01x03 - Episode 3

[bunniefuu]

Diana, he is using you!

I'm here to support my niece.

God, I hope your food's easier
to swallow than your bullshit.

Take your pants off.

What do you mean, "Burial ground"?

No, he did not.

Easton and I were thinking

that we could have the
restaurant in this house.

This is my f*cking house!

You know what? Keep your roof.

'Cause this deluded child
is just gonna live here,

with her business partner.

You really still think our mother
is buried out in the backyard?

Daaaad!

Hey...

Oh, Jesus Christ!

Why are we throwing out all Pop's stuff?

He loves these mags.

Why are you dressed like you're
on a day-trip to Chernobyl?

Yeah, but what changed his mind, though?

'Cause the other day, there was no way

he was gonna let us have
the restaurant here.

Well... I talked to him.

He really loves you, you know.

Mm-hm.

And, uh... he'll do whatever it takes
to make your dream come true.

Bless the bipolar old b*stard.

Actually, it's probably lucky
you have that suit on.

Pretty sure whatever's
sticking those pages together

has a half-life of 25,000 years.

Okay. Get out. This room's ours now.

I'm not moving anywhere.

You lost all human rights

after lying to me about my
mother for the past 40 years.

Now get out of that armchair, or
you're going in the skip with it.

We agreed that you can't sleep
in the armchair anymore.

You've got a perfectly good
bedroom down the hall

that you can die miserable and alone in.

It was her bedroom!

And I didn't agree...

... actually.

"Hey, Diana, remember how Pop told you

"that Grandma died tragically young

"and he lovingly buried
her in the backyard?

"Well, actually, he didn't.

"Actually, he won't even tell me
whether she's alive or dead.

"For all I know, he actually
drowned her in the dam,

"so for your own safety,

"it's better that you
don't see him again,

actually."

You wouldn't!

I saved you the Zulu edition, Pop,

'cause it was the least... damaged.

Diana, I've got something to tell you.

Oh!

Yeah, what?

We have a dining room.

Okay. Yeah.

Perfect!

Yeah, our diners will hardly
notice the 25-year-old smell

of an old man whacking himself off.

Excuse me. I'm looking for
a case of La Moulineux.

Preferably the 2009, or else the '15.

A case! Must be a very special occasion.

I'm recreating a Michelin-starred
menu from my first restaurant.

La Moulineux was on that menu,

so, yeah, I'd say it's
a special occasion.

Oh, right. You're, uh...

- In a hurry, yeah.
- Yeah.

I'm assuming, if I pay cash,
we have some wiggle room?

Yeah, yeah. We can work something out.

It's Easton West, celebrity chef!

Hello, handsome.

Hardly a celebrity chef.

I work for a living.

And, oh, all cashed-up, I see.

God, it was just a few days ago

you were pimping yourself
out for free rent.

I got blown by the winds of fortune.

What can I say?

Somebody actually bought your
born-again-feminist bullshit.

- Well done.
- No. They bought my watch.

Elton John gave me a Rolex
when I got my first star.

- I think he fancied me.
- Hmm.

You would have made a cute couple.

It's allowed me to turn my father's
estate into my new restaurant.

- Hmm.
- Getting back to my roots.

Celebrating family, regional cuisine.

Oh! Diana's idea. I liked that concept.

Well, it was more of a family decision,

but nobody needs to know that.

Diana should get all the credit.

Why are you telling me, then?

- Just... clarifying.
- Right.

Well...

now that you can pay with
more than your rugged charm

and your moderately impressive p*nis...

... I'd be happy to
supply you with wine.

Don't get more regional than me.

I haven't set the menu yet, but
when I do, I'll let you know.

You're in luck!

I've got an unopened case of the 2015.

It's one of Bordeaux's finest.

$870 a single.

I'll see what I can do
for cash on a dozen.

A dozen?

Yeah, well, just a...
little gift to myself.

Right.

Well, when you finish guzzling

your $10,000 worth of vintage sulfur
dioxide all on your lonesome,

I look forward to a call.

- Dave, that's the new cleanskin.
- Thanks, Margot.

