The Hundred-Foot Journey Page #2

Bonjour?

Can I help you?

Sorry. Sorry.

We were just looking around here.

This is private property.

Okay. Papa, chalo, let's go.

Excuse me, do you own this property?

- Oh, no. No.

- Oh.

Then you are trespassing, too.

Do you know the owner of this place?

Papa, please. Time to leave.

Yes, I know them very well.

- One minute.

- They have gone back to Paris.

But they asked me

to keep an eye out for them.

Oh, I bet you do.

How much are they asking?

Papa, please!

One minute. Relax.

Oh...

You must understand

that a property of this size

in this village, would be very expensive.

Well, I heard you asked for

a discount in Claude's hotel.

Papa, you didn't!

We asked you not to.

Madame,

asking for discount

doesn't mean I am poor.

It means I am thrifty.

I want to make an offer,

to buy this restaurant.

Enough. Let's go.

Come. Let's go.

- Don't push me!

- Chalo.

One, two. Here.

Here you go.

- Merci.

- Merci beaucoup.

- Mansur! Mansur!

- Huh?

Let's go.

What? Where?

He's gone crazy.

What?

He's just stuck on that place.

Ah, merci.

More?

Papa!

You know them?

Never seen them before.

Papa, if you won't listen to me,

then listen to Mahira.

You always call her the sensible one.

Papa, it is a very sweet location

and the building is fine,

but there is a problem,

which makes it impossible

for us to open a restaurant there.

There is already a restaurant.

Just across the street.

100 feet. We measured.

That is why the people

moved back to Paris.

They couldn't make it pay.

Papa, the restaurant across the street

has a Michelin star, hmm?

I know, I saw it.

Twinkle, twinkle. So what?

Papa, it is the best restaurant

for 50 miles in any direction.

The President of France dines there.

Is the President of France

able to order murgh masala,

with cashew nuts and cardamom?

And ka saag aloo? Dal?

Our secret family spices?

No, but they are

a Michelin star restaurant, Papa.

They have frogs' legs,

escargot, ratatouille...

Is the President able to order

tandoori goat,

cooked the way Hassan cooks?

Excuse me.

Sprinkled with roast spices?

Papa, the restaurant doesn't

serve those things,

because the people here don't

like to eat those things.

Because they don't know.

They have never tried. Now they shall.

- Hassan, speak to him.

- Can you count?

The kind of variety we can produce

is absolutely amazing.

And the aroma.

Oh.

This must be

the restaurant owner calling me back.

- Give the phone to me.

- No.

- Hello?

- Arrey...

Hello?

Papa, please don't do this!

- Let me answer it.

- Give it to me!

- Give it to me!

- Please.

- Papa, don't.

- Mansur! Papa!

I am still head of the Kadam family!

Hello? Bonjour.

Yes, uh, indeed, this is Mr. Kadam,

chairman of Kadam Enterprises.

Sir.

%BEEPS)

- Hmm.

Madame Mallory.

Good morning. Bonjour.

Good morning.

Menus.

Hey, Mukhtar, look,

I'm cooking paneer! Oh!

Oi!

Go, go, go!

So sorry I'm late.

Les chanterelles.

I wish to take advantage

because they are perfect at the moment,

because of the heavy rain last night.

With a little cream then?

Yes, but smoke the cream first, please.

Now, last night,

we served this.

Miserable, overcooked asparagus.

In this restaurant,

the cuisine is not an old, tired marriage,

it is a passionate affair of the heart.

Sorry. Pardon.

I know I'm late,

but they were growing by the river.

I couldn't resist them.

- Oh, red currants!

- Yeah.

Jean-Pierre, the red currants

will go with the duck, n'est-ce pas?

Yeah, okay, why not?

I see they have started work

on the new restaurant across the street.

Oh, Marguerite,

that cannot be called a restaurant.

In fact the mayor's office

tells me it is fast food, something ethnic.

The old man

who bought the place is insane.

He will last about as long as it takes

to dry-cure a good winter ham.

Which is how long?

Uh, Marcel?

- Huh?

- Five to eight months, madam.

Marguerite.

In return for the red currants,

I want you to miss the prep

and go to the market for me.

With pleasure, madam. Thank you.

- Hello.

- Oh, hi!

I hear you're staying. That's great.

I didn't even know you were chefs.

- I'm not a chef. Just a cook.

- Oh.

And it will be fast food, yeah?

Actually,

my father's signature dish

takes three days.

- Oh.

- That is a lot of mushrooms.

Le Saule Pleureur is a big restaurant.

You... You work for the madame

of Saule Pleureur?

Yes.

Huh. So you are a chef?

No, uh, I'm a sous chef,

but I'm studying to become

chef de cuisine.

I hear the madame is not happy

to have competition?

She's not happy no matter what.

Why is she not happy?

She has one, she wants two.

Children?

No. No, stars.

Children will get in the way.

- Of the stars?

- Yeah.

In France, all that matters to a chef

is the Michelin stars.

Michelin?

I found a Michelin book in the kitchen.

Yeah, that's the bible.

The stars are holy here.

So, one is good, two is amazing,

and three is, um...

Three's only for the gods.

I would like to learn

about French cuisine.

Perhaps you could recommend a book?

And why would I do that?

You're the enemy now. No?

- See you on the battlefield.

- See you.

Oi, careful.

Hey, Thierry, come and help me!

Right away.

- Fayed, come here.

- Yes, sir.

Hassan, jaldi karo,

there's a lot to be done.

Aisha!

You have to be safe in the kitchen.

These are not toys.

You can't run around.

Hey, let's go.

Hassan,

why are they blocking the road?

Come on, hey. Hey.

We use ancient spices, classical spices.

My son is the best Indian chef

in Europe...

It's too much, Hassan. It's too much.

in fact

the whole Western world.

He is standing there

in that corner with my daughter.

Raise your hand.

Raise your hand, don't feel shy.

- Don't raise your hand.

- Raise your hand.

Don't raise your hand.

Raise your hand,

Hassan, I'm talking to you.

Hassan, don't raise your hand.

Haan, he is my little genius.

We open Saturday night.

Tasting menu half-price.

You know, I saw that Indian guy

buying things in the convenience store.

His cart was full of cat food.

They don't even have a cat.

I guess it was for the curry.

Combine the milk, sugar,

vanilla, eggs, kirsch and salt.

Mix until silky to the touch.

Pour into a pan,

spread your cherries over the top

and bake until the skewer inserted

into the batter comes out clean.

A golden-brown crust will have

formed on the top and on the bottom.

You may like this kind of music,

but the rest of the village does not.

Sorry, madam.

Welcome to our humble abode,

Madame,

and thank you for barging in.

I knocked,

but you couldn't hear me,

because the music was so loud.

Ah.

I, um, just came to see

how things are coming along.

Well, we are doing pretty well.

Mmm. What is this?

It is an oven.

Oven? It's not a drum? To play?

No. Tandoor oven for chicken tikka.

Sometimes small children.

Joking.

Plastic.

Hmm.

Did you get my invitation

to our opening night on Saturday?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes