The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover Page #3

You don't put orange rind on the edge

of your plate, it goes there, you dolt!

What you've got to realise is that

a clever cook puts unlikely things together

like duck and orange,

like pineapple and ham.

It's called artistry.

I'm an artist, the way I combine

my business and my pleasure.

Money's my business, eating's my pleasure.

And Georgie's my pleasure too,

though in a more private kind of way

than stuffing the mouth

and feeding the sewers.

Though the pleasures are related,

because the naughty bits and the dirty bits

are so close together

that it just goes to show

how eating and sex are related.

Georgie's naughty bits

are nicely related, aren't they?

Especially when she's

paying me attention. Georgie.

Get Phillipe! In future, I want

my napkins folded at home, Georgina.

Get Adele to teach you.

Spangler, get up and get Phillipe.

Bring Richard here,

I've got to make him a proposition.

Get Adele to get that water

with the angostura bitters in it

and some lemon in the water

and a bowl of ice water for me fingers...

Henry! Give me those glasses off that table.

And the flowers.

This should look

the most important table here.

I like a load of glasses around,

it highers the tone.

What's that?

For Madame Spica,

compliments of the house.

She's no Madame. Why haven't I got one?

- I doubt, Mr Spica, if you'll like it.

- Try me.

We have grown accustomed

to you being a conservative eater.

That's not true.

I'm as adventurous as the next.

Your wife has an excellent palate, Mr Spica.

It is always a pleasure for us to serve her.

I want one of those hot, damp towels,

Richard, served

to me with tongs.

Adele is no good with cash and figures.

She's just decorative, all lips and tits.

- We'll replace her.

- Can I do the replacing?

Stuff your mouth, Mitchel.

Every time you open it,

you just show how vulgar you can be.

Georgina! Welcome back.

Did you wipe the seat

before you parked your bum?

You never know what you

can catch these days.

Every toilet seat is a minefield.

That's for you.

Richard thought I might like to taste it,

personal compliments of the chef.

Eat it.

I didn't fancy it, it smelt off.

Iris got a canker on her bum

from sitting on a loo seat.

The mechanic across the road poured

battery acid down the WC to clear it.

Some of it splashed on the seat.

Iris ran screaming into the street,

her backside hissing.

She hasn't been the same since.

She strips the same

but never with her back to the audience.

She had to change her act.

Now it's more full-frontal.

- Where are you going?

- I left my lighter in the toilet.

- Gawd's sake. You don't need it.

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