Why do I seem annoyed?
Let's see... Instead of savoring this espresso, this cigarette,
and the exactly four minutes of free time I have today,
I'm talking to you cockwits.
What else?
Oh, tonight I'm doing a special seating for a bunch of diplomats from the
State Department and Albania.
So not only do I have to create a meal out of yogurt and a goddamn
sheep's head, apparently there's been some vague security
threat, so my highly-trained staff... has been infiltrated!
- Sorry... - By Shithead Squadron.
Just need to grab some menus, for-- the camera, why is there a camera?
I assume because this restaurant can't hold three million viewers?
Two-point-eight.
Because it's not promoted properly!
This is gonna be televised?!
Yeah, the show's called Bastard Chef?
Mm. Scuse me.
Thank you, giraffe-lady!
Anyway, those ISIS idiots are doing security, and for some inexplicable reason
they have to do that undercover, so-
Whoops.
That's probably why I seem annoyed.
Let's go Chet, c'mon, chop chop.
You're the one who dropped it, why do I have to clean it up?
Because you're the garçon de cuisine, which means kitchen boy, whereas
I am the sous chef, which means shut your face and mop up the damn yogurt.
And why do you get to be sous chef?
Because I have fine dining experience!
I used to own a restaurant.
It was a burger joint!
Cyril?
I mean Chet?
Archer?
She means Randy.
Can I borrow you?
Sure, Mitzi.
My name is not Mitzi.
Walk-in.
Now.
Yeah, I got time for a quickie.
Wait, a what?
Arch -- Randy!
Whoaaa, whoaaa... ungh!
You guys can edit that out, right?
Yes.
But we won't.
So, quick question, do you think it's a good idea to be talking to a
TV crew when we're undercover?
Fake names, duh, follow-up question, do you know how TV actually works?
I --
They're not gonna broadcast this episode in this restaurant tonight!
Wait, are you guys?
No, we -- Like a closed-circuit deal, or...?
No.
Because come to think of it, I don't know how TV actually works either.
How about geopolitics?
- Eh... - Because if anything goes wrong tonight,
US-Albanian relations could become even more unstable, so --
What the shit?!
Speaking of unstable -- that guy is a powder keg.
Why is there yogurt frickin' soup all over my spotless frickin' kitchen?!
Randy did it.
Whoa whoa, first of all, no I didn't, and second, these bowls are the worst!
Look, they're like, totally slipper--
Seize, please hold.
Seizepleasehold seizepleasehold!
seizepleasehold!
Rrrg!
What're you doing?
Well I'll tell you what I'm not doing -- Besides your job?
My job, is -- Answering the damn phone.
A task so simple that if the health department should let me, I'd have a monkey do it.
Why?
No, I was obviously being facetious.
I would never allow a monkey in my restaurant.
Except maybe in the form of an exquisitely prepared entrée.
No, I mean you're booked solid for... Holy shit, the next ten months?
So why even bother answering the phone?
To tell people they can't eat here.
So, to drive people away, basically.
Those people.
That's not even the real phone number for reservations.
I'm sorry?
The real number's a secret.
Closely guarded by people I deem acceptable.
So, just so I'm clear, instead of assessing the security needs for
tonight, I'm answering phone calls from people who aren't good enough
to eat here in the first place.
Yeah, so try to sound apologetic, but not, ya know, overly so.
Seize.
I'm sorry, we have nothing available for the next ten months.
Mmmkaybye.
Keep trying.
Ugh, why?
Besides I said so?
They're booked.
If I'd known I couldn't get a table I'd have never
agreed to do security!
Why do they need security anyway?
There was a... threat, of some sort, it's all rather vague,
but when those State Department dweebs see just
how good ISIS really is, mark my words... one day soon we'll be a major player.
What.
- No, you know, just... - You say
that like you believe it.
Wh-? Hey!
Get me a table.
Or the fish gets it.
Jesus, what's the big deal?
That's my fish, his name's Jermaaaine!
Oh.
I thought he was just your food.
Food?!
We're not making food, people!
We are creating cuisine!
Food is what a dog eats!
Or a tourist!
Wait, a dog ate a tourist?
What!
That was ambiguously worded!
Gnfgh!
Was that ambiguous?!
Why?
