordon: They're fucking minging! Can't you taste that?

Tim: I do now, yeah. It took a while...

[Gordon turns away, retching again]

Tim: I know what he means. I feel sick myself now.

Gordon: (interview) It's... it's grim. It's fucking grim, and it's out of order.

Tim: Well, I didn't realise they were fuckin' off, so... I suppose it's my fault, really.

Gordon: (interview) That could kill someone. That's the bottom line.

Gordon: (voiceover) In the two days I spent at Bonapartes, I've witnessed total incompetence in the kitchen, total lack of direction for the management, and last but not least, they've tried their best to kill me with a rotten scallop.

Gordon: (after being fed the scallops) What the fuck are you playing at?

Tim: (regretful) Sorry, chef.

Gordon: 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?

[Gordon finds mouldering food in the refrigerator]

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

Tim: Can't tell you.

Gordon: What are we doing with them?

Tim: Throw them in the bin.

Gordon: Throw them in the bin. But you keep them in the fridge for two days before you put them in the bin. You see what I'm trying get at? Does it make fucking sense, yes or no?

Tim: No.

Gordon: So all this fucking fridge is jam-packed with shit and we're standing here saying, [mocking Tim] "Oh, I'm putting 'em in t'bin!" "'Putting 'em in t' bin!" WELL, GET THEM IN THE FUCKING BIN!

[Gordon just finished inspecting the refrigerator]

Gordon: Do you know what? I'm fucking gobsmacked, you know that? I've got a good fucking mind to get hold of fucking Sue and just tell her to fucking close the place, you know that? Because this is the fucking pits. You should be ashamed. Rock bottom. I've never seen anything like this in my entire fucking life, you know that? Because this is a fucking embarrassment to catering, let alone fucking ringed-out fine dining. Let's move, now.

[Gordon just reported the incident to Sue, who enters the kitchen as Tim and Lee were cleaning up]

Sue: Gordon just had a word with me, and said he's not impressed. We need to keep the place clean and everything tidy; otherwise, I can be sued. In which case, I'm out of business, and you're out of a job.

Tim: I realise that.

Sue: Yeah, I know. And I'd take to have to take it on board as well.

Tim: (interview) Well, you know? She just had to stick her oars in; she was going to say, "I told you so". That's what she's doing, yeah? Fair enough, she has a little dick. So fuck her, if you know what I mean.

[Gordon orders both Tim and Lee to cook omelettes]

Gordon: (voiceover) An omelette is probably one of the first things at catering college. (to Tim) When was the last time you cooked an omelette?

Tim: I've never cooked one before. No, I've never cooked an omelette before.

Gordon: Oh, don't be stupid.

Tim: I haven't.

[Tim and Lee serve the omelettes]

Gordon: (cuts the omelette open) Look inside. What does that tell you?

Tim: Uh...slightly overcooked.

Gordon: Slightly? Tastes like fucking rubber. Both overcooked. That was shit by any standard. You're a head chef? You're taking the piss here, you know that? (silence) You are taking the piss, you know that?

Tim: Yes, Gordon.

[Tim is cooking dinner for his parents]

Gordon: (voiceover) Lets not forget: Tim is a head chef.

Tim: Fucking hell! [pulls out the croutons for the French onion soup and they are on fire; he blows out the fire and they are scorched] I burned them, yeah.

Gordon: [laughing] Last thing I said was, "Don't forget your croutons!" He's managed to fuck them over at his Gran's house! [hits his head repeatedly]

Tim: Ladies first, this is some French onion soup.

Gordon: (voiceover) Minus the croutons.

Gordon: What are we going to do with this numb-fuck?

Tim: [Serving Chicken Kiev] Look at that, superb.

Gordon: (voiceover) Torched on the outside and pink in the middle. As for the lemon meringue pie, he would've gotten a better reception if he threw it at them. Tim's family wouldn't dream of criticising him. But the paying customers on Valentine's night won't be as forgiving.

Gordon: (to Tim) We've got 44 booked this Saturday night.

Tim: Mm-hmm.

Gordon: And you fucked up for four. What chance have you got for 44? I'm now starting to shit myself.

[Gordon is supervising Tim as he fries some meat]

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

Tim: Fucked!

[During the end-of-episode revisit, after finding the kitchen in an even worse state than when he first arrived]

Gordon: Holy fuck! This is a living fucking nightmare!

Gordon: This is not right, this is fucking miles away! This is a fucking nightmare, you know that? Because it's more loss on top of more loss and more loss and more mould! And that's what worries me, because you need to touch that... [touches a mouldy tomato] ...rub your finger on that, you go a to chip, you need to season something, you put your finger in the tomato soup, and then they're all fucked! You've contaminated the whole place, and that's what really worries me. This kitchen is not fit to cook a fucking thing in, and that's YOUR problem!

Sue: I think I'd better just close, and put "Due to refurbishment".

Gordon: And you should bow out gracefully, you know that?

