08x17 - Cook's Tour

[bunniefuu]

Man: Don't forget to blow

out the candle.

Hold still.

Man: No, no, no, no.

Woman: Hold still.

Oh.

No, no, no, don't, don't stop.

Don't stop, there's so
much more work to be done.

Are we ready then?

Mmm, yes

Harry?

I can't.

All right, look

I know it's hard, but...

It's, it's okay, you know.

I never thought this day would come.

Well, it has, my friend, it has.

I just wish it would just go away.

You know, frannie, uh...

Oh, my god...

My dear, sweet frannie.

Uh, frannie always said that

you're going to get to a point in your life

where you'd have to face the future.

She did.

She always said that.

Are you ready, Mr. Lipschitz?

Um... miss...

Natasha.

Natasha.

Can I speak to you privately?

If I, uh...

If I could get his okay

is it all right

if I just wrap up the details?

We close at : P.M. tonight.

Well, actually, we work

so I don't know if we
can get back here in time.

You can reach me at home.

I'd hate to inconvenience you.

The night arouses me

so I stay up very late.

I understand, sure, no, absolutely.

Thank you.

Harry, we can go now

unless there's anything you'd like to say.

I'll take it.

Good, terrific, fine then.

Good, that'll be good.

Man: If I could have

your attention, please.

Thank you.

I am Walker Winston.

The bakescore hotel was once a haven

for the men who built this country.

Its elegance and grace rivaled by none.

But, unfortunately, as you know

neglect, w*r and depression
decayed its greatness.

But today, she is reborn
with a promise of new hope.

Now, you come to a hotel
not solely for accommodation

but for service and gastronomical delights

which brings us to today.

The bakescore is proud to sponsor a contest

the likes of which have
never before been seen.

We have invited three of the
world's most renowned chefs

to compete against each other

in creating what will be

the signature dining style and flavor

of the new bakescore hotel.

The winner will receive not only a
five-year employment agreement

but, as an added incentive...

One million dollars.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you

chef Wolfgang hook, of
benzini's in San Francisco.

Chef gaston Napoleon,
of tour d'argent in Paris.

And finally, senor Pablo della
grapo of chichi's in Barcelona.

Now, one of you will
soon lavish in new fame

and possess a fortune to live it well.

Good luck.

Now, are there any questions?

Yes?

Senor della grapo.

It is honor to meet you, sir.

Although I must say that, um...

I thought you'd be...
oh, how shall I say this?

A bit more mature in age.

Que?

Were you not general
Franco's personal chef?

Yes, yes, I was.

During the Spanish civil w*r

was it not?

Yes, yes, that is verdad.

Well, forgive me, senor

but, uh, you don't look to be in your s.

Gracias, senor.

You do not either.

Whoo-hoo!

Mr. Hook, please!

Please what?

Isn't that what we do?

We're chefs, right?

A pinch of this, pinch of that?

So, hook, where will you go after...

I win the contest?

Hmm, I'm sorry.

You, you win, gaston?

You're a funny man.

You amuse me.

You do, you amuse me.

He's going to win!

Do not take me lightly, hook.

I have built my reputation on craft.

And inspiration.

No, not whim.

Well, when the earth is blue

and the sky is green

then you shall win,
gaston, not me, or is it I?

Me can never get those two things right.

Ooh, boink, a little floss, is that okay?

Beware of that.

I look darkly on betrayal.

Everything's going to be okay, Harry.

It's when you buy your own coffin

it's like you're wishing
for the end to come.

You're being prudent, that's all.

You think?

Yeah, I think.

Somebody buys a casket

everybody all of a sudden thinks

there's something wrong with you.

I might as well be dead!

I'm calling the funeral hall.

I'm canceling everything.

Relax.

Why are you dead?

I picked up my jeans from the cleaners.

Not a classic near-death experience.

I tried them on... they don't fit.

And I thought Harry had problems.

So go out and get a new pair.

And not face the problem!

I think not, my friend.

Okay, simple: Go on a diet.

See, even you think that I'm getting fat.

Now that you mention it

your tuchas does seem to be arriving

a couple of minutes after you do.

At least I have one, Mr. Flatcheeks.

Ah, "captain."

Did you weigh yourself?

Yes, I did.

I weigh the same as I always do.

Then, all you have to do... you do?

I do.

See, jeans are the bellwether
of a woman's weight.

Now, when you put them on...

They don't fit

it means your body's changing.

For most women it happens gradually.

For me, it's happened overnight.

Water retention.

Drink lemon water all day

weigh yourself

again tonight.

You think?

I think.

