Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares

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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 April 27 2004 to January 30 2009

Series One[edit]

Bonapartes [1.01][edit]

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 going to be sick.
Gordon: (voiceover) He's 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 throws up 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 realize they were fucking off, so... I suppose it's my fault, really.
Gordon: (interview) That could kill someone. That's the bottom line.

[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 num-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 you 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.

[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[edit]

D-Place [2.02][edit]

Gordon: D-Place is in D-Shit.

[Gordon checks the potatoes which head chef Philippe claims that they 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. You understand how critical the situation is? So pay the man fucking respect and tell the truth. You have deep-fried the potatoes!
Philippe: These haven't been deep fried.
Gordon: They are wrinkled, dehydrated, and they've been in the deep-fat fryer.
Philippe: That's not dehydrated.
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 knew the oven's not hot enough to roast a potato! You 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: Have he 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.

Series Three[edit]

Oscar's [3.01][edit]

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 gonna 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 apologize 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 [3.03][edit]

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: Alright, we can shout now or you can fucking out, I don't mind.
Gordon: What you mean I can out?
Dave: Hey?
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 haven't 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...
Dave: If you had fucking talked to me...
Gordon: Yes!
Dave: Y'err! Urgh!
Gordon: Go on!
Dave: Hey?
Gordon: Go on!
Dave: Urgh!
Gordon: Finish it, then.
Dave: Finish what?
Gordon: What are you about to say?
Dave: 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: 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. (mocks Dave) Yeah?

Series Four[edit]

Morgans [4.04][edit]

Gordon: (voiceover) Junior sous-chef Emma is Phil's long-suffering sidekick. Her starter 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: Just trying it out.
Phil: Phil said an hour ago, "What is that? What? Is? That?" And he was told, "It's the golden classic, sticky toffee pudding!" Yay!!! (raises his arms ridiculously)
[Back at 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 apricots and mashed potatoes together in vanilla whisky.

[Gordon visits the kitchen]
Sandy: Hello, everyone. Here's Gordon. He's pleased to meet you.
Gordon: Hello. (to Emma) Hi, Emma. How are you?
Emma: I'm pleased to meet you. I'm fine.
Gordon: Good to see you. And you're the...
Emma: Chef de partie, desserts, and starters.
Gordon: (to Phil) And this is...
Phil: Phil. Head chef.
Gordon: Phil, chef de cuisine. Okay. Anyway, it started off good. I arrived, and I thought it was quite a stunning, intimate place. Then the food arrived. (Phil was laughing) Solid rock-hard prawns, you dig deep and you come across the mashed potatoes laced with fucking apricots, tomatoes, and a red currant jus.
Phil: No, it's a 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 putting them together?
Phil: Why not? It's different.
Gordon: You've got every right to get 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 chef over there wants to fucking laugh about it.
Phil: What the fuck do you want me to do? Watching you stand there fucking just mouthing me off?
Gordon: Fuck that. You've just showed me in the last three minutes your attitude stinks. And you can't take criticism well.
Phil: That's not criticism! There are 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 speaks to anyone!
Gordon: Okay. Let's go the other way, shall we? (to the Morgans, in a gentle manner) Please be so kind as to remove the apricots from the mashed potatoes.
Phil: See? Now you're being fucking sarcastic!
Gordon: No, I don't know how -- now, listen. We've got a problem here, yeah? And there's a fucking issue with the food. Now, fucking Mr Chipmunk here in the fucking corner is pissed off of the fact that I'm telling him something constructive.
Phil: See? You're --
Gordon: If I can't get over that hurdle, I might as well fuck off back on the train now.
Phil: You're making fucking personal attacks!
Gordon: (to Phil) Do you understand? (to the Morgans) Have a word with the chef, yes? And 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) 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: (laughs)
Sandy: Thank you, Gordon!
Gordon: I'd wish it was my fucking starter!
Phil: (walks out of the kitchen, disposed of a leftover, and blocks the camera with his hand) That's enough.
Gordon: (outside the restaurant) Shit dinner. Beautiful restaurant inside. Great potential. Then trying to tell the fucking chef some form of constructive criticism. He's got a problem -- not just with his food, but with his fucking gob.