Sue: (interview) I've been giving him another chance, and another chance, and another chance. That's just... I can't tolerate that, it's going to end up... well, it's professional suicide, isn't it? He's conned me, simple as that. I don't honestly think he did it deliberately. I don't think he's a nasty piece of work, I just think he lives in a Walter Mitty world. I think he just convinces himself, to be honest.

[Tim has just been fired]

Tim: It's beyond recognition, really, isn't it? How fucking stupid someone can be. I just don't... [sighs]

Director: (off-camera) And who is that someone, Tim?

Tim: Oh, that would be me, pretty much. Yeah.

Series Two

La Lanterna [2.01]

Gordon: Slap-bang in the middle of Letchworth is La Lanterna. It's run by British-born-and-bred Alexander Scott. From an early age, Alex dreamt of being a chef. Then, childhood holidays in Italy turned him into a self-confessed Italophile. So much so, he's taken to calling himself "Alessandro".

[cut to a plaque saying "Alessandro & Christophero Scott, licensed to sell intoxicating liquor...on the premises."]

D-Place [2.02]

Gordon: D-Place cafe bar is in D-Shit.

[Gordon is leaving the restaurant having been disappointed by the food and service]

Gordon: Definitely not D-Place for me!

[Gordon checks the potatoes, which head chef Philippe claims are roasted]

Gordon: Listen, let me have a quick word with you. This man [Israel] is paying your salary. His business is about to close. Do you understand how critical the situation is?

Philippe: I do.

Gordon: So pay the man fucking respect, and tell the truth. You have deep-fried those potatoes.

Philippe: These ones haven't been deep-fried.

Gordon: They are wrinkled, dehydrated, and they have been in the deep-fat fryer.

Philippe: That's not dehydrated, is it?

Gordon: You're talking to a chef, and for as long as I got a hole in my butt, big boy, those fucking potatoes have been in the deep-fat fryer. Don't fucking lie.

Philippe: I know what I did.

Gordon: You know the oven's not 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!

Philippe: It went in the oven.

Gordon: Tell him the fucking truth... (voiceover) He's so adamant, I'm even starting to doubt my own judgement - until I tracked down Alsamh. (To sous-chef Alsamh) How many trays of potatoes did you fry this morning?

Alsamh: I fried everything here.

Gordon: You fried all four?

Alsamh: Yes.

Gordon: And who told you to fry them?

Alsamh: My chef.

Gordon: Your chef, yes. (to Philippe) Why did you deep-fry the potatoes?

Philippe: You've said it earlier. The oven is nowhere near hot enough.

Gordon: Right. Can we get back to basics now, and cut the fucking crap? (to Israel) Sorry. But I fucking hate liars.

Oscar's [2.05]

Gordon: (voiceover) I've never seen so much food come back. Something fishy is going on here.

[Gordon picks up a glass of what appears to be fruit juice.]

Gordon: What's that in there?

Lenin: Blackcurrant.

Gordon: [tastes the juice and winces] What's in there?

Lenin: I don't know. I got Kathy to make it for me.

Gordon: No, no! Tell me the truth. You said you were going to be honest this morning.

Lenin: Ribena, water and, uh... a vodka in the bottom.

Gordon: When you started off service at seven o'clock tonight, yeah, it was going well, you know that. Now it's nine o'clock and they're starting to complain. Is that because of that [the vodka]?

Lenin: No! That's the first one that's come in the kitchen, and that IS the truth.

Gordon: But why did you tell me you weren't going to drink?

Lenin: Because I'm absolutely knackered, I've been here since all day, and I just wanted one drink, so I got Kat to... I do apologise for that. Fair enough, I'm sorry.

[Gordon pours the vodka down the sink]

Gordon: Service!

Lenin: (trying to read the tickets) Um... fuck. I don't know. I don't.

Gordon: (voiceover) It's all becoming seriously clear. This is not just about Lenin's lack of confidence.

[After service, Gordon and Lenin are stood outside the restaurant]

Gordon: You let me down fucking big time. Half past eight, inside that fucking cup, you're sneaking vodka in. And I don't mind you having a beer after fucking service. I don't fucking care what you do after service. But in service, from seven o'clock to eleven, you fucking stay away from that. And you put your pressures on me. You give me the pressure. And it's not just the kitchen you're fucking, you know that. You're screwing your mum. It's gone beyond food now.

Lenin: One lamb, medium-to-well. One chicken and ribs, one portion of chips...

Gordon: (voiceover) Lenin gets off to a good start, but he sounds a bit more stressed, and sounds less confident. (to Lenin) You alright, Lenny? You gone quiet on me?

Lenin: No... no, I'm fine.

Gordon: (voiceover) But evidently, he wasn't. Later that evening, events took a terrible turn.

[Gordon is shown standing outside the restaurant, and an ambulance siren can be heard in the background]

Gordon: Lenin collapsed. He's been rushed to hospital in an ambulance, and I hope to hell he's okay. It was a fucking shock.