Okay, yeah. Uh-huh, good.

Why are both of you dressed in black?

Harry bought a coffin.

Oh, my god, what's wrong?

What did I tell you?

Oh, man,

with any luck

somebody will die. And I can go back

to my job with the normal people.

I hope all is to your liking,

Mr. Hook?

Mmm.

What I see makes my juices flow.

Oh!

I do hope your cold

won't interfere with
your cooking, Mr. Hook.

Ah, well.

Beethoven was deaf, I have no nose, huh?

We're both geniuses, so here goes.

You will have one hour preparation time.

After that your creation
will be kept refrigerated

until the other chefs have finished theirs.

One hour from now.

Ooh.

Hmm, okay, well...

What is baking in here?

Wolfie, don't you need to get started?

You only have an hour.

Ample, ample time.

If you tell me what you're making

maybe I can help.

Hmm, but it is a secret.

Well?

What is he making?

He won't tell me.

Yvette.

Men tell you things they don't even know.

And I tell you everything.

Wise, my dear.

Very wise.

Oh, hello, beauty.

Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo!

Hello, boys.

Are you ready to cook?

I think so.

Hoo!

Man: Walker Winston,

g.m. Of the hotel.

Hello.

I've got to run.

Um, who have you spoken to?

Who have I spoken to about what?

This, uh, untoward situation.

Untoward situation?

With Mr. Hook.

Oh, okay, the dead guy.

Ah, must you use that word?

It's so, uh, negative.

Well, it's just a little easier
than "fatally life challenged."

Miss...

Sergeant St. John.

Sergeant...

The bakescore is about
to experience a rebirth.

There simply cannot be

any leak of Mr. Hook's...
demise to the press

or to the other guests.

Well, do you mind if I
notify the next of kin?

I'm not being callous here.

I'm simply protecting
the interests of the hotel.

If word should get around
that one of the contestants is...

Dead...

Yeah.

The, the adverse publicity would
be, oh, uh, damaging, indeed.

Damaging.

Very.

Hmm.

Please.

Okay.

I'll see what we can do.

Thank you.

What do you got, Morton?

Well, my guess is that he d*ed

from ingesting peanut oil.

How could you know that?

He's wearing a medical alert bracelet

stating that he's allergic to peanut oil.

It looks like he was, um,
going for his epi-pen here.

Yeah.

Anyone who's aware of a specific antigen

that can cause a fatal
anaphylactic response

carries one of these.

Think it would have saved his life?

Yeah, except it didn't work this time.

Oh, hey, Morton, Morton.

Smell that.

Peanut.

Peanut oil.

Yeah.

Look what it says on it.

Olive oil.

Interesting mistake.

I'll confirm the contents for you.

Yeah, I think you should.

Yvette, tell Winston

I will need the kitchen
scoured from top to bottom.

The stench of death
rarely enhances a fine meal.

Gaston Napoleon.

This is my sous chef

yvette decri.

Sergeant Tom Ryan, palm
beach police department.

Did you know hook?

Unfortunately, yes.

Did you work with him?

How did he die?

He d*ed of anaphylactic shock.

Well, as they say, he who lives
by the spoon, dies by the spoon.

Hey.

Well, look who we have here.

You know senor della grapo?

Della grapo?

I thought his name was...

Pablo della grapo, from espana.

Por favor?

Senor della grapo is our third contestant.

Will you excuse me?

Absolutely.

We'd just like to ask
senor della grapo here

a couple of questions.

Gracias, gracias.

Ramone, what are you doing?

Are you pretending to be a chef?

Si, si.

I am to be intending to win the contract.

By cooking.

Si.

Well, let's be honest, ramone

making toast, for you,
is pushing the envelope.

I will have usted know

that I have studied muy diligente

to become better.

With who?

Margarita Stewart.

Martha Stewart?

Si.

She took you on as a student?

No, no, I have to be watching her

on television.

Oh, ramone.

I have not missed a single episode.

Ramone, before this gets worse, stop.

Pero, I need the dinero.

I have not had much suerte con los peros.

You've been betting the dog races?

But I have learned something

muy importante.

You cannot tell how
the pero is going to run

by how it licks your face.

Important words to live by, ramone.

Now get out of here before
you get yourself in bigger trouble.

Por favor, senor Ryan,
please, let me try to win.

Cass?

Okay, so long as there's no cheating.

Yo prometo.

And you don't set anything on fire.

Yo prometo.

And you follow the rules.

Yo prometo.

Okay.

Listen, I hate to even ask this

but how do you possibly
think you're going to win?

