And it's the third try for the men's first entrée, and -- oh, there's Ramsay starting off with, "Oh, come on" as he inspects the sea bass. Undercooked. "Come ON, bro!" yells an increasingly agitated Will. "Brendan, you suck! You SUCK!" Will tells us. Don't tell us! Tell him!
Ramsay tells the blue team to stop, and then lists all the ways he which they have displeased him tonight -- the risotto, the duck, the sea bass -- and he orders all of them upstairs. "Made us look like a bunch of sissy-ass bitches, man!" laments Jonathon. Well, one could make the argument that you made yourselves look like ... well, like a bunch of sissy-ass bitches, to use your parlance.
Ramsay calls over four women to finish the job of the men, which Paul amusingly calls "the most infuriating, slap in the face, literally [sic] whipping your dick out and slapping it across my face feeling that I have ever had in my life."
So upstairs, the men smoke angrily and Will talks about how he has never been thrown out of a kitchen, and Paul is apoplectic. I think his head might literally explode. Yes, I know what the word means. THIS IS WHAT I'M SAYING. He's yelling at everybody who isn't him for not being able to cook. "We're all supposed to be professional chefs, right? So what the fuck?" yells Will at the group, and he kicks something, and he tells us that he did not come here to be made a fool of. No one does, dude. But that happens to many contestants.
After the commercial break, "the finger-pointing has begun," as the narrator tells us. Will is rapidly losing points with me due to part of his anger being due to losing to women. I wish chauvinists would pick one: either women can't cook, or it's their job to cook. Just pick one prejudice and stick with it!
Meanwhile, the women are sending out their last table, and really enjoying the fact that they got called in for mop-up duty on the men. Not for the first time, I notice that Carrie has an Anna Torv (from Fringe) thing going on. The women finish up, and Ramsay praises the job they did.
Upstairs, Will is still shouting at everybody, and Chino tells us that the testosterone needs to lay off, because the yelling is only rubbing things in to the wounds of the guys who are already fucking up. He's not wrong. The guys head downstairs to face the music (tipping over a chair and not bothering to pick it up).