Are you antagonizing him?
Cyril, c'mon, it's my nature. See?
Yeah, kinda!
Well how about this?!
Gnfgh!
Plus he can't aim for shit, he's pulling everything to the right.
And if you can't turn that into promo gold, you should honestly
consider suicide.
Hang on, there's a bumper.
Now prep, you [BEEEEEP] maggots!
And then bleep out [BEEEEEP], since Darlene won't let me say that.
But seriously guys, we do have a lot of food to prep, so...
Uh, the food's spalttered all over the wall and floor and...
Chet here, so -- So scoop it into a bowl.
Nobody'll know, it's Albanian glop, the entrée's a frickin sheep face.
I value all cultures equally highly.
Should you be smoking in here?
Should you be flaming in here?
- Ya know... - Boom! Bumper!
He's just such a... bastard!
Wh-?
And that's not my name!
Yeah, "Child-Murderer"
shouldn't be hyphenated, that makes it seem like he's a murderer who's also a child.
Actually no, it doesn't -- Actually yes, it does.
"Publicity whore" isn't hyphenated, so why-- Why the shit?!
Are you maggots!
Not prepping?!
I -- wait, are you doing a bumper?
Coming up, on Bastard Chef!
Aaaaaagh!
Aaaaaaagh!
I have seriously never been happier.
Aaaaaagh!
Boom, bumper.
Wait, so what'd Malory say exactly?
I -- she said "credible threat."
I know, but what kind of credible -- Cyr -- Chet!
I need those onions!
Yes, chef!
Ha!
He has to call me chef.
How and why are you enjoying this?
Well for one thing I'm pretty drunk.
And besides bartending in Polynesia, I've never had a real job, so --
Wait, never?
Uh... oh, when I was ten I asked if I could sell "Grit" door to
door, so I could win some of those x-ray specs?
But Mother said they were fake.
And also that I'd get raped and murdered.
It is like peeling an onion with you.
Right?
Oh wait.
Chet!
Onions!
Here.
What dish are they going in?
Oh eat a dick!
That's eat a dick, chef!
And for a third thing, I think I actually might be good at this.
Okay, yeah, nice technique, Randy.
Thank you, chef.
Want me to prep the 'shrooms?
No I got these, you do the aubergines.
Right away, chef.
If Chet gets his incompetent thumb out of his equally incompetent ass!
Nice, yes, that is excellent A.B.B.A.B.
Always Be Berating And Belittling.
And you.
Time to lean, time to get your distracting tits off my line.
Hey, is something burning?
Oh wait, it's you, because you just got burned.
I -- oh my God, you admire that dick.
He's a master chef, Lana.
Which turns out is not nearly as gay a job as I thought it was.
I mean it's no secret agent, but it's way above architect.
Speaking, of secret agent, at some point before the restaurant is full
of diplomats, I'd love to go over the-- Menu, I know, let's --
Plan!
On going over the menu, yes.
Get child murderer Gilles de Rais in here and I'll walk you through it.
Answer the goddamn phone, woman!
Seriously, Mitzi, how hard is that?
Rrgh!
Now nobody's picking up!
A monkey could do this stupid job!
And yet I pay you to do it.
Oh, so now I'm a monkey?!
No, because a monkey-- Hoo ooo ooo
ooo eee eee eee eee!
What is this, Spain?
I mean, it is just constant A.B.B.A.B.
Is that supposed to funny?
Yes.
And also I think you might have low blood sugar.
And I need you to focus, so we can get Cruella de Vil's mom in there
a damn table before she kills Jermaine!
It's immpoossiibllle.
And what's so important about a stupid goldfish?
Okay A, he's not a goldfish, and B-- Please don't berate me.
Please don't make me, and B... Tell 'em Thuy!
Toi ca voi ban nam ngan!
Con ca Jermaine se giet con ca cua ban!
Jermaine, Jermaine, Jermaine!
Anyhoo, without gettin all into the details,
I may or may not owe fourteen thousand dollars to some people
you wouldn't wanna owe fourteen cents.
I so can't relate to that.
Could you try?
No.
Could you pretend to try?
Yes!
Absolutely not.
Absolutely yes, Chet, c'mon I need
the tongues first, and then every bit of meat scraped off those cheeks.
Is that all?