Because, senor Ryan

when it comes to making
the recipe, I have perfect stink.

Let's just hope the
hotel doesn't smell a rat.

It will not.

Good-bye, amigos.

Oh, oh, hey, ramone, by the way

where did you get that name, della grapo?

Oh, I stole it.

Cassy: We just came back

from the hotel.

Hmm.

It seems an allergic reaction caused death.

Mm-hmm.

Yeah, it looks like
Napoleon and this, uh, hook

went at it their entire career.

Mm-hmm.

Cassy: Hook opened a restaurant

across the street from Napoleon

and drove him out of business.

But we'll know more when we get the report

back from Morton.

Hmm.

But we do have one lead.

Hmm.

Tom confessed to doing it.

Yeah, in my spare time.

Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, mm-hmm.

What are you doing?

That's a good question.

I thought I might ask the same of you.

Oh, my gosh.

So what do you think?

Should I be buried above ground or below?

Oh, Harry.

No, listen, listen.

Now that I'm getting over the initial shock

of having to deal with the reality

that someday I might die...

Might?

I'd like to make it

as easy as possible for all concerned.

So, which would you rather visit?

I don't want to visit either
and I hate this conversation.

Make a choice.

Come on, pick one.

Below. Above.

What are you talking about?

Above? No.

Night of the living dead.

Flesh eaters, zombies...

Mold, rotting corpses, fungus.

You two are making me
very depressed about dying.

So, do we have a m*rder, yes or no?

Well, unless someone switched
the oils on purpose, we don't.

Autopsy confirmed death
was caused by the peanut oil.

All right, so, now the only question is

did somebody tamper with those oils?

But the only way it would work

is if somebody knew that hook

was going to use olive oil in his recipes.

And who would have
access to all of those recipes?

Mr. Hook's entry.

As you can see, the
signature of the contestant

runs across the seal of the envelope.

It doesn't even call for olive oil.

Hook must have
improvised while preparing it.

Okay, so, there wasn't a m*rder.

Hook's death was a tragic accident.

That's it.

Thanks for your help, Winston.

"Good morning, Tom"

I guess is not on the
tip of your tongue, is it?

They still don't fit.

Now I have to go on a diet.

Go on a diet then.

Talk's cheap, bucko.

You've never had to diet in your life.

That's true.

But I did have to help
a lot of guys through it

when I was playing ball.

Okay, then you can be my calorie guru.

For a price, maybe.

Which is?

Your tickets to Alanis
Morissette this weekend.

Forget about it.

Uh-uh.

As you wish.

But the whole point... that is so mean...

Me being able to fit into those jeans

is so that I could go to the concert.

I look great in those jeans.

Apparently not.

Okay, wait.

What if I take you to the concert?

Very generous, but I'm
afraid that I'll need both tickets.

Why is that?

Na-ta-sha.

The stiff from the funeral parlor?

Stiff?

Hmm.

"Flexible" comes to mind.

"Imaginative" comes to mind.

But I want to go to the concert.

Those who diet today live to date tomorrow.

All right, you pirate, here's the deal.

If those jeans don't fit by Saturday

then you take me to the concert.

Deal.

Bless you.

A little heavy on the
after shave there, sterling.

You've got to forgive me.

I'm, I'm anosmic.

Really?

I thought you were presbyterian.

No, no...

See what I did?

Yeah, anosmia, lack of smell.

I got this head cold

it's stuffed up my sinuses.

I can't smell anything.

You know, I think I got it from that d.B.

What d.B.?

The one yesterday, hook.

That chef.

Wait, are you saying

you can catch a cold from a dead body?

Oh, absolutely.

Even though the, the body's dead, you know

the viruses are still alive.

Thank you.

Morton, you ever done
an autopsy on a sauce?

A sauce?

A sauce.

Don't look at me that way, Mr. Rabbit.

What must be done, must be done.

Hold still.

That's good, okay.

You will not feel a thing.

Senor rabbit.

Senor rabbit, where are you?

Senor rabbit.

Little rabbit.

Little rabbit.

Hello.

Look what I have for you...

Winston: This is highly irregular.

So is a chef dying of anaphylactic shock

when there's a million dollars at stake.

Senor della grapo, what are you doing?

I was simplimente preparing
some ingredients for my receta.

Mr. Winston, do all of the chefs

prepare their own ingredients

for their recipes?

For the most part.

I believe yvette is helping
monsieur Napoleon.

And did she help hook?

Yes, she did.

It was at his own request, I might add.

Cass, I got it.

Thank you.

So, senor della grapo

how goes the cazuela conejo del pais?

Oh, it's, uh, moving right along.