Okay. So, how much wiggle
room were you thinking?

I'll give you half.

So, Nan's gateau plus Iced Vo-Vo

equals...

No.

French wine? I thought
we were sourcing local.

Don't you start!

Yeah, but... regional and,
like, our family story,

that's our whole schtick.

Bordeaux is a region

and the only family
food story I'm seeing

is you stuffing your face
when you should be working.

I'm researching.

Mum's holding my gear ransom.

I can't do anything without it.

- Well, go and get it.
- Well, I will.

It's just... you know,
a bit tense at the moment,

since I ran away to live here.

Hey, is there enough money
left over for my ingredients?

No.

Seriously?

Dude, that is so...

Amazing! Oh, my God,
my first set of whites!

I love your enthusiasm, kid,

but you only get those

once you create a world-class,
Michelin-level dessert

- by this evening.
- This evening?

I have my entree and main.

We lock the menu tonight.

Okay.

Well, um, I've been looking through
Grandma June's recipe book

- and I have found a few good ideas...
- Get out of my kitchen.

Our kitchen!

The answer's in the real world,
not in that f*cking book.

Now go.

Get some incredible ingredients,

get inspired and just get out!

Go!

I'm not giving her a room.
She's not sharing a bedroom.

All right. Yep.

What the actual... ?

My room!

Oh, my God.

Oh! You arse-bucket.

What do we do if she changes her mind

and comes home, sees all her stuff gone?

Well, she moved out, Brett.

We're doing her a favour,
boxing up her things,

and we're teaching her
a valuable life lesson.

Really? What's the lesson, Denise?

Well, I think it's pretty obvious.

Right.

So, grab that blue thing,
whatever that is.

It's a dough scraper, doofus.

Uh, I think it's a dough scraper.

Why don't I just take all her
stuff and drop it off to her?

- Because.
- Oh, yeah.

Wouldn't want to spoil the lesson.

No... Excuse me!

It'd be nice to have the house
to ourselves for a bit, eh?

- Mmm.
- Finally get to walk around naked

and scratching my...

- You're...
- You know what?

You can keep my sh*t. Yeah.

I'm sure it'll come in handy.

Oh, that's right!

You can't cook!

You c*ck.

You are not a c*ck.

f*cking ridiculous.

Hey! Hey!

I'm taking the shed. You can
have your valuable crap back.

Nah! I gave you my lounge room!

- You're not having my shed!
- I am, actually.

And until you tell me where Mum is,

you can stay in there!

Put it back!

Oh, listen.

I did nothing to your mother,
you silly little sod.

Who do you think I am?

Blaming me for everything.

Anyway, if we played
happy-bloody-families,

you'd never have run away

and become Mr Big d*ck
Whoever-you-think-you-are,

so show a little gratitude and...

... put the ladder back!

Oi!

Jimmy!

Di, where have you been?
I've had the worst day

and I've literally been
needing to pee for hours.

I thought about peeing in my keep cup.

Eww.

Well, I've had a f*ck day too.

Easton wants me to come up with,
like, this Michelin-star dessert

by tonight.

I've got no ingredients, no gear

and, like, complete,
total baker's block.

So that's why you're here.

Please help me. Please?

Don't do that baby thing.
It's humiliating for both of us.

You always know what to do. Please.

I need your big,
beautiful, rational brain.

Please.

My baking gear's at the
back of my mum's car.

The Summertown Cemetery
has blackberries. Start there.

Thank you so much. I love you.

- Thank you, thank you.
- Di.

You know the only reason
I do this Hot Buns thing

is to hang out with you, right?

So if you're just gonna bail on me...

... what's the point?

Oh, my God. I just had
the most rad idea.

You come work with me at June's!

Then we'll be together
literally all the time!

Um, I don't know.
"All the time" is a lot...

Done! You are hired! Congratulations!

You just became our first unpaid
employee-slash-volunteer!

- Yay!
- Di, please stop squeezing me.

- I'm about to pee myself.
- Yay.

Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt.

Uh, we're giving away free tastings
of our hot-cross bao buns.

