The Hundred-Foot Journey – Quotes
Hassan: My school was my home in Mumbai and my mother was my teacher.
Hassan’s Mom: To cook you must kill; you must make ghosts—ghosts that live on in every ingredient.
Customs Agent: We just need to establish that you aren’t going to Europe for an arranged marriage.
Mahira: No, it’s just me. Nothing in my family is arranged.
Hassan: The vegetables [in England], they have no soul.
Papa: I am no mechanic, but I think it’s something to do with the brakes.
Papa: Wherever the family is, that is the home.
Mansur: The French don’t even eat Indian food. They have their own food. It is famous all over the world.
Papa: Forgive the silence, Marguerite. I think my family is afraid they died in the accident and now they have gone to heaven.
Papa: [Mama told me,] Brakes break for a reason.
Madame Mallory: This is private property.
Papa: Do you own it?
Madame Mallory: No.
Papa: Oh, then you are trespassing, too!
Papa: Madame, asking for a discount doesn’t mean I’m poor; it means I’m thrifty!
Mansur: It has a Micheline Star!
Papa: I know. I saw it. Twinkle, twinkle. So what?
Mansur: There is already a restaurant, across the street. A hundred feet. We measured.
Madame Mallory: In this restaurant, cuisine is not an old, tired marriage. It is a passionate affair!
Hassan: I hear the Madame is not happy for the competition.
Marguerite: Madame is never happy.
Papa: Welcome to our humble abode, Madame, and thank you for barging in.
Mansur: It’s our tandoori oven, chicken tika and, sometimes small children… kidding!
Madame Mallory: Well, if your food is anything like your music, I suggest you turn it down.
Hassan to Mahira: Smile. You got good teeth. Just smile.
Restaurant Guest: Is it a wedding over there?
Madame Mallory: A funeral. The death of good taste.
Hassan to Marguerite: You’re lucky. The smell of pigs’ feet and vinegar reminds me of my father.
Hassan: No, papa, this is not right.
Papa: She did it to us, we do it to her.
Madame Mallory, commenting on the French national anthem: There are other ways to be French. Liberty. Equality. Fraternity.
Hassan: Not enough cardamom.
Madame Mallory: Not enough gratitude.
Mahira: You know they hate us. Doesn’t that bother you?
Hassan: Madame, I would like to make your omelet, but I need your help, to break the eggs.
Madame Mallory: Arrogance.
Hassan: A chef must lead.
Madame Mallory: You have it. Your pigeon had it too.
Hassan: I know.
Hassan: Don’t you want me to have classical training?
Papa: India is notclassical? We are the oldest people in the world!
Madame Mallory: It’s called subtlety of flavor.
Papa: It’s called meanness of spirit. If you have a seasoning, use it, don’t sprinkle it!
Madame Mallory: I will report you for loud music.
Papa: I will report you for child abduction!
Papa: Indian cannot become French, and French cannot become Indian.
Madame Mallory: Mr. Kadam, I believe I just spent the entire day wiping those words off your walls.
Madame Mallory: I am waiting for Hassan Kadam, or death, whichever comes first.
Madame Mallory: But why change a recipe that’s 200 years old?
Hassan: Because, Madame, maybe 200 years is old enough.
Papa: How is he doing?
Madame Mallory: Well, why don’t you cross the road sometime and see for yourself?
Papa: I’m afraid I can’t afford your exorbitant prices.
Madame Mallory: They’re called critics. They’re like restaurant gods.
Papa: They always call? At 7:0? Every year?
Madame Mallory: Yes.
Papa: Then they are cruel to make you wait.
Madame Mallory: Yes, cruel. Like gods.
Cuisine in France is a secret society with no secret.
Papa about Hassan: He looks like a bloody terrorist.
Madame Mallory: That’s the press. They twist everything.
Papa: And he does nothing to untwist them?
Madame Mallory: We did not pick flowers. We were looking for mushrooms and we found flowers.
Papa: Crazy French woman.