We don't have any fucking chicken, we don't have any more Wellingtons, we don't have any fucking lettuce! We haven't served any food! How could we be out of anything?
(to the red team) Your tables are now getting up... pissed off, and leaving! Nothing's getting done.
[cuts to the blue kitchen where Eddie's pan catches fire]
Eddie, fill those out. They're going to taste like fucking lighter fluid.
People fucking me up right now.
Maryann, are they arguing again?
Yes, chef, they are.
(to the red team) STOP! [calls out the red team] Come here. Shut it down, forget it. Service, (to Jean-Philippe) we're shutting it down.
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