So I did a full-blown gas
spectrum analysis of the sauce.

And you were right, Tom.

There's no butter in it.

Just, uh, just peanut oil.

So...

Pizza.

Yeah. Hold on, hold on.

Here, hold this.

Sure.

Oh, Pete, thank you very much.

Put it on sergeant Ryan's bill.

Sergeant Ryan.

Got an attitude.

I took the Liberty of ordering lunch in.

I didn't know what everybody wanted

so I got everything from the deli.

All right?

Tom: Harry, extra sauce

and double cheese.

Ah-ah, sorry.

Right. Right.

Lipschitz: Okay.

For morty.

Yeah.

I got a beautiful corned beef...

Well, it's a little on the fatty side.

No, fat is good. Fat is good.

Fat is good?

I got a cold, fat's good.

Okay, that kind of figures.

Oh, let's see... oh...
ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh.

I got pastrami.

I'll take that.

Ah-ah.

No, forget it.

Ah, let's eat.

Whoo, ah.

Is that a sandwich?

Is that a sandwich, huh?

Mmm.

So, how does this make anything different?

Well, the olive oil was on the table.

There was no butter on the table.

If there was butter on the table

that means he was using butter.

Cassy, what do you think?

Yeah.

I, uh, it just takes us back to the mistake

of labeling the oils.

Great chefs have great noses.

Yeah, but hook should have
been able to smell that peanut oil

and then he would have
known it wasn't olive oil.

Lipschitz: Uh-uh.

Mm-hmm. Uh-uh.

Mm-hmm. No. Listen, if...

If somebody knew the man had

a head cold

they could have switched the ingredients

and they never, ever, ever

would have been telling the difference...

Mmm.

Yeah, uh, Winston said
that yvette helped him

prepare his recipes.

You two should have

a talk with yvette.

All right, right after lunch.

Mmm.

Um... thank you, please.

Yvette: I don't know how

the oils got switched.

The containers I decanted the oils from

came directly from the hotel's pantry.

Olive oil and peanut oil

those are pretty different smells.

I know, but with my head cold

I haven't been able to smell anything.

You have a head cold? Yes.

When did you get it?

A few days ago.

I think I got it from Wolfie.

Well, you must, must
have been close to him.

We were.

Cassy: So, did gaston

know about

your affair with hook?

Of course, it was his idea.

He wanted me to find out

what Wolfie was preparing for the contest.

Did you?

No, I did not.

Wolfie was very secretive.

What did you do with the containers

after you decanted them?

I threw them out.

Hello, Walker.

Gaston.

You surprised me.

Apparently.

I wanted to talk to you
about hook's recipe.

What about hook's recipe?

You don't cook, do you, Walker?

Not really, no.

You see, a chef...

Even of hook's meager talent...

Would know that you can't
take out one ingredient

and not replace it with another.

What's your point, Napoleon?

I saw hook's recipe
before he gave it to you.

Impossible.

Hook never would have shown it to you.

Ah, yes, but, you see, I searched his room

while he, uh... decorated yvette.

The problem, of course, is in the sauteing.

I don't follow you.

Well, hook's recipe called for a rouille

which, of course, would
have required sauteing

which, in turn, would have necessitated

at the very least, butter, if not oil.

And yet, strangely enough

neither of them were called for.

You changed hook's
ingredients, my dear fellow.

I beg your pardon, sir.

Only another chef would have noticed.

This is absurd.

Now, since I know that I didn't k*ll him

then it must have been...

You.

What do you want?

Only what I would have won

even if hook was still alive.

The contract...

And, of course, the million-dollar bonus.

In exchange...

I won't tell the police what I know.

All right.

Excellent.

Buenos dias, senores.

Buenos dias.

What's going on, ramone?

Ramone: Nada.

Tom: What's with all

the animals?

They were for the contest.

At first I was going to
make cazuela de conejo

then pato, then congrejo.

Pero, I could not, um, you know...

k*ll them?

Si.

I am a failure.

Not to mention broke.

Si.

Tom: Well, I know

you're depressed

but we need your help.

This I will not do.

I... I am an artista,
not a, a dumpster diver.

Ramone, you're not even a chef,

for crying out loud.

I am a cocinero.

I am just not a k*ller.

Well, you told us you have perfect smell.

Si, this is correcto.

Okay.

We just need you to
find the two containers.

One is olive oil. One is peanut oil.

Do you not have a... medical coronet

to do this?

Coroner.

Coroner, no.

No, it would take him all
week to go through this stuff.

Please. Por favor.

No.

Ramone, what if I found

a way for you to get back in the contest?

