Burnt

1

Jean Luc, my mentor...

...the guy who gave me

a chance as a chef...

...said to me it was God

who created oysters and apples.

And you can't improve recipes like that.

But it is ourjob to try.

Being a young chef,

I sure as hell tried.

I spent ten years cooking in Paris

and became head chef

of Jean Luc's restaurant.

I was good.

Some nights I was almost

as good as I thought I was.

999,696...

Six ninety-seven.

At least that's what I'm told.

Six ninety-eight...

Six ninety-nine,

Then I destroyed it all.

My devils chased me out of Paris

and I washed up in New Orleans.

I sentenced myself

to hard labor shucking oysters.

999,999.

And today's

the last day of my penance.

One million.

You could give me a raise

and we'd be good.

Where the hell you goin'?

Hey!

He complained about the eggs.

He said they were staring up at him

like the eyes of a dead clown.

He said he knows you from Paris.

He called you "Little Tony."

It's your father's hotel.

You can let yourself in.

The boudin noir

was cooked yesterday.

It was warmed up five hours

under a heat lamp.

A little crust had formed around it.

Are you drunk or stoned?

Or stoned or drunk or something else

no one apart from you has ever been?

You're serving seared tuna.

What happened to your

self-respect, Tony?

Mm.

This from a guy who once stole methadone

from a dying sous chef.

You used to run the best

restaurant in Paris.

Yeah. And you destroyed it.

Good. Anger.

- Hi, Tony.

- You know, after you disappeared,

Jean Luc and I

had to close the restaurant.

There were rumors you had been

stabbed to death in Amsterdam.

There were drug dealers.

And Jean Luc's daughter

claimed you made her pregnant.

And now I'm back.

I'm going after my third star.

If you try to start a new

restaurant in Paris,

there are at least a dozen people

who will try to have you killed.

Oh, no, no. Not in Paris.

Here, in London.

I'm gonna take over your restaurant.

Ah.

My advice to you, chef?

If you want to live a long life,

eat your own tongue.

Good afternoon, sir.

Adam!

Jesus!

- So, where you been?

- Uh, Louisiana.

- Doing what?

- Shuckin' a million oysters.

- Why?

- Ah, gave up drinking.

Oh, good for you.

Along with, uh, sniffing,

snorting, injecting,

licking yellow frogs, and women.

Three years without a word.

Nothing. You bastard.

- Celia's gonna be delighted.

- Thank you.

She missed you, you know?

Really worried about you.

When Jean Luc died,

we were afraid that...

You didn't know?

Oh, I'm sorry.

I know how close you two were.

He was a great chef.

Hey, eat.

That is something, huh?

Sweeney! You just received one

of the best compliments I've ever heard.

This is Adam.

Kinda notorious, back in the day.

Adam has just said your cacio

is one of the best

he's tasted outside of Rome.

- What's your name again?

- Helene.

Next time you make cacio, toast

the pepper first to remove the moisture,

and then you want to

grind it by hand, yeah?

- Hello?

- Yeah.

Is this a**hole

a friend of yours, Conti?

A close friend.

Also, add some

chopped sage, why not?

- American?

- Yeah.

- Yeah. Arrogant prick.

- Well, he's a chef.

Jesus. Still crazy.

Oh, sh*t.

Adam?

Okay!

Michel! Okay!

Okay!

It's okay.

I had a long time to think about

what you did to me in Paris.

When I was your sous chef

at Jean Luc's, we were like brothers.

So when I left, it's only

natural that you were... hurt.

So you took your revenge.

Look, Michel, I don't know

why I did that.

I know it was terrible, but...

what exactly did I do to you?

You don't remember what you did to me?

No.

You called the health inspector.

after releasing rats

into my new restaurant.

Oh, wow, that's terrible.

Conti told me

you're going for the third star.

I need a job.

In Paris, they say

we are "old school."

That's bullshit.

Okay, pal.

We're good?

Mr. Jones?

Mr. Jones, your credit card

has been denied.

There's no longer sufficient

funds available

to cover the cost of your room.

That's okay.

I'm friends with Tony Balerdi.

Tony said to tell you that

your knives are in the bag.

F***.

Yes, mate? What can I get you?

Him.

You marinate the lamb in

za'atar and lemon zest, right?

Yeah. And yogurt, too, yeah.

- Gorgeous.

- Thank you.

Look, Mr. Jones,

I just want to say, I...

you've always been a hero of mine.

We studied your menus

and recipes...

- A hero or a god?

- I...

I don't know the difference.

- Would you work for me for nothing?

- For nothing?

- For food, for meals.

- Yeah, absolutely.

- Yeah, if I was learning loads, yeah.

- Would you pay me?

How much would you pay me

to work for me?

Would you pay me

a hundred pounds a week?

Two hundred? Three hundred?

I'm trying to make a point.

Your resume is great,

this lamb's f***ing fantastic,

but you lack arrogance.

And to be in my kitchen,

you have to defend yourself.

Okay.

No, you mean, "F*** you."

Yeah.

Yeah, f*** you.

Okay.

Now the most important question.

You have a spare bedroom?

How long did

you say he could stay?

Do you think he's drunk?

He doesn't drink anymore.

Are you sure he's famous?

If you're a chef, he's like...

The Rolling Stones.

Oh.

- He scares me.

- He's a two-star Michelin chef.

He's supposed to be scary.

Well, two doesn't seem like many.

To get even one Michelin star,

you have to be like Luke Skywalker.

Okay? To get two,

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