Gordon: (voiceover) Using alcohol as a crutch in the kitchen is a problem that cannot be ignored. To better understand Lenin's problems, I've contacted pioneering chef Michael Quinn. Michael set up the Ark Foundation to tackle the industry-wide problem of drug and alcohol abuse, after he himself was toppled by the demon drink.

[Gordon sits down with Michael in a garden]

Gordon: You had the perfect job, for fuck's sake. The first-ever British chef to be crowned the chef de cuisine at The Ritz Hotel.

Michael: Absolutely. When I left The Ritz I was at the top of the tree, and alcohol just completely took over my life. I went from The Ritz, eventually, to living on the streets. I slept under bridges, in doorways. I was in hospital with liver failure, and I had the last rites from a Catholic priest.

Gordon: That close?

Michael: Yeah.

Gordon: Why do chefs today think it's part of a fucking rock-and-roll image to drink?

Michael: Our business as chefs is a very tough business. The immensely long hours we do, the heat, and also that, you know, you're part of an SAS squad in the kitchen. It's "work hard, play hard, we'll show the rest of the bastards how good we are." But one in ten cross that line. And if you've crossed that line into addiction, into being an alcoholic, you can never go back to social drinking.

Gordon: Can this guy continue to cook and deal with the problem at the same time?

Michael: No. He needs to be separated. Willpower doesn't get you well. In order to recover, you need to surrender and admit defeat, and that is the step forward to freedom.

Clubway 41 [2.07]

Gordon: Have you cooked mussels before?

Dave: No.

Gordon: You're pulling my plonker, now aren't you? You've never cooked a mussel?

Dave: Right, we can shout or you can fucking help. I don't mind.

Gordon: What you mean I can help?

Dave: Eh?

Gordon: What did we do for the last...

Dave: Yeah, okay, fine. You're right. Sorry.

Gordon: What did we do for the last two hours?

Dave: Fine, so what do we want in here?

Gordon: I'm just amazed you've never cooked a mussel.

Dave: I haven't! Don't take the piss out of me for it, though.

Gordon: Who's taking the piss?

Dave: You are!

Gordon: I don't think you can actually cook!

Dave: If you'd have fucking talked to me...

Gordon: If you can't cook a fucking mussel...! Yerse!

Dave: No, if you had fucking talked to - YOUEGH! ERGH!

Gordon: Go on!

Dave: Eh?

Gordon: Go on!

Dave: Yeah! Erngh!

Gordon: Finish it, then.

Dave: Finish what?

Gordon: What are you about to say?

Dave: Are you--What am I about to say?

Gordon: Cook a mussel.

Dave: No! I haven't cooked one.

Gordon: Right. Okay. So shall I show you how to cook a mussel?

Dave: Oh, at last. Thank you. Yes, please.

Gordon: Right. Are you going to tone your voice down, or are you going to shout like some dick?

Dave: I'll shout like some dick, and then I'll calm down.

Gordon: Right. Well, why don't you fuck off to the book shop, read how to cook a mussel and come back and see me, and I'll run your fucking restaurant.

Dave: Thank you!

Gordon: Plonker.

Dave: Twat.

Gordon: Fucking hell, what's all that about? Jesus Christ! Well, at least, he broke the ice now, we know where we stand. "Yeah!?"

Series Three

La Parra de Burriana [3.01]

Gordon: The prawns? The flavour of the prawns was extraordinary. Fresh, vibrant. Why would you want to fuck around and put chocolate sauce on there?

Laurence: Because I don't want to be boring. I want to be exciting.

Gordon: I thought it was fucking hideous. Didn't work. And then I came to this fucking schlong, that kebab. Have you ever sat at a table and watched six customers with this fucking donkey's dick swinging around in front of their faces? It's hilarious.

Laurence: Well, that… that's it. It's a talking point. It's a wow factor.

Gordon: That's a wow factor? The fillet steak, it was tough as old boots.

Laurence: Are you sure?

Gordon: Yeah. Before you start mouthing off, let me just show you. A cube that big, and [indicating a smaller cube] a cube that big, [indicating an even smaller cube] and a cube that big are not going to cook at the same time.

Norm: That's my fault, then.

Gordon: Oh, fuck me, here we go. Can I just finish my sentence first, Sinbad, and then you can fucking come back on me in a minute?

Gordon: (voiceover) With customers worn out from waiting, meals being sent back, surely even Laurence can see that by sticking to his stupid menu, he's only got himself to blame. (To Laurence) I'm speechless. I don't know what to say. Let's get to the crux. Laurence?

Laurence: I think Norm was put under far too much pressure tonight. Your menu made him plate up his own plates, and do the starters and the cold soups out there on the barbie, and he couldn't manage. It slowed him down too much.

Gordon: You're telling me that my menu fucked him up on the grill?

Laurence: He couldn't deal with it.

Gordon: Couldn't deal with what?! Putting out a fucking bowl of soup that's already made for him?

