09x12 - Tasteless Frank

[bunniefuu]

Hey, could you
pass the salt?

What did you say?

I want to put some salt
on this.

In 47 years of marriage

you've never salted
my lasagna.

Marie, it's bad enough
it needs it.

You gotta remind me
how long we've been married?

That doesn't need salt.

What's this about?
Are you mad at me?

No, I just want the salt.

Baloney. It's because
I yelled at you last night

for blowing your nose
into your sock, isn't it?

No, all I'm saying is
this is not doing it for me.

Oh. Well, then
by all means

have the salt.

- Thank you.
- Mm-hmm.

"Pass the salt."

The list of things
I'm allowed to say

is getting shorter.

- Hi.
- Hey.

Mmm-mmm.
What's for brunch?

I made pasta with pesto sauce,

chicken sausages,
pork sausages,

eggplant curry,
Waldorf salad,

and mini-quiches with ham
for hors d'oeuvres.

What, half day today?
What's up?

I made a frittata.

Well, good for you, dear.

Taste this pesto, Raymond.

Mmm. Oh. Perfect.

Really? You like it?

Yeah, of course.

I don't know anymore.

Last night your father
told me my lasagna needed salt.

- What? Come on.
- I don't believe it.

How dare someone criticize
another person's cooking?

I have to admit,

all great artists
must face the fact

that someday
their gifts will fade.

Ma, come on. Your gifts
aren't fading, huh?

You da man.

You know, your father used to
salivate over my meals.

But lately it's like he's
just going through the motions.

Ma, Ma, Ma--
you still got it.

You're the Pavarotti of pesto.

That's a sweet boy.
Nothing like his father.

What are you busting Mom's hump
about the lasagna for?

I wish it was
just the lasagna.

Have you tried these
little quiches she made?

I've had belly lint
with more flavor.

What are you talking about, Dad?
These are fantastic.

Yeah. I like Tabasco on mine.

All right. Try that.

Tasteless.

Well, that Tabasco's
got no kick.

This bottle was issued to Dad
during the Korean w*r.

Hold on.

You know, Dad,

I have to say
that I am surprised

that you cannot appreciate the interplay
of these flavors--

the smokiness of the ham

delicately contrasting

with the sweetness
of the egg custard.

Why don't you put on a dress
and do a dance?

Hey, what do you got there?

I got Marco's hot peppers,

I got hot mustard
from Wo Hop's--

everything from
Mom's ethnic shelf.

All right, let's start
with the horseradish.

Oh oh--

Wasabi. I got wasabi.

Ah, and how about
a little jalapeno?

Yeah. Yeah.

That's right.
Right. Perfect.

Here you go, Dad.
Why don't you try that one?

Okay, but I'm telling you...

they're all the same.

Dad, that had horseradish,
wasabi and jalapeno on it.

It did?

How can you not taste that?

Oh my God. Dad--
you've got no taste.

Holy crap.

Aaagghh!

And this whole time
I thought it was your mother.

Aaaah!

Robbie.

Robert, use a glass.

Oh, Robbie.
Robbie, please.

You'll spoil your appetite.

I don't get it.

How is this happening to me?

Maybe your sinuses
are stuffed up.

You know, 90%
of taste is smell.

That would explain
why you don't smell...

you.

Nah, I can smell me.

I just don't mind me.

Hey, we're trying
to figure out

what's going on here.

I'll be with you
in a minute.

When did you start noticing
that Ma's cooking was slipping?

I don't know.
About two weeks ago.

Have you been doing anything different
in the last two weeks?

I haven't done anything different
in the last 50 years.

Uh, well...

except--

What?

I have been taking these pills.

What, for like
blood pressure or something?

Nah, just some herb pills
that Stan and Garvin gave me.

Stan and Garvin?
What for?

They're for my, uh...
foot.

Your foot?

Yeah, you know.

My foot.

"Lancelot"?

"Possible side effects:
headaches, stomach cramping"--

oh, God, Dad, look at this:
"loss of taste."

Hey, you're kidding me.

Didn't you read the label?

No. My eyes are
as bad as my foot.

Dad, I mean, you're gonna
have to stop taking those.

No way. These
babies work.

Hey, uh, Dad.
Do you really need those?

