A Matter of Taste (Une affaire de goût)

A MATTER OF TASTE

What will you do'?

Nicolas?

I'm talking to you.

I'm talking to you!

You fucking scared me!

- How'? - Yelling like your throat was cut!

- What did I say? - I don't know. Fuck you!

Good afternoon. gentlemen.

Here...

while you wait.

- You're new'? - I'm a temp, sir.

What are these things?

Various appetizers, all freshly made.

I don't come here to eat frozen.

I'm asking you what's in them.

What's in this?

I don't know. I can ask.

Why not taste it yourself?

Sure.

Problem, Mr. Delamont ?

No, everything's fine.

Well?

Cheese? Fish?

Not at all. It's obviously...

chopped white meat, rabbit I guess,

mixed with black olives.

The combination is exquisite. In my opinion.

Delicious.

- What's your name? - Nicolas Riviére.

Thank you, Mr. Riviére.

He has pianist's hands.

And his nose. Did you notice?

I'm not so sure.

What struck me were his eyes.

He looks intelligent.

- Dessert table 5. - What's up at table 2?

- Who's the guy'? - Delamont. A prize customer.

- Prize nutcase. - Watch it!

Show some respect!

Gentlemen...

Mr. Riviére, unless you're set on being a waiter, call me.

I may have an offer for you.

Sit down. The doctor's coming.

The bumper issue of Steamy Sex' please.

Sorry, I just sold the last one.

Will Lusty Nights do you'?

Stop fooling and help me lock up!

Where's your sense of poetry?

How nice.

Nice'? Admit it. baby. I'm your walking Prozac.

Your sunshine on a shitty day.

- Your Romeo... - Okay. Shakespeare.

Bring that in before we get soaked!

See him in prison?

No.

Visits aren't allowed at this stage.

Sorry. It's the rules.

Why not'?

I'm sure I can help him.

The best way you can help him

is by helping me to understand what happened.

I'm freezing!

Let's see.

- The wet dog look suits you. - "Wet bitch", you mean?

I want to go home and change.

Sure. Or we could grab a bite...

- You'll nurse me if I'm ill? - Promise.

Guess what.

I had a call from a Mr. Flavert.

Frédéric Delamont wants to see me tomorrow.

The guy from the restaurant? Never.

- Why? He's not the Pope. - You know who he is'?

Sure. Delamont International. shaving cream, all that.

Mr. Big Ego.

Mr. Big Bucks, you mean.

I read about him in L'Express.

- You're into tycoons? - Not at all!

To me, they're like murderers.

One thing I know about him. he's weird.

I have to have a medical before we meet.

You're Mr. Delamonfs private doctor'?

That's correct.

He must be a tough customer.

I'm guessing. I don't know him.

Lie still and be quiet. I'm recording.

A Japanese battleaxe.

The Samurai used them to butcher each other.

Imagine the mess.

You're punctual. I like that.

Dr. Rossignon sent me your results.

They're fine... or almost.

"Bronchial trachea distended by tobacco abuse."

You smoke a lot'?

It depends. A pack or more. sometimes two a day.

- How tall are you'? - 1 metre 76.

I knew it. Come here.

Turn your back.

Without my heels. we're exactly the same height.

Weight'?

7O kilos.

I Weigh 76. I'll have to diet!

- Shoe size'? - 42.

Amazing!

What work do you have for me'?

I'd like you to be my taster.

Your taster?

Yes, I know.

I have René, my personal chef.

His food is absolutely safe. But I need someone like you

for my business meals.

This will do as an ashtray.

First, you'll shield me from any food containing cheese

or fish.

I can't stand them. An allergy.

See'? It's easy.

And after that?

Not so fast.

I'll take you on trial for 3 months.

At 35.000 francs. Fair enough?

Why me'?

Physically. you're ideal.

Not only your looks. but your aura.

Mysterious things. auras.

I hand-picked

several candidates. All rejected.

Too tall, too small...

Their hands. He was very sensitive to hands.

He hated chubby fingers.

And mouths. of course.

One man had it all. Height. weight. hands, smile...

but his lips were too thin for Mr. Delamont.

Not "greedy" enough.

You make it sound normal to hire a taster.

Did it never strike you as...

Odd'?

He had some strange ideas,

but was a remarkable man.

Of course.

And Nicolas Rivière ?

I always thought he was a squirt

From day one, in the restaurant.

He had a phoney smile.

Read it carefully. Each word counts.

I'm paying you to be on 24-hour call. I need to reach you day and night.

- Night? - I mean it. 24 hours a day.

Nome paragraph 7 A.

It binds you to secrecy. Too bad you're not deaf-and-dumb.

I-low far have you got?

Paragraph 10.

I can't believe this.

You can't make me quit smoking overnight.

I can't?

It intrudes on my private life.

Pity. I guess that's that.

Your tarred-up taste buds are no use to me.

- I'll try. - Not good enough.

I need a guarantee you'll stop.

You'll have me watched?

Not you. Your lungs.

Rossignon will X-ray them monthly.

The last one. Before the gallows.

You'll be tailored at my expense.

My car will pick you up at 8 tomorrow.

I have a dinner engagement.

I look forward to seeing you work.

Stained glass, maybe?

It reminds me of Mexico. Beatrice, to be precise.

We met there. She was guiding a group of elderly tourists.

We've been together ever since.

So to speak.

Try the next picture.

You think I'm crazy?

I'm here to understand.

To help you understand what happened.

I have to memorize everything that's said at his business meals.

He's a weird guy.

Neurotic, I'd say.

Smoke'?

I have to quit.

Why, is he anti-smoking?

No, but you've heard me in the morning.

Even I'm disgusted.

So?

Fancy me?

Nicolas.

Look at me.

Don't get trapped, okay'?

Trapped? How?

I don't know. The money...

The comfort...

Going soft in the head...

You know me.

I'm just scouting it out.

Could be fun.

This is a real job for big pay. It's different.

It's simple. If I become a creep. reject me.

Your carriage awaits.

Shit...

I've got a hard on.