I've literally been waiting my
entire life to hear those words.

The bun is actually injera.

Thank you, Jesus, for
this African-Asian fusion.

Amen.

I'm Kwame.

I know who you are.

So, do you... like it?

It reflecteth the maker.

Hot, spicy and I want it in my mouth.

Okay!

Quite the seal of approval, Kwams.

I had no idea it was culinary royalty

selling cakes to our customers.

Not that being related to Easton West

is anything to brag about, I guess.

- You're brave, working for him.
- Oh, no.

Actually, I, um...
I don't work for him. I'm...

He doesn't do pastry,

so I'm sort of heading up
that section, actually.

- Clever.
- Mmm.

You're perfect.

You're young, female, family...

haven't assaulted anyone with a pig.

Oh, yet! Ha!

Where are you setting up shop?

Uh, my pop's place, actually. Yeah.

Um, we're sort of going for this, like,

radical chef's table-y kind of thing.

Seasonal, experimental,
super-personal food.

Yeah. You should come to the opening.

- I wouldn't miss it.
- Awesome.

These are on from Monday.

- Well done.
- Seriously?

- Good luck, Diana.
- Thanks.

You'll need it!

- You...
- Oh!

Uh...

I mean, I wasn't gonna
bring it up, but...

you sort of owe me, big time.

I mean, I definitely just
got your buns in his oven.

Whatever I can do.

You like cemeteries?

Get this stuff off you here...

Why'd you let him out?

Arrgh!

He was stuck inside a giant bin.

From you, sir, I will take satisfaction.

Oh, really?

Referee's baton.

Referee...

No biting, no kicking, no gouging.

First man square on his
back loses. Agreed?

Agreed.

I, look... No, no, no. I'm just here
to drop Di's baking gear off.

I'm not refereeing.

Denise used to ref, but
in her absence, it's you.

- Referee, call engage.
- Engage?

Ow! Oh, f*ck!

Ref, that's against the rules!

Mate, I'm not refereeing!

Youse two should cut it out.
Youse are grown men.

You just watch him.
He's a liar and a cheat!

Eh, toughen up, you little turd.

Engage.

Oh, you really got your
knickers in a knot.

- You're a lying old b*stard!
- Eh, you poxy twerp!

- Where is she, then?
- No idea!

Oh!

- Oh!
- sh*t.

I win!

Ow! What the f*ck? Why'd
you hit me with the stick?

- Well, what's it for?
- Landed on my side, ref.

Doesn't count.

- Oh, for f...
- Yeah, it was his side.

No, no. That's enough,
the pair of youse.

I don't know what this bullshit
is about, but I call it a draw.

No such thing as a draw.

Yes there is.

Oh, f*ck.

I didn't... k*ll her!

She walked out on me!

- And you!
- Liar!

Oh, you selfish little turd!

You think you're the only one she hurt?

I don't understand!

Oh!

- I win!
- Ahh!

Jesus!

I have no idea what this is about,

but you two should be bloody
ashamed of yourselves.

It's a testament to Denise that
she turned out the way she did,

with you two as role models.

I should have left you in the bin!

Oh!

And make sure Diana gets her stuff.

I bet you didn't think you'd
end up in the boneyard today.

My mum's buried here, actually.

Oh, sh*t. I'm so sorry.
I don't know why I...

That was a d*ck move!

I kinda liked it.

So, you could do a clafoutis
with those blackberries.

Yeah.

I mean, a clafoutis would
make you smile, but...

I kind of want something
that'll make you squeal.

I wonder who they all were.

Mmm. This person was a school principal.

They were 46.

Beloved wife, 81.

Mother of eight. Jeez.

52?!

My God.

Imagine putting your vag*na through
all that, then dropping dead.

Uh-uh. No, thanks.

Being a woman sucks.

We really don't have long, do we?

Sorry. I got overcome with...
carpe diem and sh*t.

I think I need something other
than blackberries for this dessert.

Where have you been?

You know where I've been.

God! Why are you undermining me?

- Oh, God...
- I'm her mother!

And who am I? Her orthodontist?

