Estomago

It's Gor-gon-zola!

This cheese was named after

an Italian city...

You know, Italy, that country

right by the United States.

It's one of the

word's oldest cheeses.

This thing was created more than

a thousand years ago.

A very clever woman looked at that

thing with green snots...

took a bite and said: "this cheese

is so freaking good!"

freaking good!

Lemme tell you

how it all started.

A cowboy was coming back home

after spending the day...

on the back of his horse,

herding his cattle.

Of course he had to bring bread

and milk home.

Even on those days, women

expected their man to do so.

So off he goes "clop, clop"...

with a leather bag full of milk

on his back.

He gets home,

jumps off his horse...

drops his bag on the porch

and takes the horse to the barn.

At that point, he goes in,

closes the door...

and forgets the damn bag outside.

Go figure, overnight the milk curds.

On the next day, his wife sees

the bag outside and gets mad.

She thinks:
"that sh*t is staying

there unless he takes it inside!

Unbelievable! He saw it there and

didn't do a thing about it."

When he comes home at night, he

realizes she hadn't taken it in.

That pisses him off,

but he thinks:
"f*** it!".

Another day goes by, the thing is

under the sun again...

Just figure how nasty it looked.

Women back then were less

stubborn than nowadays.

Seeing that her husband wouldn't

lift a finger and do something...

she threw it away,

because back then...

you could drop trash anywhere,

but on your porch.

So she goes to bury it.

You know, women are nosy as hell.

She finds out that the milk

had turned into cheese.

Hey, Rosemary!

That gorgonzola

might be super-duper, bro.

Do whatever you wanna do with it.

But you bet your sweet ass

that junk won't stay here!

"A Gastronomic Story"

At first, Raimundo Nonato was a saint.

"Saint Raymond Nonnatus".

His mother died when he was about

to pop out.

The doctors back then were

much better than nowadays.

The doc rushed to slice her womb,

after all, she was already dead.

So he pulled the baby out alive!

After such miracle,

a new tradition was created.

Anyone born under hard labor

is named after him.

That's what happened to me.

Raimundo Nonato. That's me.

What do you want?

Water, please.

Anything else?

Two fried chicken snacks, please.

Hey you, I am closing up.

OK, sorry.

Sorry.

--Didn't you forget anything?

--What?

--That's three bucks.

--I got no money, sir.

I see!

I was starving.

Right...

So now, what?

No pay, no game.

I ain't here to feed bums.

Is there anything I can do, sir?

I've got some dirty dishes in the

kitchen. Will you clean them?

--Now?

--Yeah.

Deal.

Let's go. I'll show you the kitchen.

Move, kiddo!

--What a stinking kitchen!

--Excuse me?

Never mind.

It'd take me all night

and you're leaving, right?

I live upstairs.

I'll leave now

and I'll do it tomorrow.

Don't you worry.

After you clean it up,

you can crash in the backroom.

--May I?

--Certainly.

Thing is... just cleaning won't do.

For room and board,

you must also mope the floor.

Fine. OK, sir.

Hey, I'm watching you. If I hear

a peep, I'll come downstairs.

What's your name?

Raimundo Nonato at your service.

Zulmiro.

Don't worry, Mr. Zulmiro.

Raimundo Nonato was a long time ago.

In the clink, you need another name.

Raimundo Nonato won't work here.

I need a prison name.

No Alex, Peter, Phil, Junior

or any of those boy scout names.

Criminal names are... Trigger,

Three Fingers, Holy Hand...

Nonato, the cook.

No, after the sh*t I've done,

it's gotta be a badass name.

Nonato...

pocketknife.

Nonato Pocketknife.

Nonato Pocketknife!

That's me!

Special room for Your Majesty.

Get in, move!

Hey butt-white... your shoes!

Your shoes, man! Didn't your mum

teach you manners, you dumb f***?

Not in here...

Hey, busboy!

I'm coming.

You slept well, huh?

You did a good job here.

--Do you cook?

--I try to...

--Can you make "pastel snack"?

--No, sir.

Wanna learn?

Pour some "cachaca" in the dough.

That's for the dough, not for you.

Squeeze it harder, dude!

Are you scared of the dough?

Squeeze it. It's like a woman's

ass. Squeeze it!

Squeeze it like a woman's ass!

There you go!

Now add some flour.

Good...

Not bad.

You can help me in the kitchen,

if you want to.

--For real?

--Yes.

--And sleep in the back room.

--Cool.

What's my wage?

I didn't get you. What wage?

You come here from the country

then ask for a wage...

benefits and all that crap?

No, it's just that...

Yesterday I ate and cleaned,

so we're even, right? Now...

if I cook today, we gotta

talk about my wage and all.

What do you think?

That's not how it works in the city.

You came all f***ed up from

the country with shitted pants...

No, the backroom smells bad.

--You're smelly.

--It got into my clothes.

Shut up!

How dare you?

Who's talking here?

Me! I have a roof over my head!

And who is listening?

You scumbag that don't have

a place to drop dead.

Here's the deal:
I give you room

and board. That's all.

If you want it, fine.

Otherwise, get out.

Mr. Zulmiro...

I'll stay.

Great.

What's your name again?

Raimundo Nonato

So Nonato, start frying it,

gotta wait on the patrons.

Clean the backroom.

Nonato, are the fried chicken

snacks ready?

Not yet.

The "pastel snacks" are.

Take them.

Hurry, f***, the customers are

impatient already!

In a jiffy, Mr. Zulmiro...

Hey, Dino!

Dino!

Come on!

Are you asleep?

Go see those customers!

--Long time no see.

--I'm fully booked.

Shitty-ass summer!

It's freezing up my muff.

Are those chicken snacks fresh?

I made them today.

Pass me one.

Give me one, dude.

Damn...

It's so f***ing good!

--Did you make it yourself?

--Yes, madam.

Check him out, calling me madam.

Pleasure, Iria.

Raimundo Nonato.

I don't remember seeing you

around here.

I've been working here

for about a month or so.

This bar looks different.

All we used to see here was

flies and boozers.

Now we see flies, boozers

and fried chicken snacks.

Give me another one.

F***!

Got any tabasco?

If I knew how to cook like this,

my life would be different.

--You don't cook, ma'am?

--A little. Eggs, toast, tea...

--No one would marry you.

--So what?

I can't cook,

but I love eating.

The other day I saw that TV show

with the blonde and the parrot...

--The green parrot?

--That one!

Damn, she was making some pasta...

My kinda food.

With capers, tomatoes, anchovies...

just the good stuff.

--Anchovies?

--Anchovies. Fancy sh*t.

--Don't you have them here?

--No, ma'am.

Tell your boss to cook

that pasta here.

--Go ahead, say it.

--I can't.

My friends would be regular here.

It's called pasta puttanesca.

Holy sh*t, "puta" what?

"Puta" your ass.

It's "puttanesca".

It's Italian, not Spanish.

Italian is f***ing posh!

PUTTANESCA!

Nonato, enough talking.

Go fry some more chicken snacks.

Yes, sir.

Excuse me, gotta go back to work.

I'm frying some snacks...

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