(to Red Team) Table 31, look at me! The appetizers now, U.S. Coast Guard, yeah? Show them some respect.
Yeah, one minute out. We're walking in thirty seconds.
Good. Wow, drive it, Jamie.
Yes, chef! (interview) We have really solid cooks on our team.
(to Carrie) How long on the pizza, Carrie?
How long does it take? About two minutes?
(interview) I mean, with the exception of Carrie.
(to Carrie) What is it with you and pizza?!
I know, chef. I can do this, chef.
There's a pizza on the next table...
...and it's not even rolled out.
Rolling it right now, chef.
(interview) Carrie is just so, like, frazzled in her head that she's not even thinking straight, and can't see in front of her.
(to Carrie) Look at me. That's already fucked. [holds up thin pizza dough] When you roll it looking like a pair of fucking knickers... [Elise shakes her head]
I'll start a new one, chef.
Jesus Christ. [throws dough on workstation]
[after examining the capellini] Fuck me. [returns to workstation] Over my fucking dead body! All of you, come here. Where's your spoons? (to Natalie) Just taste that! Taste it! I swear to God, it's like food from a kindergarten! I've tasted better canned spaghetti! And this is the U.S. Coast Guard! (to Paul) You! Show them how to do a lobster capellini!:
If it doesn't sink in, THEY'RE OUT!! I don't care, they're gone!
Jonathon, come here. I want a word with you.
(interview) The pain is starting to get to me. I thought I could push through dinner service, man. But it's–it's gradually getting worse.
[follows Jonathon into the pantry] What's happening?
What's happening? Look at me straight in the eyes! What's happening? Come on!
My mobility's a little limited. I didn't want to give up on the team or be a bitch or give up. So I'm in here doing the best I can.
It doesn't stop you using your brain! I've had a young man in here two years ago that broke his fucking arm! [referring to Dave, who won season 6] He went on to win the fucking competition!
If you've given up, GET OUT!
WELL, FUCKING FIGHT BACK!
THEN STOP SENDING ME SHIT!
New York strip, wellington. Where are we?
Anybody helping him or what?
Hold on, I got it! I got it!
You gotta cut those too, man!
Hold on. I got a rhythm going.
Cut it and bring them up.
What's this one, normal or medium? Is that medium?
I don't know which one's well!
(interview) Tommy can cook, but Tommy doesn't communicate. Tommy's in his own fucking world.
Where's the two medium? (to Tommy) Stop. Leave me alone. Leave me alone, Tommy.
That's the medium rare, chef.
Leave me alone. My fucking head hurts.
[to Blue Team] All of you. All of you, just touch that. Just touch that! Where's the two medium?
Here, chef. And that is the medium rare.
Oh, the cold one? (to Tommy) You made me look like a fucking arsehole in front of Wolfgang Puck today! Now, that's... that's hot, that's lukewarm, and that's cold. Are you done?
Tommy, heat them up! Get them back to the fucking pass!
You have another wellington you can use, or do I need to put this one in?
WHY CAN'T WE JUST FUCKING REHEAT THEM?! [slams fist on workstation]
IT'S FALLING APART! IT LOOKS LIKE SHIT, I'M NOT SENDING IT OUT LIKE THAT!
