(finding tons of pasta in the fridge) I'm trying to help you understand the method in your madness.
Hey, asshole, I'm not the one who just said it was done yesterday! I asked my prepper--
You can call me a fucking arsehole all you want. So get fucking angry with me.
You're standing right here hearing me ask the person who knows and I gave you his answer, not mine.
Right, who's the fucking chef around here?
I am.
Right. Bags of jambalaya, in the fridge, warm. Have you any idea what happens to jambalaya in the fridge when it's still warm in the centre?
Grows the bacteria?
"Grows the bacteria"? (Finds bins of crabs) And how many crabs are you selling, "chef," over the next fucking three months? Lost for words? (Flabbergasted) Really?! Another box of crab cakes. When were these made? No date, you see, "chef."
(Interview) There was nothing but dollar signs going through my mind. Soft shell crabs, jambalaya, crawfish étouffée thrown straight down the garbage. Chef Damon basically just took the money right out of our pockets.
(Finds a dirty tray) I don't what you think you should be taking out of containers... and sort of... cleaning out your fridge from time to time. One fucking question to you: who's the arsehole now, "chef"?
I am. (his eyes twitch)
I didn't come in here to humiliate you. But how DARE you serve me food from this disgusting fridge, then STAND there, and call me an arsehole, "chef"?! Excuse me... "chef."
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