Audrey | Ep. 4 of 6 | Feat. Kim Shaw | WIGS

Uploaded by wigs on 09.11.2012

Good girl. Stay hungry.
So, yesterday I stole an expensive truffle and hid it in my coat pocket and today I was fine dining with the very man I took it from.
I think you should start shadowing Julie at work.
Ian, she hates me. She hates everybody. I wanna replace her. You know, eventually.
Where did you go to culinary school?
You grow up watching your mother cook? What nationality was she?
Uh, dead?
When I was sixteen, I came home from my first day of junior year to find my mother had been shot four times on the couch.
You want to know what she was holding in her hand?
A dry of piece of wheat toast.
Now see, you have no control over the last. All you have control over is meal.
You asked why I wanted to become a chef?
Because if I got shot four times by a jilted ex-boyfriend on a casual Monday afternoon,
I better be holding something a lot better than a dry piece of wheat toast.
It’s actually the last image I have of her.
Limp. Wheat. Toast.
Wow. Audrey I…
I’m sorry. I’m just messing with you, Ian.
I don’t have no sob story. I’m just a poor girl from buttfuck Arizona with chubby fingers and expensive taste.
Jesus, Audrey. You got my heart beating there for a second. Don’t do that to a man with high blood pressure in his fifties.
For the crème au caramel.
Caramel. Car. A. Mel.
See that’s what I don’t understand.
How can something so bad for you be so good?
Salt, fat, sweet. It’s the taste bud’s simile for the perfect man.
Have you found him?
Not yet.
No, I came close with a woman once, though.
Come back to my house after dinner.
Woah, horsey. He was about to eat for free. And he didn’t even know if I was a delicacy.
I don’t think so.
Ask me to come over again. Okay?
Come on in. Let me get your coat.
Um, yeah. Thanks.
Um…can I use your bathroom?
Sure. Straight up the stairs. Can’t miss it. Oh, just can I...thanks, thanks.
I’m up here!
Come on down! I wanna show you the kitchen!
Come on. One second!
The first rule of baking is to measure everything carefully. Not to go off the map.
To play by the rules and not just mix feelings and sugars and throw them into the oven and hoping it all comes out moist.
Well, here it was. Mismeasured and in the oven about to come out half-baked. And all wrong.