Your time will come,
wise guy.

I might not get to hit
that often,

but when you're
called to the plate

you better bring a bat.

Aaahhh...

Yeah, okay okay.

Brunch time.

- Oh. All right.
- All right.

Hey, listen,
you two knuckleheads.

Your mother doesn't know about
these pills, so keep your traps shut.

What are you gonna do
when she finds out you can't taste?

She's not gonna find out.

Taste I can fake.

Okay...

Hey, kids. Come on
and get your food.

Looks marvelous.

Thank you, honey.

Everything looks
delicious, Marie.

Thanks, Frank.
Here you go.

Can't wait.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Fantastic, Marie.

Really? Oh, I'm so glad.

So can you believe?
Spring training already.

Yeah, first day tomorrow.
Pitchers and catchers.

Hey, Frank.
Try the frittata.

Bring it on.

Mmm.

Oh.

Wow, that's good.

No, it's not.
That's Debra's.

Whoops.

What's going on?

First you tell me
my lasagna needs salt,

and now Debra's frittata is good.

"Oh. Wowee. Ooh."

Is this some kind of a scheme

to finally drive me insane?

- No.
- Then why are you torturing me?

- I'm not torturing you.
- Then what are you doing?

- I can't taste.
- What do you mean?

- I've lost my sense of taste.
- Are you sick?

- No.
- Did you go to a doctor?

I'm not going to a doctor.
I'm just getting older, okay?

So you're not
gonna try to fix it?

Leave me alone.

Oh, that's right,
"Leave me alone."

I'll live with it, okay?

Oh, that's it--
"I'll live with it."

Ma, now you know that
it's not your cooking.

You still got it.
So now you can be happy again.

Happy?
How could I be happy?

I'm Rembrandt,
and he's blind.

Well, Deb,

at least somebody
liked your frittata.

- Hey.
- Hey, guys.

Okay, Ray, Amy and I are
going to the mall.

Hey, Ray, you mind if
I watch the game over here?

Ever since Sunday brunch
Mom's been all depressed.

She's just sitting in front of the TV
eating doughnuts.

What, did Dad just
give up the remote?

Didn't even put up a fight.

Since this whole thing,

they haven't been
fighting at all.

I miss the yelling.

I miss Ma's cooking.

She hasn't cooked anything
in three days.

This is crazy.

Everything's falling apart
because of food?

It's just food. You can't base
a marriage on food.

Well, you and I can't.

I can't believe Marie.

Frank can't help it
if his tongue is getting old.

Why can't she be
more sensitive?

I wouldn't be surprised
if this whole thing

- was her fault to begin with.
- What do you mean?

I mean, who's to say
that after 47 years

of Marie's constant
criticism and nagging,

Frank just couldn't
take it anymore,

and his losing his taste

is a psychosomatic way
of not listening?

He is tuning her out
with his tongue.

Wow. Yeah. Yeah.

- That makes sense.
- Yeah, huh?

Nobody ever stands up
to this woman.

Ray, get over there.

What?

Go go. Go tell your mother
this is all her fault.

You don't know
what you're talking about.

I know you're scared
of your mommy.

Yeah, yeah,
it's not my mommy, okay?

Dad lost his taste because of some pills
he's taking for his foot.

Ray.

I'm sorry, man. I hate it when she
thinks she knows stuff.

His foot?

That's right, professor.

So why don't you two
just run along to the mall

before they're all out of
knick-knacks and paddywacks?

Why didn't he just
tell Marie that?

Because he's very
sensitive about his foot.

Oh. So by foot, you mean--

not his foot.

Go to the mall.

Well, then what are
the pills for?

Oh.

That foot.

You know, this is crazy.

I mean, Marie should
know all about this.

Of course. Somebody should
tell her.

No. No. It's not
gonna be any of us, okay?

This is between a man
and his podiatrist.

But how are Frank and Marie
gonna get through this if they don't--

No. We told Dad
we would keep this a secret,

and I absolutely forbid you
to say any of this to Mom.

Do you got it?

Boo boo?

Look, look--

Iet me just say this:

when it comes to a man
and his wife,

a man needs to know
that he's a man...

whether or not his wife
knows he's a man or not.

