Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares

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Scene: On the 276 bus to Stratford

Gordon Ramsey: I'm off to the east End of London, famous for gangsters, murderers and jellied eels. Today's subject is "Club Jambon D'Ouest Uni", a restaurant in West Ham's ground where the owners are in a pickle. Since moving premises three years ago in an effort to grow the brand, customers are unhappy and many have left yet the standard on offer has dropped. Profits are down after a number of expensive ingredients turned out to be not worth the money.

GR: I'm due to meet owner David Sullivan.

Scene: On the centre spot at the London Stadium. GR and David Sullivan talk. Gordon holds his chin

GR: Hi David, what's going wrong?
David Sullivan: I don't know Gordon, I work my socks off - but everybody else keeps letting me down. I appoint all the chefs - but it can't be my fault because I'm the man with the money.

Scene: In the restaurant. Gordon orders some food and casts his eye around. To camera:

GR: Wow! This is the oddest place I've seen. Decor soulless, no atmosphere. The seats are miles from the kitchen and somebody appears to have spilled red wine all over the new carpet. The tables have popcorn on them as a starter, the scaffolding decoration looks out of place and why are there no cups? Fuck me!

The food arrives and Gordon picks it about a bit before sending it back.

GR: My God! This is terrible. I need the toilet, excuse me.

Retching noises come from within.

Scene: In the kitchen. Chef Manuel Pellegrini stands in front of the microwave looking guilty


GR: Hi! Gordon Ramsay. You are the head chef?
Manuel Pellegrini: Si.
GR: Do you think that was sufficient quality to get your customers to return?
MP: Si. We have a big kitchen mentality here.
GR: No pride, no passion, no preparation - you're living on another fucking planet mate!
MP: I worked at the top restaurants in Madrid and Manchester, please don't be rude.
GR: Rude?! Fuck off! Your Lasagne Al Fornals was under-prepared - almost raw, the Cress was limp and the Wilshere Jack cheese just fell apart every time I tried to get it on my fork. The Pate de Foie (Snod)gras with Scotch was ok but the only dish with any promise was the Rice.

GR: Mate, I was looking forward to a vintage Chilean red but all I've seen so far is cheap fizzy water.
MP: We are not in a good moment, I need another wingman.
GR: Fuck off! The only reason you're here is to make a quick buck before you retire! You don't care.

Scene: In the boardroom. Ramsay eyes the prawn sandwiches nervously. David Sullivan, David Gold and Karren Brady look unrealistically confident.

DS: How was the food?
GR: Seriously? It was fucking awful! The French beefcake was all alone on the plate with nothing else - I was expecting some Gravy Diangana but the kitchen tell me they will have to go to Birmingham to get any.
GR: As for the Spanish guaca-goalie, it was bright green and rancid - I expected something Fab but it absolutely stank the place out.


Embed from Getty Images
A bad smell - the guaca-goalie


GR: And your Brazilian dish couldn't have been worse if somebody had boiled a sandal - a complete fucking Felipe flop!
GR: All your food is Fancy Dan - you need some meat and potatoes - good honest stuff that does a job.

Ramsay turns to Gold

GR: What about you Mr Gold, what do you do?
David Gold: I was born in Green St.
GR: What!?
DG: Yes, it's true. And I used to play for the boys and now I drive a Rolls Royce and wear a blazer.
GR: Are you fucking serious?
DG: Oh deadly serious, Mr Ramsay, do you want to see my garden?
GR: Fucking hell, I've never met anybody so deluded in all my life!

Ramsay gives up on Gold - especially as he thinks he may need the toilet - and introduces himself to Brady.

GR: Hi, Lady Brady, pleased to meet you. What is your role in the process?
Karren Brady: I'm all about raising the profile of the place...
GB: Raising the profile? How?
KB: With my weekly piece in the paper and regular appearances on The Apprentice.
GR: Yeah, but what do you do for the customers?
KR: I'm the Vice Chair - and let me tell you, a good restaurant doesn't need customers to be successful. No, I run a club called the Objectionable Supine Bootlickers, the OSB for short - and they tell me everything I want to hear. Sometimes we even offer them a few crumbs from the top table.
GR: So who gets feedback from the diners?
DS (interrupting): Oh, we don't talk to them, why would anybody do that?
GR: Fuck me ragged, this place is a total shitshow and you lot are fucking amateurs. I can't help you.

GR: I'm off!

Closing credits...

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