Verdad?

Absolutely.

Senores.

Ramone: I have done as you asked.

If nothing else, I can still stink.

Great job, ramone.

No, no, no, not until you
tell me what I am to make.

You got it.

Eh-eh-eh!

I'll write it down.

Okay, that's number .

Right.

Great, thanks.

Well, the distributor confirms

that the batch numbers match.

So the switch had to
have happened at the hotel.

Okay, well, I'm having

the hotel dock foreman fax over

the bills of lading.

Hey, har.

What's the matter?

Thank god I bought that coffin.

I am dying.

You got a cold?

Yeah, courtesy of sterling Morton

thank you very much.

Anyway, I ran background checks

on both Napoleon and Winston.

And?

Napoleon comes up clean

although a lot of people I spoke to

would like to see him as
part of the Brooklyn bridge.

Okay, what about Winston?

Squirrely, at best.

Fired from his last two jobs.

His employers suspected him of embezzlement

but they couldn't prove it.

Cassy: Hmm.

Tom: Let's go talk to him.

I hate you.

You'll thank me on Saturday.

Officers.

You looking for me?

Uh, yes. We need for you

to open your safe, please.

Why?

We'd like to see the million-dollar check.

Stay for dinner.

The contest is tonight

and you can look at it

right after the winner is announced.

I can't, I got a date.

Then read about it in tomorrow's paper.

We talked to Mr. Scruggs.

Your hotel accountant.

You helped arrange financing

on the million-dollar bonus.

Yes, I did.

I'm fortunate to travel

in some very... well-heeled circles.

And they ponied up the money.

I persuaded them that the
success of the bakescore

could only enhance the
mystique of palm beach.

I see.

Do you think I could enhance you

with the mystique of a search warrant?

Very well.

Very well, then.

Tom: Eh-eh.

Wow.

If there's nothing else

I do have preparations to make for tonight.

Thank you.

"If there's nothing else

I have preparations to
make for tonight, then."

Stop.

How could there be a check

if the scam was made by Winston?

It is a scam.

The guy switched the recipes.

He k*lled Wolfie, he...

He would have needed help.

To do what?

All the envelopes were signed and sealed

by the contestants, right?

Right.

Right.

Okay, so the switch

would have had to have been made

prior to the chef signing
the back of the envelopes.

Right.

The question is, who helped Winston

make the switch?

Gaston.

Well?

This is all they had.

How am I supposed to cook

the meal of the century

when I can't smell anything?

Gaston...

Even in death, hook haunts me.

Gaston, stop it.

You are the greatest chef in the world.

So what if you have a cold?

You can't fail.

You cannot fail.

Yes.

Yes, I suppose you're right.

I cannot fail.

Senores!

Hey, hey!

I have done it!

The prize is mine.

Thatta boy!

Hey, let's see it.

No, no, no!

Until I bake life into it...

Just a peek, okay? Come on.

All right, all right.

But not touch.

All right, all right.

Take it off.

Oh, wow.

Is it not magnifico?

I call it "El arbol della vida."

The tree of life?

Wait a second.

You, you talked about making

eggplant parmesan.

Your confidence in me, senor,

inspired me.

As senor Winston said to senorita yvette

"to Victor goes the spoils."

But this time, it goes to ramone!

Wait, wait.

What did you just say?

Ah, the spoils

they go to ramone.

No, no, no. Just before that.

Ah, senorita...

Oh, senor Winston
said to senorita yvette...

Do you smell gas?

Senor Napoleon, no!

Ay...

Are you okay, ramone?

Oh, ramone.

Lipschitz: So yvette helped Winston

make the switch of hook's ingredients.

Tom: And when Napoleon

figured it out

he tried to blackmail Winston.

Cassy: Who got yvette

to loosen

the gas fitting on the stove.

You guys did great work again.

I don't think we could have done it

without ramone and his nose.

How is the little guy?

The paramedics said

that most of his bones could be reset.

Gesundheit.

What, are you catching a cold?

And if I was, I wonder who I got it from.

Excuse me.

Do not blame me, blame morty.

I use a hanky.

Whatever.

Oh, I forgot to tell you...

Your dry cleaners called.

They want you to come by

tomorrow

and make the exchange.

What exchange?

They messed up on an order.

You picked up the wrong pair of jeans.

Wrong pair of jeans?

Yeah. The ones you picked up

belonged to a little girl named Tina

who needs hers back

for her camp fire girls meeting.

This whole time I've been trying

to fit into a -year-old's jeans?

Did you hear that?

Well, she might be a huge -year-old.