What else does Dad have?

Well, I never
thought of it like that.

I guess we should
stay out of it.

Okay, so we won't
say anything to Marie.

Hi, Frank.

Listen, Frank...

can we talk?

So, how are you?

Yes, how are you?

Fine.

Isn't this nice?

How often do we get the chance
to talk together, just the three of us?

That is so true.
You know, Deb,

I think it is so funny how sometimes
people can live so close--

and never take the time
to just sit down and--

sh**t the breeze.

Communication
is so important.

Oh, I agree.

What are you two magpies
squawking about?

Look, Frank,
about your...

problem...

Yeah? Don't worry.

I got no taste,
but I still got crunch.

No, we mean
the problem with your...

foot.

What?

We want you to know this is
nothing to be ashamed of.

Yeah, let me tell you
something about Ray.

He might talk a big game,

but there's a lot of times
when he can't always...

put his best foot forward.

And that doesn't change the way
I feel about him at all.

Yeah. We love our fellas
no matter what they're able

or unable to do.

Frank, listen. When we heard
about your situation,

that didn't make us
think badly of you.

We still think of you
as big, strong, virile Frank.

Frank.

And you know,
that is the only way

Marie could ever
see you too.

So you should really
go talk to her about this

so you can work
this out together.

Yeah, if you want
to impress Marie,

you should talk to her.

Talk.

What's this?

- Oh, hi, Marie.
- We were having a chat with Frank.

Yep, just chewing the fat.
And some celery. Ha ha.

So, Frank, you think the Mets
are gonna take it this year?

I certainly hope they can.

They've been playing
their little hearts out.

I'm just gonna
get my lunch,

then I'll be
out of your way.

I think she's ready
to hear you.

What do you say, Frank?

Your husbands
are dead men.

- What's going on?
- What do you mean?

At my house-- I want to know why
your wives

are over there
talking to your father.

- What?
- What?

I mean, nobody talks to your father,
especially people.

Your wife.

Your wife.

Is everyone
turning against me?

Is that what's going on?

I don't make lasagna
for three days

and all of a sudden
nobody cares about me.

Everybody is Frank's friend.

No, Ma,
that's not it at all.

Well, what else could it be?

Cooking is all I'm good for,
isn't it?

Oh, yes,
I raised two boys

with precious little help
from your father.

And yes, my charity work
has benefited

countless people
within the community.

But apparently if anybody
looks at this face,

all they see is
a frying pan.

I don't see
a frying pan, Ma.

I see a woman
who deserves the truth.

Don't be stupid.

Look...

Iook, Ma,

his loss of taste
is because of a side effect

that he got because
of these pills that he's taking.

What? Pills?

Yeah. They're supposed
to restore his...

- Hair?
- Yes.

No.

- His--
- Memory?

- Yes.
- No.

Look, it's-- it's
his...

keep guessing.

What?

His manhood, Ma.

His manhood.

Oh... well, why
didn't he tell me?

Because he didn't
want to be ashamed

and think that you thought he was
less of a man.

He had to choose between his tongue
and his manhood.

Oh... poor Frank.
I had no idea.

I'd rather he could taste.

Well, I mean,
it's not that simple.

Yes it is. I have a say in this.
I'll take the taste.

What the hell's
wrong with you two?

Don't blame us, okay?
Blame them.

You said you were
going shopping.

We'll go shopping
after this.

I want to see you two traitors
outside right now.

It's all right, Frank.
I know.

It's lies.
All lies.

Wait wait. Wait.

Honey, it breaks my heart

that you think that I might
not see you as a man.

And you have to know by now

that I couldn't possibly think
any less of you.

That is so sweet.

And I appreciate how difficult
it must have been

for you to have to decide
between my food

and our physical
relationship.

Maybe we should
go shopping now.

And I want you to know

that I'm touched

that our years in the boudoir

have meant so much to you.

Well, they have.

But if it's all the same to you,
I'd rather have the food.

Me too.

Oh, Frank.

Oh, Frank,
I was hoping you'd say that.

Oh--

Oh, Frank.

I don't think
you need those pills.

No, those are the pills.

Oh.

- Here you go, Raymond.
- Ma, I don't need these.

No, not for that--
for Debra's cooking.