You don't want the... frickin eyeballs?!
Oh.
- Okay, so the tongues second... - I'm not cutting out their eyeballs!
Well not with that, use a melon baller.
I -- Ooh!
I'm gonna go make a big pitcher of melon balls.
You want one?
No I don't want a damn melon ball!
Suit yourself.
But trust me, you are gonna want a melon baller.
Okay, what's the word, how we doing?
Well I've swept the entire place for explosives,
and it's clear.
That's the good news.
The bad news is, if this vague threat is gunmen, we've
got ingress points here, here, and... You are talking about eggplants.
No Lana, I'm talking about aubergines.
They're the -- They're the same thing.
Oh.
Then where does auberge fit in?
En nulle part, imbécile, parce qu'un auberge
est un petit hôtel!
Ahh, tu parles français?
Ouai.
Then go answer the goddamn phone!
Okay, moment of truth, taste test.
- Please don't B-and-or-B me too hard... - Mm!
Not bad, Randy, not bad at all!
Thank you, chef.
Just needs a little kick in the ass.
Oh, and speaking of, where is Chet?
In the walk-in, weeping like a child.
Nice!
Man, you shoulda been a chef.
Ohh... pshaw.
I'm serious.
I mean, maybe being a secret agent isn't your true calling.
Yeah, my Mother says that a lot...
Oh what, so now I suppose you're
just going to sit there and pout?!
Well I didn't get you into this, mister!
You got yourself into this!
And the clock is ticking, my friend.
So, just so I'm clear... You want me to use this
top-secret 934-TX telephonic isolator unit,
for which you have neither the clearance nor
the written permission to even gaze upon, to find all
phone numbers associated with this physical address.
Yeah, Gilda Gotrocks here says ritzy joints like Seize have
reservation numbers that're strictly on the QT.
What is this, Spain?
I mean the Thirties?
A flagrant violation of my sworn duty, for which my
recompense will be, if in fact I heard you correctly...
Yes, you in fact did, and said recompense
will in fact be a handjob.
No.
From her.
Yes!
Wh-?!
No!
Yes!
Please!
C'mon, if I don't make good on that last fish-fight,
you're gonna find me in a dumpster somewhere way out in Red Hook!
Ya know, if you're ever in Red Hook snoopin around in random dumpsters.
Great, so it's give him a handjob or
change up my whole Sunday routine?
Um... apparently.
Ugh, this is so unfair.
- Okay... - But I am not spitting in your face.
I -- Take it or leave it.
Mmmyello?
See how I did that?
Just pick up the phone and talk into it?
I -- And how did you get this number?
Which Kennedy.
Because if it's Teddy he still owes me for a urinal, so -- oh.
Oh.
Yes, absolutely.
Eight o'clock, table for four, thank you.
- Thank yoooooooooooooouaaaagh... - Thank you.
Hoo ooo ooo ooo eee eee eee eee!
I think I'm -- Ptoo!
in love with you.
And yet I will die alone.
Yeah, probably.
Okay, listen up!
Tonight has to go perfectly, because it is wall to wall VIP's out there.
We've got the Albanian ambassador and all his little diplomat buddies...
And also Little Vernie Kennedy, JFK's crazy niece or cousin or something.
And then Teddy walks into the library wearing nothing but a whiskey sour!
Oh, Teddy.
Such a scamp.
So no screw ups!
Now get to work!
Talking to you, Gayvid Niven!
Oh, eat a di -- What was that?
Yes, chef!
Randy, ready the soup.
I'll be out front, favoring the guest of honor with an aperitif
and my presence.
- And here you are, Mr. Ambassador... - I prefer to
be called Your Excellency.
Well, people in hell want ice water.
Ray!
What is your problem?!
Besides not knowing if I should add an eighteen percent gratuity?
Because I can, it's a party of six or more, but if they were gonna tip
twenty percent, I just hosed myself.
Not to mention US-Albanian relations.
So instead of insulting the ambassador, whom we're here to protect --
Protect him from what?
The only threat around here is -- Dying of thirst, apparently.
I've been trying to get a table at Seize for months and when I finally
do, instead of Casteau's world-famous risotto, I have to eat sheep face --
Wait a minute...
-- so for God's sake, the least you can do
is keep my wine glass full!