You know, I've picked her up,
dropped her off, made her dinners.

I've cheered through every minute

of her year 11 netball team's season

of 22 straight losses.

I know I'm not her real dad.

He wasn't around for any of that,

but I've parented her plenty.

Far out, Denise!

Doesn't excuse what you've done.

You are just like your
father and brother!

As they say, rise above.

I am not like them!

Okay. Good.

And who says, "Rise above"?

I don't know.

Pole vaulters?

Astronauts?

High jumpers?

I'm gonna fix that up and use it.

No, it's mine. You can't have it.

You can't live in the
shed. It's unhygienic.

Oh, but it's all right for
a dining room, is it?

You have a bedroom.

Her bedroom!

Where is she?

For God's sake, the least you can
do is tell me if she's still alive!

Don't know.

You were just kids.

I couldn't tell you the truth.

- Well, what is the truth?
- I told you.

She packed up and left.

She hated all of this.

The trees, the birds, the wind.

Me.

Being a mother.

And she f*cking hated cooking,

so I don't know how you
got that idea in your head.

The woman never cooked
a meal in her life!

What are you talking about?
She loved cooking.

You gave me her recipe book,
the one that Diana's got.

I bought that recipe
book at a garage sale.

I've no idea whose it was.

Didn't have the heart to tell you.

Or Diana.

She was my mum.

She was my wife.

I suppose I'd better find a new bedroom.

Okay. Wait. I can't get... Oh. Okay.

Have you ever done that before?

No. You?

Only with a showerhead.

Dude, we totally just
popped our cherries.

Popped our cherries?

Sorry. Um... bumped our uglies?

That doesn't quite capture the
magic of what just happened.

Okay. How about... how about
voted my hymen off the island?

Much more romantic!

God, they make sex in cars look
way easier in the movies, hey?

Speaking of being rooted,
I have to explain to Easton

why I didn't do my homework,

'cause I was...

waylaid by a handsome stranger.

Don't mention my name to him, please.

You'll be my little secret, Kwams.

Um... wow!

Holy shizballs!

Dude, this is amazing!

This is way better than the living room.

This is exactly what I
imagined, but better.

- Tell me you had a breakthrough.
- You could say that.

Marie-Antoine Carême is gonna
'ca-ream-e' her g*dd*mn pants.

His pants.

History's greatest pastry
chef was a man, Diana.

Not anymore.

This is my dessert.

This is the story of me
losing my virginity today.

Well, this afternoon, actually.

I wasn't expecting it.

It just... I don't know,
it just happened.

Why?

Well, I mean, it had to
happen sooner or later.

So, this is a hills fruit tart

with a Frooty Hoops cereal
creme anglaise on the side

and you put it in the hole on
top and that symbolises...

Well, you know.

Is this some kind of a joke?

Uh... no.

This is...

a coming-of-age story,

you know, moving from
childhood to adulthood, um...

I asked for something original,

not some crass, millennial
confessional vulgarity.

No, no, this is original. I've...
I've never seen anything like this.

Yeah and no-one ever will.

This is the culinary equivalent

of drawing a c*ck and ba*ls
on your school desk.

Oh! Okay.

The... the pastry's your mum's recipe.

I just thought we were
doing this radical...

We are a fine-dining restaurant!

Yeah. Okay. Sorry.

You honestly thought you
could just put on chef whites

and become a professional
chef, didn't you?

It takes a f*cking
lifetime of dedication,

sacrifice and hard work.

I will... I'll do better, I...

If you really want to
take it to the next level,

you need to stop fannying around

and start listening to me. Got it?

Say yes or no.

- Yes, chef.
- Good!

Go!

Ow.

... following it through now is
Golden Years, the favourite,

who charged through and Golden Years...

To June West.

You horrible, old cow.

Okay. Go!

Look out for the farmer!

I also lost my virginity.

If you see a guy with a
shotgun, just ignore him.

- Did she say 'shotgun'?
- I hope so.

June-f*cking-West! I'm coming for you!

Put the bottle back or I will...

Oh, go on, you great gobshite!