Gordon quotes from Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares

Do you know what? I'm fucking gobsmacked, you know that? I've got a good fucking mind to get hold of fucking Sue and just tell her to fucking close the place, you know that? Because this is the fucking pits. You should be ashamed. Rock bottom. I've never seen anything like this in my entire fucking life, you know that? Because this is a fucking embarrassment to catering, let alone fucking ringed-out fine dining. Let's move, now.

Holy fuck! This is a living fucking nightmare!

Slap-bang in the middle of Letchworth is La Lanterna. It's run by British-born-and-bred Alexander Scott. From an early age, Alex dreamt of being a chef. Then, childhood holidays in Italy turned him into a self-confessed Italophile. So much so, he's taken to calling himself "Alessandro".

D-Place cafe bar is in D-Shit.

Definitely not D-Place for me!

How long can you both continue taking the piss out of him? That guy burst into tears in the bar. I don't know if you realise how fragile he is right now. He looks like a guy who's about to fuck off to Brighton Pier and jump off the end.

You can't cook in this. I can't even attempt to start thinking of a new menu. The only thing to do now is condemn the fucking kitchen.

Fucking disgusting! Shut it down. No way anything is going to be cooked here. Dirty, lazy, fucking pigs.

Carvery? My fucking arse. I'm covering my arse.

Try not to throw it on, yeah? We're fucking cooking, we're not playing darts.

[To Toby, after service] Tonight's been a fucking disaster. That was bad! Watching the first fucking fifteen minutes, and the way you organise your kitchen; as far as I'm concerned at midnight, now, mate, you're not capable of running a fucking bath.

What the fuck is that? Looks like a hair-dressing salon. Dreadful. Absolutely shocking! Spanish tapas bar? I mean, looks like a fucking lap-dancing hole.

(to Joe) Your party is going to end with you disappearing six foot under!

(voiceover) Never mind fine dining, they can't even get the bread right. (to Tim) It's fucking frozen, get it back in the oven. Are the pigeons ready?

Yes.

We're about to put them in the bin because the bread's frozen, the pigeons are cooked and the fucking bread's not even out of there. [Lee tosses the cabbage in the pan] And if you toss that fucking cabbage once more, I'm going to ram it up your arse, okay? Every time you turn around and...[Mocks Lee] Let's go, come on! (Voiceover) Even when the kitchen's busy, you should be looking to get the starters out within ten minutes of receiving the order. These poor souls have waited nearly half an hour for their pigeon breast with mushroom ravioli. And that's not the only problem. (to Tim) Tim, you made a ravioli, yes?

Yes.

It's burned. You cannot taste that there? Smell it then. You obviously can't taste they're burnt.

Not when I pull them out.

Get that shit in the bin. (voiceover) This is really worrying. A head chef who can't taste his own food's burnt. He's not going to win any prizes for his control of the kitchen either, and there's only two of them in here!

Can you hear that, hold on! Hold on! Can you hear the buzzing in the background? That's the microwave! That should've gone out with the main course four minutes ago. Come on, Tim, get the fucking things out! (voiceover) For some, an hour's wait is just too much.

(voiceover) Nearly every successful restaurant has a dish that it's renowned for. I'm hoping that by cooking his, Tim will produce something truly memorable. Something truly worthy of a place on a fine dining menu. (to Tim) That's your signature dish, which is...?

Scallops with deep-fried parma ham, black pudding and sauce hollandaise.

Mmm-hmm. (voiceover) Certainly looks okay.

What do you think?

He's gonna be sick.

(voiceover) He'd only gone and given me a rancid scallop.

Someone get him a drink. Get him a drink, Lee.

Fucking shit! [drinks water] How can you eat that? If you knew they were off, why didn't you say?

No, I didn't! I didn't know they were off.

They're fucking minging! Can't you taste that?

I do now, yeah. It took a while...

I know what he means. I feel sick myself now.

(interview) It's... it's grim. It's fucking grim, and it's out of order.

Well, I didn't realise they were fuckin' off, so... I suppose it's my fault, really.

(interview) That could kill someone. That's the bottom line.

(voiceover) In the two days I spent at Bonapartes, I've witnessed total incompetence in the kitchen, total lack of direction for the management, and last but not least, they've tried their best to kill me with a rotten scallop.

(after being fed the scallops) What the fuck are you playing at?

(regretful) Sorry, chef.

It's not about being fucking sorry. You shouldn't be in a fucking kitchen if you don't know what's right and what's wrong in that sense. This is basic fucking cooking, you know that?

We've got fucking fur on fucking potatoes. When's that from?

Can't tell you.

What are we doing with them?

Throw them in the bin.

Throw them in the bin. But you keep them in the fridge for two days before you put them in the bin. You see what I'm trying get at? Does it make fucking sense, yes or no?

No.

So all this fucking fridge is jam-packed with shit and we're standing here saying, [mocking Tim] "Oh, I'm putting 'em in t'bin!" "'Putting 'em in t' bin!" WELL, GET THEM IN THE FUCKING BIN!