Oh my God, it's you!
You're the threat!
You couldn't get a table so made an anonymous threat and then got
ISIS hired to do security!
Well that's still no excuse for poor service.
Wow.
Okay, you know what?
Excuse me!
Yes, tell them all about it. That'll do wonders
for US-Albanian relations.
Bon appetit!
Hi, yeah, are you done shouting at my guests
in barely-passable French?
Oui.
Then go help Mincent Price with the --
Eighty-six soup!
Aww man, I'm frickin starving...
Here ya go, gang, get in here.
I brought a buncha crackers and jelly.
You promised you'd stop doing that!
They were in my tuxedo from last time!
For the love of God, will you --
Kicked out in the first act.
Well, we didn't have to fight for a cab.
What?
Tell Randy, as his final act before
I walk back into the kitchen and murder him with his own shoes, to --
Fire the entrées!
Rrrrgh!
Yeah, might as well.
Because, Randy -- except, of course, for your mother --
there is no threat.
Tell that to my tavë kosi!
The tender flesh of which I'm now ruining under
the broiler, because I have no soup!
Ew.
And who's fault is that?
The -- whatever idiot invented those slippery-ass bowls!
Now get -- back here and mop it up, Chet!
Chef...Eat a dick.
A toast!
To His Excellency, the Ambassador Extraordinary and
Plenipotentiary of Albania!
And to a long, peaceful, and prosperous friendship between
his great nation and ours.
Gezuar!
While we sit here dying of thirst...
Hang on, I might have a juice box in --
Ron?!
Thenk you, chef.
The dolma, the rakia... I feel I am home in Albania.
Just wait until you try my tavë kosi.
Oooh!
Tavë kosi is my most fevorit!
If you'll excuse me, I need to make
sure my sous chef hasn't ruined it.
It's ruined.
No, it's actually really good.
Cyril and/or Chet?
No, Cyril and Chet are now vegans.
Aww, and just when I thought I
couldn't hate both of them more.
Now get these entrées to the table!
Move, maggots, everybody take a tray!
Yes, chef!
Right away, chef!
Not you, Chet.
You look like a dinosaur's tampon.
Boom!
Bumper!
I am just killing it today.
- Well finally... - Yeah, sorry, we were dealing with
this incredibly obnoxious hoax, so...
So can I at least assume there will be a wine pairing?
Mmmm!
Chef Rendy, this is the best tavë kosi I ever tested!
I -- grk!
Wow, you really do like it.
Your Excellency?
He's dead!
Wait, no, the threat was a hoax!
A what?!
Lana!
Oh my God!
Well you can forget about ISIS working for the State Department! Ever!
And sir, please, I'm sure this was just a terrible allergic
reaction!
Yes!
To poison!
What?!
No, I started with the freshest ingredients, like --
Oh my God, the mushrooms!
Casteau must've put poison mushrooms in the -- Pam!
What.
Nothing, here, have mine.
You sure?
Pam!
Okay, let's get Casteau before he -- He's gone!
And also on the phone!
Oh Teddy!
Ever the scamp!
Please, let's have dessert and --
No time!
We have an embassy to close!
So that's a "no" on the wine pairing?
Malory, a man's just been murdered.
But how?
I mean, we all ate a little.
Or a lot.
You said I could have it!
But, if it wasn't the food...
How the hell did he get poisoned?
I coated his glass with cyanide, you idiots!
For the toast!
Ooh, there's toast?
Give me that. But chef... why?!
Six million bucks!
Which I'm gonna use to deficit-finance a new show,
where I travel, so I can insult people's cooking all over the
globe!
Now there's a show I'd like to --
wait, you won't get away with this!
Well, you say that...
Oh, and remember when I said you could've been a great chef?
Yes?
Every morning I make two cooks like you in the toilet.
Why?!
Why couldn't he let me have the dream?!
Why can't you let me have some wine?
What is this, Spain in the Thirties?
And way, way more importantly, who would pay
six million dollars just to make ISIS look like idiots?
Seriously, for that much money we coulda built
a whole new bionic man.
Dun't tempt me, Barry.
Boom!
Bumper!
Nooooooooooooooooooo!
Wow, remind me not to piss you off.
Remind yourself!
Yes, dear.