Laurence: Yeah, it was-

Gordon: When are you guys going to stop fucking around with excuses?! When's one of you gonna step forward with a pair of bollocks and give me some fucking honesty?! Because I don't know where you were, cause that was fucking shocking! Let me tell you something. You made a fucking good decision. You pushed the button. Whether you like it or not, it was too fucking late. An hour-and-a-half late. So whose fucking fault is it now, chef? (Starts walking out) I'm fucking out of here. fuck yourself.

Morgans [3.04]

Gordon: (voiceover) Junior sous-chef Emma is Phil's long-suffering sidekick. Her star turn is sticky toffee pudding, but Phil hates it.

Phil: Babe, you know my feelings on this fucking...

Emma: I know you don't like that part.

Phil: Day one, I've always said it should not be on our menu.

Emma: Trial and error.

Phil: Phil said an hour ago, "What is that? What? Is? That?" And he was told, "It's the Morgan classic, sticky toffee pudding!" [Raises his arms ridiculously] Yay!

[Back in the dining room]

Gordon: [samples Emma's pudding] Smells nice. It's the first time this evening I'm glad to be here. This is nice, light, not too sticky. The person who made that dish doesn't put fucking apricot and mashed potatoes together in vanilla whisky.

[Gordon visits the kitchen]

Sandy: Hello, everyone. Here's Gordon, come to meet you.

Gordon: Hello. (To Emma) Emma, how are you?

Emma: Nice to meet you. I'm fine.

Gordon: Good to see you. And you're the...

Emma: Chef de partie, desserts, and sauces.

Gordon: (to Phil) And this is?

Phil: Phil. Head chef.

Gordon: Phil, chef de cuisine.

Phil: Yeah. Well - I beg to differ, but yeah, yeah yeah, oh, yeah.

Gordon: Okay. Anyway, it started off good. I arrived, and I thought it was actually quite a stunning, intimate little place. Then the food arrived. [Phil tries not to laugh] Solid rock-hard prawns... you dig deep and you come across the mashed potatoes, got laced with fucking apricots, tomatoes, and a...redcurrant jus?

Phil: No, it's a red wine syrup.

Laura: Red wine syrup.

Gordon: What the fuck were you thinking about putting apricots inside mashed potatoes?

Phil: You know what? I actually took the recipe from the Good Food magazine.

Gordon: The Good Food magazine? That's a bullshit answer! What were you thinking about, putting them together?

Phil: Well, why not? It's different.

Gordon: You've got every right to be slightly fucked off about it, because I would be if I cooked that shit. And here we are in our current situation, on our arse - and the chef over there wants to fucking laugh about it.

Phil: What the fuck do you want me to do about it? You're standing there, fucking just mouthing me off? What do you mean?

Gordon: Fuck that. You've just shown me over the last three minutes that your attitude stinks.

Phil: It doesn't at all.

Gordon: And you can't take criticism.

Phil: I can take criticism! It - there's ways and means to go about and put criticism across. It's the way you speak! You speak arrogantly!

Gordon: How would you like to be spoken to?

Phil: Just like a normal person! Like anyone would speak to anyone!

Gordon: Uh-huh. Now, let's go the other way, shall we? (To the Morgans, in a gentle manner) Please be so kind to remove the apricot from the mashed potato.

Phil: See, now you're being a fucking sarcastic -

Gordon: No, but, I don't know how - I mean... We've got a problem here, yeah? And there's a fucking issue with the food. Now, fucking Mr Chipmunk in the fucking corner's pissed off at the fact that I'm telling him something constructive.

Phil: See? You're -

Gordon: If I can't get over that hurdle, I may as well fuck off back on the train now.

Phil: There's no need for personal fucking attacks!

Gordon: (To Phil) Do you understand? (To the Morgans) Have a word with the chef, yes? And if he's going to fucking -

Phil: Excuse me? I'm standing here, yeah? If you want to talk to me, talk to me!

Gordon: (To the Morgans) I'm sorry. (To Phil) I'm talking to the owners.

Phil: Don't start to talk to me like a fucking kid!

Gordon: Fuck me!

Emma: Did you like anything about the three courses?

Gordon: There was one saving grace. Yeah, there was! The sticky toffee pudding was fucking delicious!

Emma: No! (Laughs);;

Sandy: Thank you, Gordon!

Gordon: I'd wish it was my fucking starter!

Phil: You fucking fat twat! Fuck's sake! [Walks to the bin and disposes of a leftover]

Sandy: That's the nitty-gritty over with, anyway.

Phil: [Blocks the camera with his hand] That's enough, cameraman. I'd rather the camera not be on me.

Gordon: (Outside the restaurant) Shit dinner. Beautiful restaurant inside. Great potential. Then trying to fucking tell the chef some form of constructive criticism. He's got a problem - not just with his food, but with his fucking gob.

Series Four

Ruby Tate's [4.01]

Gordon: (narration) Sentimental old actor Allan Love's posh seafood restaurant is about to fold. And he's harboring a dark secret.

Jamie: (interview) One would think that if you open a seafood restaurant, you'd actually like to eat seafood...

Allan: I have a bit of an aversion to fish. Just because I had a bone in my throat for three days, and I had a real problem with it; and if I get a bone, I get physically sick.

