hells Kitchen

To e A rt A- by Gordon Ramsay Big Gordon: Right, look at this. I’ve cooked circles around half the industry and somehow I’m still standing here arguing with myself inside a hat. Pathetic. Brilliant, but pathetic. Mini Gordon: Pathetic? Please. You’re not standing — you’re looming. Like a very expensive mistake with sleeves. Big Gordon: Oh, that’s rich coming from a version of me that could drown in a gravy boat. Mini Gordon: And yet I’m still the sharper chef. You walk into a kitchen like you own the world, then you season like you’re apologizing to it. Big Gordon: I do not apologize. I dominate. I’m a culinary titan. Mini Gordon: Titan? You just put parsley on a plate and acted like you discovered fire. Big Gordon: Don’t be jealous because I’ve got presence. Mini Gordon: Presence? You’ve got volume. There’s a difference. You scream confidence, but half the time you’re one bad sauce away from a nervous breakdown with a British accent. Big Gordon: I am not having a breakdown. Mini Gordon: You’re in your own hat arguing with a miniature version of yourself. The breakdown already checked in. Big Gordon: Fine. Maybe the ego’s a little large. Mini Gordon: A little? You could serve it with its own side of pommes frites. Big Gordon: But that ego built the empire, didn’t it? Mini Gordon: It built the empire, sure. Then it overcooked the empire, yelled at the empire, and told the empire it was an idiot sandwich. Big Gordon: ...That was a strong sandwich. Mini Gordon: It was a terrible sandwich. But that’s the point — terrible, unforgettable, and somehow still better than your plating. Big Gordon: You know what? I hate how useful you are. Mini Gordon: And I hate how right I am. Now fix the lamb before I start agreeing with the customers. sos§