Ratatouille Quotes

Anton Ego: 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 judgment. 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 talent, 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.

[when the restaurant is empty Linguini and Colette bring Remy to meet Ego]
Remy: At first, Ego thinks it's a joke. But as Linguini explains, Ego's smile disappears. He doesn't react beyond asking the occasional question. And when the story's done, Ego stands, thanks us for the meal, and leaves, without another word. The following day, his review appears:

Anton Ego: 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 judgment. 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 talent, 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.

Django: [showing the exterminator shop to Remy with the dead rats in the window] Take a good long look, Remy. This is what happens when a rat gets a little too comfortable around humans. The world we live in belongs to the enemy. We must live carefully. We look out for our own kind, Remy. When all is said and done, we're all we've got.
[he starts to walk away]

Remy: No.
Django: [turning back] What?
Remy: No. Dad, I don't believe it. You're telling me, that the future is - can *only* be - more of *this*?
Django: This is the way things are. You can't change nature.
Remy: Change *is* nature, Dad. The part that *we* can influence. And it starts

when we decide.
[he turns to leave]
Django: Where are you going?
Remy: With luck, forward.

Mustafa: [taking Ego's order] Do you know what you'd like this evening, sir?
Anton Ego: Yes, I think I do. After reading a lot of overheated puffery about your new cook, you know what I'm craving? A little perspective. That's it. I'd like some fresh, clear, well seasoned perspective. Can you suggest a good wine to go with that?

Mustafa: With what, sir?
Anton Ego: Perspective. Fresh out, I take it?
Mustafa: I am, uh...
Anton Ego: Very well. Since you're all out of perspective and no one else seems to have it in this BLOODY TOWN, I'll make you a deal. You provide the food, I'll provide the perspective, which would go nicely with a

bottle of Cheval Blanc 1947.
Mustafa: I'm afraid... your dinner selection?
Anton Ego: [stands up angrily] Tell your chef Linguini that I want whatever he dares to serve me. Tell him to hit me with his best SHOT.

Colette: Horst has done time.
Linguini: What for?
Colette: No one know for sure. He changes the story every time you ask him.
[Horst is shown telling his story at different times]
Horst: I defrauded a major corporation.
Horst: I robbed the second-largest bank in France using only

a ball-point pen.
Horst: I created a hole in the ozone over Avignon.
Horst: I killed a man... with *this* thumb!

Anton Ego: You are Monsieur Linguini?
Linguini: Uh, hello.
Anton Ego: Pardon me for interrupting your premature celebration, but I thought it only fair to give you a sporting chance as you are new to this game.
Linguini: Uh... game?
Anton Ego: Yes, and you've been playing without an

opponent, which is, as you may have guessed... against the rules.
Linguini: [awed] You're... Anton Ego.
Anton Ego: [sarcastic] You're slow for someone in the fast lane.
Linguini: [a little nervously] And you're... thin, for someone who likes food.
[crowd gasps]
Anton Ego: I don't *like* food; I

LOVE it. If I don't love it, I don't *swallow*.
[Linguini swallows nervously]
Anton Ego: [turns to leave] I will return tomorrow night with high expectations. Pray you don't disappoint me.

Colette: What are you doing?
Linguini: [stammering] Uh, I'm cutting vegetables. I'm cutting the... vegetables?
Colette: No! You waste energy and time! You think cooking is a cute job, eh? Like Mommy in the kitchen? Well, Mommy never had to face the dinner rush when the orders come flooding in, and every dish is different and none are

simple, and all of the different cooking times, but must arrive at the customer's table at exactly the same time, hot and perfect! Every second counts, you CANNOT be MOMMY!

Skinner: You know something about rats, you know you do!
Linguini: You know who know, do, whacka-do. Ratta-tatta - Hey, why do they call it that?
Skinner: What?
Linguini: Ratatouille. It's like a stew, right? Why do they call it that? If you're gonna name a food, you should give it a name that sounds

delicious. Ratatouille doesn't sound delicious. It sounds like "rat" and "patootie." Rat patootie! Which does not sound delicious.
[holds out his glass for more wine]
Skinner: [growling] Regrettably, we are all... out... of wine.