Gordon: How old were you when you got the bone stuck in your throat?

Allan: [chuckles] Oh, only about five.

Gordon: Five? And how old are you now?

Allan: Sixty-nine.

Gordon: [Looks uneasy] Sixty?

[Gordon confronts the two head chefs]

Gordon: How long can you both continue taking the piss out of him? That guy burst into tears in the bar. I don't know if you realise how fragile he is right now. He looks like a guy who's about to fuck off to Brighton Pier and jump off the end.

The Priory [4.02]

Gordon: You can't cook in this. I can't even attempt to start thinking of a new menu. The only thing to do now is condemn the fucking kitchen.

[Gordon starts wrapping the kitchen equipment in construction tape.]

Gordon: Fucking disgusting! Shut it down. No way anything is going to be cooked here. Dirty, lazy, fucking pigs.

[With the equipment completely wrapped up, Gordon leaves the kitchen.]

Gordon: Carvery? My fucking arse. I'm covering my arse.

[Ahead of the first dinner with the revamped menu; John Hind, the Bishop of Sussex is arriving with his guests.]

Gordon: (narration) I've invited the Bishop of Sussex to head up a VIP table of fellow clergymen. If the kitchen stuffs up, at least they'll grant forgiveness.

[The clergymen arrive at the kitchen.]

Gordon: I've asked them to bless this kitchen, and pray that we never see a broccoli soup made last week anywhere near the building.

Rev Hind: Heavenly Father, we thank You for the gift of food, to delight us and to feed us, and we ask for Your blessing upon this kitchen and these guys working here. Give them serenity, in the pressures that they are under, and give a special blessing to Gordon; we know he needs it. We bless this kitchen in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

[The night has gone badly wrong, with head chef Toby having just returned after briefly abandoning the kitchen.]

Scott: There's thirty people out there who do not want to pay for their dinner!

Toby: Well, I fucked up that one. What do you want me to say?

Scott: We're talking thirty out of fifty - we're talking thirty out of sixty. That's what I've got up there, telling me they're not going to pay for their dinner! Thirty people.

Gordon: Ask the bishop to take the place over and help. Get him to hold a service here on Sunday. It'd be more fucking successful.

Gordon: Try not to throw it on, yeah? We're fucking cooking, we're not playing darts.

Gordon: [To Toby, after service] Tonight's been a fucking disaster. That was bad! Watching the first fucking fifteen minutes, and the way you organise your kitchen; as far as I'm concerned at midnight, now, mate, you're not capable of running a fucking bath.

Piccolo Teatro [4.04]

Gordon: What dish would you like to recommend for lunch?

Daniel: Une lasagne aux pistaches. (A lasagna with pistachios.)

Rachel: Yes, absolutely delicious, it's not on the menu at the moment.

Gordon: Is this... is this normal?

Rachel: Well, yes!

Gordon (narration): Welcome to the mad-house.

Gordon: So we've got a pistachio nut, a walnut, and now a Brazilian nut! Classic...

Gordon (narration): [Talking about Daniel]: Almost 20 minutes later, he's still fiddling with the salads.

Rachel: Tu dépêches même pas, quoi! Fais un p'tit peu plus vite, s'il te plaît, pour moi! Parce que sinon, les clients vont partir, et moi, je perde l'argent! (You're not even hurrying up. Try and be quicker for me, please! Otherwise, the customers will leave and I will lose money!)

Gordon: Is this how he normally functions?

Stephanie: I would say so.

Daniel: 'Parce que vous êtes la. (It's because you are here.)

Gordon: Donc, c'est de ma faute, alors? (So, it's my fault, then?)

Daniel: Bien sûr! (Of course!)

Gordon: Arrête tes conneries! (Stop your bullshit!)

Gordon: [Upon seeing Daniel burning the potatoes] It's burning!

Daniel: Non. Vous ne devrais pas essayer de m'aider. (No. You shouldn't try and help me.)

Gordon: It's burning! Changez, changez! (Change it, change it!) It's burned!

Daniel: Non, non, je ne le veux pas changer! (No, no, I don't want to change it!)

Gordon: C'est brûlé! (It's burned!)

Daniel: Je le sais, je le sais! (I know that!)

Gordon: Rach [Rachel], the pan here's burning, I'm trying to change the pan for him, and he's just telling me, "Leave it there".

Rachel: Il dit que ça brûle. La casserole brûle. (He says that it's burning. The pan is burning.)

Daniel: Ça brûle, c'est normale! (It's burning. That's normal!)

Rachel: Pourquoi c'est normale, pourquoi c'est normale? Explique-moi pourquoi c'est normale! (Why is it normal? Explain to me how it's normal!)

Gordon (narration): Daniel is clearly hard to handle, but Rachel is the boss.

Gordon: You're alright?

Rachel: Uh, no, I'm not alright. I'm really fucking pissed off. In three fucking hours he could've made a fucking dish for two, and he's fucking doing it on purpose. He should be fucking ashamed. I'm ashamed, I fucking...