Series Five[edit]

Ruby Tate's [5.01][edit]

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.
Gordon: Sixty? [rolls eyes]

[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 realize how fragile he is right now. He looks like a guy who's about to fuck off from Brighton Pier and jump off the end.


The Granary [5.08][edit]

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 open.
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 what 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 25-30 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've trained a waitress?
Nigel: I 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 never seen a service like this.
Gordon: And what are they going to say to me?
Nigel: Go and ask a regular!
Gordon: You are the best host in fucking Hampshire?
Nigel: Probably, some of them.
Gordon: Are you that fucking blind?

[During service, sous-chef Paul starts barking at Gordon]
Gordon: Can you shut up a minute? Yes?
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 you 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 cunt in the corner shouting his mouth off. You'd think someone would show a little bit more balls than that, wouldn't you?

Series Six[edit]

Dovecote [6.01][edit]

[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: (gnarls) Sci-fi sperm!
Gordon: Yeah, Where's the orange juice? (Gets a bottle of orange squash) So it's an orange squash?
Mick: Yes.
Gordon: A concentrate?
Mick: All the reports from the people were, "Do we love the sauce?" And the lamb shanks.
Michelle: You've got to be so 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 with 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 slated to death, and we work so hard for this business, and it's just killing us all!

The Runaway Girl [6.02][edit]

[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 one thing that have been sent back, and quite the contrary, we were having compliments.
Gordon: You shouldn't use your customers like a hair-dryer blowing smoke up your arse. All I want to know from my customers is the negatives. But, on the top of the fucking food, we can't eat inside a night-club. End of fucking story. 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's (Gordon) 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: Well, I've done is, I've dug out 30 to 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", "What will you change? Nothing", "What will 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 a bigger picture which is fucked. But this is...
Gordon: Fuck me.
Richie: Dude, this is what I'm talking about, kid. You've got to cut the fooking bullshit. When the damage has been done. We already looking like a couple of fooking tits. Yeah? You're already looking like a twat. Yeah? And this guy is too fooking clever for you. So shut your fooking mouth and fooking listen!
Justin: I can't-
Richie: If you do not turn it around today, 2 o'clock, I'm fooking off! I'm not staying here, Just! Cut the fooking crap to turn things around! He's there to fooking turn it around. You can do it without me, or you can fooking with me. Because I've had enough of this fooking charade! Because I don't need this fooking shit! And I got to stand next to him and show me fooking tubs of fooking shit! That's what I'm fooking cooking! You've fooking done so nothing!
Justin: So tell me where to go from here, Rich! Cause you're-
Richie: You're not fooking listening to him!
Justin: I'm al-
Richie: He's trying to fooking tell you! I tried to tell you for two years about everything! Food, bands, and I've told you that, but you don't fooking understand! So show him some fooking respect, or else I'm fooking going at two o'clock, and that is fooking it! And that is it! No fooking bullshit!
Justin: Okay.
Richie: Fooking dangle me like a fooking puppet! (to Gordon) Sorry.
Gordon: Get some fresh air.
Richie: So don't take a fooking piss at me anymore! Foock this shit, bro.

Gordon: I've never seen such a fucked up service in all my fucking life.
[Justin brings back a couple of steaks]
Justin: This was asked for well done and they're sending it back.
Gordon: Well let me just tell you something, (slices the steak) in terms of well done, look, we braised it. What is it?
Justin: It's well done.
Gordon: That is well done so (slams the steak down) STOP BRINGING ME SHIT!!!
Justin: What about this Gordon?
Gordon: That is well done!
Justin: What about this?
Gordon: It's well done! We've braised it!
Justin: That is pink though.
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!