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The soup. Where is the soup? Out of my way, garbage boy! You are cooking? How dare you cook in my kitchen?
You are either very lucky, or very unlucky. You will make this soup again, and this time, I will be paying attention...very close attention. They think you might be a cook, but you know what I think, Linguini? I think that you are a sneaky, over-reaching little- RAT!!
Welcome to hell.
You're fired! F-I-R-E-D! FIRED!!
Tell them Chef Linguini has prepared something special for them, something definitely "off-menu", mmm?. Oh, and don't forget to stress its...Linguini-ness.
And you, Mr. Linguini, are no idiot. Let us toast your non-idiocy.
You know, if you can sorta' muscle your way past the gagging reflex, all kinds of food possibilities open up.
Whoa, you can smell all that? You have a gift!
Food always comes to those who love to cook.
Anyone can cook, but only the fearless can be great.
Ideals? If Chef Fancy-Pants had an "ideals", you think I'd be horkin' barbeque over here!
Or Tooth, I said "Tooth-Pickin' Chicken?" 'Bout as French as a corndog!
Roming roon!
Food is fuel. Get picky about what you put in the tank, your engine is gonna die.
Now shut up and eat your garbage.
We're not birds. We're rats. We don't leave the nest, we make it bigger.
Amusing title: "Anyone Can Cook". What's even more amusing is that Gusteau actually seems to believe it. I, on the other hand, take cooking seriously, and no, I don't think anyone can do it.
In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgement. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talents ó new creations. The new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more.
I defrauded a major corporation.
I robbed the second-largest
I created a hole in the ozone over Avignon.
I killed a man. With this thumb.
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