Gordon: This guy is killing your business. This guy is killing your business. This is so sad, you know that?

Rachel: He needs to get his fucking act going, he needs to do something, because we're going to fucking fall out, big time. Anyway, I'm going inside to see what's going on.

The Granary [4.07]

[Gordon meets the chefs after having lunch.]

Gordon: I had lunch with Nigel. Sadly, very disappointing.

Martin: In which way?

Gordon: I just found it old fashioned, very boring and when you say "modern British", where was the beef from?

Martin: Where's the beef from? It's not British.

Gordon: The steak was cooked nicely. Pink, it didn't need all the gunk around there.

[The sous chefs, Paul and Pete, start laughing behind Martin's back.]

Martin: It was the shark that you came for?

Gordon: It was watery and overcooked. Where do you actually buy it?

Martin: It was in the Indian Ocean, I believe.

Gordon: And you buy it - (sees Paul and Pete laughing and hunched over) Guys, do you want to listen?

Pete: Yeah, we're listening.

Martin: Yeah, show some respect.

Gordon: Or are you just going to stand there and piss your pants? I'm trying to have a chat, but it's very rude.

Martin: Sorry, Gordon. Pete, show some fucking respect.

Pete: Sorry, Gordon, carry on.

Gordon: You can't stand up, or...? (Pete stands up straight) What I'm trying to get through is modern British. It's hard to identify anything that's modern British. So, I'm here to help.

Martin: Okay.

Gordon: This man [Nigel] hasn't even understood that yet. I didn't enjoy my lunch. It doesn't need to be that fancy.

Martin: It's pretty evident.

Gordon: And it is on the verge of being pretentious; too much style and insufficient flavour. (Interview) The Granary, it's an amazing location but everything about it is fucking wrong. The teenage bozos, they're so full of themselves, it's fucking embarrassing. The decor's flash and pretentious, and the food, well, it can't be any more further away from modern British. No wonder the fucking locals aren't coming.

Nigel: We've never had a night like this before!

Gordon: Why are you shouting?

Nigel: Why have you done this to us!?

Gordon: Why have I...what!?

Nigel: Why did you do this to us? We've never had a night like this! Never, since we've opened!

Gordon: Don't be so ridiculous, will you? Shit food; fucking red mullet, frozen from Thailand; the fact that we're not performing; the service is all over the place; the customers are fucking complaining...

Nigel: 90 people, without giving us any notice.

Gordon: There's still 50 that haven't even been fucking served, so why are you blaming me for this?

Gordon: You're a weak man.

Nigel: Oh, fuck off, Gordon! I'm not a weak man.

Gordon: Why don't you open your eyes, get your head out of your arse, and try to look at your business objectively? (Outside) They clearly can't cook the existing menu, they're struggling. There's nearly 60 customers still on the board. They've barely cooked 25 to 30 main courses. And, all of a sudden, I'm to blame because they're busy and they're not handling it.

Gordon: When was the last time you trained a waitress?

Nigel: I've got to look after my customers. This is nonsense. Right? I've told him what happens. I told him what fucking happens.

Gordon: Talk to me!

Nigel: Why? Because you don't listen! I'm in denial! I do this all the time. This is how I run my fucking restaurant! It's not true!

Gordon: That's why you're in this shit, you fucking fat idiot!

Nigel: No, it's not! Don't call me fat, you are a twat! Do you know that?

Gordon: You stupid joke of an idiot! You're in denial!

Nigel: You stupid fucking silly-looking cunt!

Gordon: This is how you run your business?

Nigel: You're a fucking knob! Fuck off!

Gordon: Oh, you walk away now.

Nigel: Go and talk to the customers! Go and talk to the fucking regulars out there! See if they've ever seen a service like this!

Gordon: And what are they going to say to me?

Nigel: Go and ask a regular!

Gordon: That you're the best host in fucking Hampshire?

Nigel: Probably, some of them.

Gordon: Are you that fucking blind?

[right before dinner service]

Gordon: [sees Pete snickering] Okay, what's funny, Pete?

Pete: Nothing.

Gordon: Go on, share the joke. Go on.

Pete: It's just...

Gordon: You may be eighteen years of age, but you're still fucking old enough to get kicked out. Okay?

Pete: Yeah.

Gordon: So fucking calm down, yeah? Show a little bit of fucking respect, yeah? And let your cooking do the talking.

Gordon: (voiceover) Martin isn't directing his chefs. I've got to step in.

Gordon: Come on, Paul, help him put them on the plate as well. Talk to me. When I tell you you've gone flat as a pancake, I really mean it. The customers are backing up, we're in the shit and...

Martin: There's too many hot starters, Gordon.

Gordon: Oh, come on! Don't give me that limp excuse. There's a fishcake and mushrooms on toast. The soup's in the container.

Martin: But they've ordered eight of them.

[Paul starts barking at Gordon]

Gordon: Can you shut up a minute? Yes?

Martin: They're not ordering any...

Paul: You're not helping us, you're giving us all this!

