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Ratatouille
How can I describe it? Good food is like music you can taste, color you can smell. There is excellence all around you. You need only be aware to stop and savor it.
How can I describe it? Good food is like music you can taste, color you can smell. There is excellence all around you. You need only be aware to stop and savor it.
He's dying to become a chef.
Change is nature, Dad. The part that we can influence. And it starts when we decide.
I think I'm getting a little something there. It might be the nuttiness. Could be the tang.
My son has returned!
You look thin. Why is that? A shortage of food, or surplus of snobbery?
We're not birds. We're rats. We don't leave our nests, we make them bigger.
You're talking like a human.
We look out for our own kind, Remy. When all is said and done, we're all we've got.
I hate false modesty. It's just another way to lie.
I created a hole in the ozone over Avignon.
Look at him out there, pretending to be an idiot.
I don't like food. I love it. If I don't love it, I don't swallow.
I'd like your heart roasted on a spit.
Tell him to hit me with his best shot.
You tell us what to do and we'll get it done.
Hey, believe me, that story gets better when I tell it, okay?
Let us toast your non-idiocy.
I robbed the second-largest bank in France using only a ball-point pen.
First of all, I'm a rat. Which means, life is hard.
And second, I have a highly developed sense of taste and smell.
Look, don't be so modest, you're a rat, for Pete's sake.
Food is fuel. You get picky about what you put in the tank, your engine is gonna die. Now shut up and eat your garbage.
You found cheese? And not just any cheese. Tomme de chèvre de pays!
Great cooking is not for the faint of heart. You must be imaginative, strong-hearted. You must try things that may not work, and you must not let anyone define your limits because of where you come from. Your only limit is your soul. What I say is true, anyone can cook... but only the fearless can be great.
If you focus on what you left behind you will never be able to see what lies ahead. Now go up and look around.
Food will come, Remy. Food always comes to those who love to cook.
Stop that soup!
What better place to dream than in Paris?
I killed a man. With this thumb.
Welcome to Hell.
One look and I knew. We had the same crazy idea.
Cheap sausages dipped in batter and deep fried. You know, American.
I will make this easy to remember: keep your station clean, or I will kill you!
Mark of a chef: messy apron, clean sleeves.
How do you tell how good bread is without tasting it? Not the smell, not the look, but the sound. The crust. Listen. Oh, symphony of crackle. Only great bread sound this way.
La Ratatouille
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