Ratatouille Page #8

on that salade compose.

Don't let that beurre blanc separate.

Keep whisking.

Gently poach the scallops.

Taste check. Spoons down.

Good. Too much salt. Good.

Don't boil the consomm,

it'll toughen the pheasant. Emile!

Sorry.

Colette, wait! Colette.

- You came back. Colette...

- Don't say a word.

If I think about it,

I might change my mind.

Just tell me what the rat wants to cook.

Ratatouille? It's a peasant dish.

Are you sure

you want to serve this to Ego?

What? I am making ratatouille.

Well, how would you prepare it?

Ratatouille? They must be joking.

Mmm.

No, it can't be.

Who cooked the ratatouille?

I demand to know!

I can't remember the last time

I asked a waiter

to give my compliments to the chef.

And now I find myself

in the extraordinary position

of having my waiter be the chef.

Thanks, but I'm just your waiter tonight.

Then who do I thank for the meal?

Excuse me a minute.

You must be the chef...

If you wish to meet the chef,

you will have to wait

until all the other customer have gone.

So be it.

At first, Ego thinks it's a joke.

But as Linguini explains,

Ego's smile disappears.

He doesn't react

beyond asking an occasional question.

And when the story is done,

Ego stands, thanks us for the meal...

Thank you for the meal.

... and leaves without another word.

The following day his review appears.

In many ways,

the work of a critic is easy.

We risk very little,

yet enjoy a position over those

who offer up their work

and their selves to our judgment.

We thrive on negative criticism,

which is fun to write and to read.

But the bitter truth we critics must face

is that in the grand scheme of things,

the average piece of junk

is probably more meaningful

than our criticism designating it so.

But there are times

when a critic truly risks something

and that is in the discovery

and defense of the new.

The world is often unkind

to new talent, new creations.

The new needs friends.

Last night,

I experienced something new,

an extraordinary meal

from a singularly unexpected source.

To say that both the meal

and its maker

have challenged my preconceptions

about fine cooking

is a gross understatement.

They have rocked me to my core.

In the past, I have made no secret

of my disdain

for Chef Gusteau's famous motto,

"Anyone can cook."

But I realize only now

do I truly understand what he meant.

Not everyone

can become a great artist,

but a great artist

can come from anywhere.

It is difficult to imagine

more humble origins

than those of the genius

now cooking at Gusteau's,

who is, in this critic's opinion,

nothing less

than the finest chef in France.

I will be returning to Gusteau's soon,

hungry for more.

I will be returning to Gusteau's soon,

hungry for more.

It was a great night.

The happiest of my life.

But the only thing predictable

about life is its unpredictability.

Well, we had to let Skinner

and the health inspector loose,

and of course they ratted us out.

The food didn't matter.

Once it got out

there were rats in the kitchen,

oh, man, the restaurant was closed

and Ego lost his job and his credibility.

But don't feel too bad for him.

He's doing very well

as a small business investor.

- He seems very happy.

- How do you know?

Got to go. Dinner rush.

You know how he likes it.

Thanks, Little Chef.

Can I interest you

in a dessert this evening?

- Don't you always?

- Which one would you like?

Surprise me.

Can I interest you

in a dessert this evening?

Hey, believe me, that story

gets better when I tell it, okay?

Come on. Bring some food over here,

we're starving!

Rate this script:4.5 / 15 votes