Gordon: Sorry?

Paul: You're not helping us!

Gordon: Say that again?

Paul: Ah, fuck off!

Gordon: Did you just tell me to fuck off? Is that the thanks I get? Listen, let me just tell you something to your face. I know you think it's cocky and smart and fucking hard.

Paul: No, it's not that.

Gordon: Hey, I'm talking to Martin and you shout over me and you're saying "Well, I'm all the way over here shouting." You've got a lot to learn. This is what happens when a kitchen's not committed. A chef who tells me that two hot starters is too much. One fish cake to reheat, mushrooms on toast, and the chippy little (BEEP) in the corner shouting his mouth off. You'd think someone would show a little bit more balls than that, wouldn't you?

Great British Nightmare

Dovecote

Gordon: (narration) Let’s see what this ex-trucker can do. [At the entrance, reading the menu] An eating experience you must try. Steaks, local produce, chicken dishes, duck, lamb shanks. Oh, lovely. All food is freshly cooked. Fuck me. [Enters the restaurant] Hello.

Michelle: Hello. Michelle. Pleasure to meet you.

Gordon: Michelle, nice to see you. Your blouse matches the wallpaper. I feel like I'm tripping out. Never touched the stuff, but I feel like I've just swallowed an E. Holy crap. (Narration) Compared to the hideous wallpaper, the menu is very attractive. Simple, freshly cooked food. On paper, it looks delicious.

Mick: (In the kitchen) Orange squash, spoonful of gravy. Rich and meaty, it's called, yeah. A lot of them say it’s the best they've had. So it can’t be that bad, can it?

Gordon: (Narration) First up: Mick’s house special, duck with orange sauce. (In the dining room) Yikes. Ooh-la-la.

Michelle: There's your potatoes. I’ll just get the vegetables for you.

Gordon: Jesus Christ. Fuck me, do I need sunglasses? What is that sauce?

Michelle: That thing? Maybe it’s the orange squash he uses.

Gordon: (Narration) Did she really say, "orange squash"? (Back in the dining room) It looks like someone has dropped a fucking lemon tart on my plate. [Samples the duck.]

Michelle: It gives it colour.

Gordon: [Spits the duck out] Fuck me. Worse than fucking Benylin.

Gordon: Is it local lamb?

Michelle: They're- the're actually vacuum packed ones. Uh, actually, they can last for about a year.

Gordon: Just say that again?!

Michelle: The- they're bought in, they're vacuum packed; the lamb shanks, and they've actually got a life shelf of about a year, and they don't have to be kept refrigerated.

Gordon: Holy fuck.

Michelle: Yeah...

[Gordon calls out Mick on the duck with orange sauce.]

Gordon: So it's all about the duck?

Mo: Yeah, go on.

Gordon: What the fuck did you put in that sauce? It's like some fucking sci-fi sperm!

Mo: [scowls] Sci-fi sperm!

Gordon: Yeah, where's the orange juice? [Picks up a bottle of orange squash] So, it's an orange squash?

Mick: Yes.

Gordon: A concentrate?

Mick: All the reports from the people were, "We love the sauce." And the lamb shanks.

Michelle: You've got to be honest. I've never heard one complaint.

Gordon: As a restauranteur, or whatever you want to call yourself, your responsibility is to provide them with at least something fresh. And especially for 11 fucking quid.

Mo: (appealing) Help.

Gordon: Well, he's a stubborn fucker, this one.

Mo: I know he's a stubborn fucker.

Michelle: You got that right.

Mo: I'd be the first to admit that. But we desperately, desperately need help from yourself. And I'm sorry, I'm going to be emotional.

Gordon: I don't want you to get upset.

Mo: [Breaks into tears] I am! My husband's been slaving to death, and we work so hard for this business, and it's just killing us all!

The Runaway Girl

[Gordon visits The Runaway Girl for the first time.]

Gordon: What the fuck is that? Looks like a hair-dressing salon. Dreadful. Absolutely shocking! Spanish tapas bar? I mean, looks like a fucking lap-dancing hole.

Gordon: (voiceover) That stale slop is an embarrassment. It's time for head chef Richie and sous chef Jonil to face the Spanish Inquisition. (To Richie) Excellent. So you're the head chef?

Richie: Yes.

Gordon: (To Jonil) And you're the sous chef?

Jonil: Yes.

Gordon: Right. How can the fish in a stew be dry? When was that cooked, the fish? Because I can guarantee that wasn't cooked this morning. The duck was sweet as fuck. It was like a mouthful of sugar.

Richie: That's how it was supposed to be.

Gordon: Oh, fucking hell. That's not Spanish tapas.

Justin: We've never had a set of complaints about any particular dish.

Gordon: Right.

Justin: There's never been one thing that has been sent back, and quite the contrary, we were having compliments.

Gordon: You shouldn't use your customers like a hairdryer, blowing smoke up your arse. All I want to know from my customers is the negatives. We've got a problem. The food's an issue, but on the top of the fucking food, we can't eat inside a night-club. End of fucking story. Tonight, I'm going to be in on service, and I want to see the place under pressure. Because if it's that bad with nobody in, I can't fucking wait to see what it's like when the place is full. Thank you.