[first lines]
Narrator: [on television] Although each of the world's countries would like to dispute this fact, we French know the truth: the best food in the world is made in France. The best food in France is made in Paris. And the best food in Paris, some say, is made by Chef Auguste Gusteau. Gusteau's restuarant is the toast of Paris, booked five months in advance. And

his dazzling ascent to the top of fine French cuisine has made his competitors envious. He is the youngest chef ever to achieve a five-star rating. Chef Gusteau's cookbook "Anyone Can Cook!" climbed to the top of the bestseller list. But not everyone celebrates its success.
[cutting away to Ego]
Anton Ego: 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.

Emile: W-w-wait. You... read?
Remy: Well, not... excessively.
Emile: Oh, man. Does dad know?
Remy: You could fill a book - a lot of books - with things Dad doesn't know. And they have. Which is why I read. Which is also our secret.
Emile: I don't like secrets. All this cooking and-and

reading and TV-watching, while we... read, and... cook. It's like you're involving me in crime, and I let you. Why do I let you?

[holding a trapped Remy out over the Seine to drown him; he and Remy stare at each other]
Linguini: Don't look at me like that! You aren't the only one who's trapped, they expect me to cook it again! I mean, I'm not ambitious, I wasn't trying to cook, I was just trying to stay out of trouble! You're the one who was gettin' fancy with the spices! What'd you throw in there,

oregano? No? What, rosemary? That's a spice isn't it, rosemary? You didn't put rosemary in? Then what was all the flipping and... the throwing the...
[he sinks down on the wall with a sigh]
Linguini: I need this job. I've lost so many. I don't know how to cook and now I'm actually talking to a rat as if you...
[gasps]
Linguini: Did you

nod? Have you been nodding?
[Remy nods]
Linguini: You understand me? So I'm not crazy! Wait a second, wait a second... I can't cook, can I?
[Remy shakes his head]
Linguini: But, you... you can, right?
[Remy shrugs modestly]
Linguini: Look, don't be so modest, you're a rat for Pete's sake. Whatever you did,

they liked it. Yeah. This could work. Hey, they liked the soup...!
[he flails and knocks the jar into the river]
Linguini: Augh!
[he dives in and reappears soaking wet with Remy]
Linguini: They like the soup. Do you think you could... do it again?
[Remy nods]
Linguini: Okay, I'm gonna let you out now. But

we're together on this, right?
[Remy nods]
Linguini: Okay...

Remy: [sniffing a cake] Flour, eggs, sugar... vanilla bean... Oh, small twist of lemon.
Emile: Whoa! You can smell all that? You have a gift!
Remy: [voiceover] This is Emile, my brother. He's easily impressed.
Django: So you can smell ingredients. So what?
Remy: [voiceover] This is my

dad. He's never impressed.

Remy: Hey, I brought you something to...
[sees Emile eating garbage]
Remy: AH! NO, NO, NO, NO! SPIT THAT OUT RIGHT NOW!
[Emile obeys]
Remy: [sighs] I have *got* to teach you about food. Close your eyes.
[Emile obeys; Remy holds out piece of cheese]
Remy: Now take a bite of thi...

[Emile snarfs the cheese]
Remy: [whacking him on the head] Ack! No, no, no! Don't just hork it down!
Emile: Too late.

Linguini: Listen, I just want you to know how honored I am to be studying under such a...
Colette: [pins Linguini's sleeve with a knife] No, you listen! I just want you to know exactly who you are dealing with! How many women do you see in this kitchen?
Linguini: Well, I uh...
Colette: [pins Linguini's sleeve

with another knife] Only me. Why do you think that is? Because haute cuisine is an antiquated hierarchy built upon rules written by stupid, old, *men*. Rules designed to make it impossible for women to enter this world. But still I'm here! How did this happen?
Linguini: Well because, because you...
Colette: [pins Linguini's sleeve with a third knife]

Because I am the toughest cook in this kitchen! I have worked too hard for too long to get here, and I am *not* going to jeopardize it for some garbage boy who got lucky! Got it?
[she sweeps the knives off Linguini's arm and he falls to the floor]
Linguini: [sitting up, chuckling] Wow!