The Best Anton Ego Quotes

[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: 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.

Anton: 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.

Anton: You are Monsieur Linguini?
Linguini: Uh, hello.
Anton: 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: 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: [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: I don't *like* food; I LOVE it. If I don't love it, I don't *swallow*.
[Linguini swallows nervously]
Anton: [turns to leave] I will return tomorrow night with high expectations. Pray you don't disappoint me.

Mustafa: [taking Ego's order] Do you know what you'd like this evening, sir?
Anton: 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: Perspective. Fresh out, I take it?
Mustafa: I am, uh...
Anton: 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: [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.

Anton: [running his finger through leftover sauce and licking it] I can't remember the last time I asked to give my compliments to the chef. And now I find myself in the extraordinary position of having my waiter *be* the chef!
Linguini: Thanks, but... I'm just your waiter tonight.
Anton: Then who do I thank for the meal?
Linguini: Uh... excuse me a moment?
[he skates into the kitchen; he and Colette have a brief, muffled, heated argument; Colette and Linguini both come out]
Anton: [to Colette] You must be the chef...
Colette: [cutting him off] If you wish to meet the chef, you will have to wait, until all the other customer have gone.
Anton: [settling back to wait] So be it.

Linguini: Can I interest you in a dessert this evening?
Anton: Don't you always?
Linguini: Which one would you like?
Anton: [to Remy, through the kitchen window] Surprise me!

[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: 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.