Richie: (Interview) When you walk in here, it does not look like a fucking restaurant. You know what I mean? Looks like a fucking strip-bar. I know this, yeah? But he [Gordon]'s got to realise: I can fucking cook.

[Gordon returns to The Runaway Girl on the second day.]

Gordon: Titty bar. [Enters the restaurant] What was the first thing you thought about this morning?

Justin: What I've done is, I've dug out 30, 40 comments cards, and just taken them off the top of the pile. And all they're saying is, "Great food"; "Great atmosphere"; "Great food"; "Great atmosphere"; "What would you change?": "Nothing"; "What would you change?": "Nothing".

Gordon: I can't believe you, you know that? Your business is fucked. And you revert to stupid pretentious comment cards to pump smoke back up your arse first thing this morning to say "Food's good", "Atmosphere is good", "Music is good". When are you going to stop massaging yourself and fucking get real?

Justin: Okay, there's clearly a bigger picture which is fucked, yeah. But this is...

Gordon: Fuck me.

Richie: Just, this is what I'm talking about, kid. You've got to cut the fucking bullshit. Why the fuck are you still trying to make out you've fucking got something?

Justin: Do you think-

Richie: When the fucking- When the damage has been done. We already look like a couple of fucking tits. Yeah? You're already looking like a twat. Yeah? And this guy is too fucking clever for you. So shut your fucking mouth and fucking listen!

Justin: I can't-

Richie: If you do not turn it around today, two o'clock, me and him are fuckin' off! Yeah? I ain't fuckin' staying here. Just - Cut the fucking crap to turn things around! He's there to fucking turn it around. You can do it without me, or fucking with me. Because I've had enough of this fucking charade! Because I don't need this fucking shit! And I've got to stand next to him and show him fucking tubs of fucking shit, that I'm fucking cooking! You've fuckin' done nothing!

Justin: So tell me where to go from here, Rich! Cause you're-

Richie: You're not fucking listening to him!!

Justin: I'm al-

Richie: He's trying to fucking tell you! I've tried to tell you for two years! About every fucking thing! Food, bands, I've told you that, but you don't fucking understand! [explodes with frustration] So show him some fuckin' respect, or else I'm fuckin' goin' at two o'clock! And that's fuckin' it! That is it. No fuckin' bullshit!

Justin: Okay.

Richie: Fucking dangle me like a fucking puppet! [Pats Gordon's shoulder] Sorry.

Gordon: Get some fresh air.

Richie: So don't take the fucking piss out of me anymore! Fuck this shit, bruv.

Gordon: I've never seen such a fucked up service in all my fucking life. Un-fucking-believable.

[Justin brings back a couple of steaks.]

Justin: This was asked for well done, and this person is sending it back.

Gordon: Well, let me just tell you something. You know, in terms of well done... [slices a piece of the steak, revealing it to be well done.] Look, we braised it. What is that?

Justin: That's well done.

Gordon: That is well done, so [slams the steak down, voice cracking] STOP BRINGING ME SHIT!

Justin: What about this, Gordon?

Gordon: That is well done!

Justin: What about this?

Gordon: It's well done! Look at it, it's well done! We've braised it!

Justin: That looks pink to me.

Gordon: That's gristle, you fucking idiot! What is that?

Richie: Gristle.

Gordon: Look, look, it's white inside!

Justin: Thanks for telling.

Gordon: Oh, my God! What a fucking muppet!

Costa del Nightmares

La Granada Divino [7.03]

Gordon: [Commenting on Neil's country paté] Presentation's ghastly. I mean, it's like something out of the 80's. Shocking. [After tasting it] Tastes of nothing... sad. On the verge of... depressingly sad.

Neil: I'm cooking Gordon's risotto from scratch. I just tasted the rice I cooked this morning... and it's overcooked. And there's no fucking way I'm gonna send him overcooked rice.

Gordon (narration): 40 minutes later, my second course arrives.

Gordon: That's a long time for a risotto.

Waitress: Sí. (Yes)

Gordon: Is that normal?

Waitress: No.

Gordon: Looks like something out of a Barbie doll's house.

Quelcuttis [7.04]

Gordon: Hola. Quelcuttis, restaurant?

Lady: Quelcuttis?

Gordon: Sí. (Yes)

Lady: Recto, a la plaza. (Straight, by the square)

Gordon: Straight down?

Gordon: [Upon finding rotten serrano ham] What is that?!

Terry: It's serrano ham.

Joe: That's gotta go in the bin.

Gordon: Oh, fucking hell! It smells... [To Joe] sme... smell that! What does that smell of?

Joe: It smells like shit.

Gordon: It smells like FUCKING CHEESE! [To Terry] Just smell that. How old is that?

Terry: Don't know, but it was gonna go in the bin.

Gordon: (to Joe) Your party is going to end with you disappearing six foot under!