All language subtitles for N.S01E02.To Row in Milk Caramel [eng]

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The master's shirts
must be washed separately.

No more than three pieces of clothing
should go in the drum.

Turn the knob all the way to "delicate."

Put a quarter of a cap of laundry soap

in the container with a little dispenser.

But which dispenser, Celsa, my dear?

There are three!

I'll put some in all of them,
just in case.

Next, press the "start" button.

Start...

That's it!

Great!

NOTHING

Nada.

Episode two.

To row in milk caramel.

Remar en dulce de leche.

To put your energy into solving a problem
that requires a great deal of effort.

The citizens of Buenos Aires
are called "portenos."

It's almost impossible
to define a porteno.

They can be warm and friendly,
or real sons of bitches.

You can drop dead on the sidewalk
and have everybody walk by,

or they can be the noblest people
on the planet.

You can start dating a giant teddy bear
and no one will judge you.

You can live 40 years in the same place
and have no idea who your neighbor is.

You can be the happiest person
on the planet,

or you can feel like
the loneliest person in the world,

saddened because the person
who took care of you all your life

has just died,
leaving you completely helpless.

Reminds me of New York.

Grandpa, check our sales.

Buy one, get one free in nougats,

buy two, get one free
in batteries or bandages.

Do not try to sell me
any useless things, please.

Give me some bags?

We don't give away bags anymore.

Why? Why can't I get some?

Non-biodegradable bags
are prohibited by law.

And how will I carry all of this?

We've got delivery service,
how about it?

I see no other option,

unless the products levitate
and follow me home.

Delivery service, yes or no?

-Yes, my dear.
-Perfect.

The total is 38,718 and 10 cents.

Do you have a point card?

I don't know. You tell me. Do I?

No, you don't.

Will it be credit card,
debit card, or cash?

Credit.

-Okay.
-This one.

Who is Celsa Beatriz Chamorro?

My housekeeper, may she rest in peace.

I'm sorry, but the card
has to be under your name.

Let's see.
Okay, this is the one, then.

Insufficient funds.

Cash? No, right?

No. I don't have any.

Of course. Debit?

Debit! Yes. Yes!

-Okay.
-Here.

Here you go.

What do I do with this?

-The pin.
-Pin?

-Yes.
-I'll never leave this place!

-Ma'am...
-I don't have all day, you know?

The pin, four digits,
don't you remember them?

It's not that I don't remember.
I don't know.

My housekeeper used to take care of this.

If he can't pay, next person.

You're holding up the line, Grandpa.

Don't you have a digital wallet?

No, all I have is this analog wallet.

Well, if you have the Abonapp app
in your cellphone,

you can scan the QR code and then pay.

I have no cellphone, no apps, nothing.

Let's do this. You go to the ATM,
withdraw the cash,

we'll keep your stuff
and wait for you.

-Alright, Grandpa?
-Calling me "grandpa" again!

-Record him.
-I do have a daughter,

and she had children with a jerk,

so I do have grandchildren.

-But I'm not your grandpa.
-I need to ask you to calm down.

I am calm, and I'm not talking to you.

So, move along, please, move along.

And you, stop talking to me
like I'm stupid.

I'm an older man, nothing more.

Don't you touch me!

How rushed can you be?

What the hell is wrong with you?

I've spent my whole life
delegating these things

to a woman who had
the terrible idea of dying!

And you, grumpy, stop complaining.

Pregnancy does not mean impunity.

Here's my proposal, my dear.

You can stuff all of this you know where,

and I'll never come back here!

-Thanks for everything.
-You're welcome.

Ah!

Attention!

And you, grumpy, stop complaining.

Pregnancy does not mean impunity.

Here's my proposal.

You can stuff all of this...

Stop this.
How do you turn it off?

-Let's see.
-I'll never come...

Thanks for everything.

Who sent you this?

Everyone.

It seems like it's gone viral.

So, I must learn through the Internet

that you're in the middle
of a mental breakdown?

Why didn't you call me?

I'm perfectly fine.

I thought things
would get complicated without Celsa,

but, luckily, I've found this.

Let me see. What's that?

Celsa, always the good manager,

kept taking notes during 40 years

of all that is needed to keep this house

exactly as I like it.

From the fragrance I want
in the clothes that have just been ironed,

to the best month to get artichokes.

Everything, everything,
everything, everything.

She was so thorough!
I never knew she did this.

Give me that.

Look at it.

"Lay the flat sheet upside down
and fold the upper end

over the blanket
approximately 40 centimeters

so the design pattern is visible,
as the master likes it."

"Don't put too many pillows.

The master doesn't like to remove them."

The Caprice bible.

Even so, what a shitty handwriting.

I'm still trying to figure everything out,

but it's the first time in 40 years

that I don't have these vigilant eyes
behind after me,

her municipal clerk plastered-on smile
watching me all day long.

I'm free!

I can walk around butt-naked if I want to.
I can do whatever I want, whenever I want.

In a nutshell, I can be happy!

Let's do something.

Let's go get lunch.

-You can clear your mind...
-Let's do it.

But you change first.

Okay, hold this.

-What?
-I'll do the buttons, wait.

There you go.

Finish dressing up and let's go.

Tell me why it's not a good idea
to get back together.

We've got lots of affection.

We know each other well,

we have 70% of the work already done.

You know what?

You're feeling lonely
and overwhelmed,

and you're mistaking that for love.

What you need is not a girlfriend,

and much less me as your girlfriend.

What you need
is someone to make your bed.

You need a new housekeeper
who will help you get back on your feet.

Forget it.

My housekeeper's cousin just arrived
from Paraguay and is looking for work.

Give her a try. See what happens.

I'm telling you no.
Celsa is irreplaceable.

Excuse me.

The happy cows cheese platter.

I hope you like it.

-Thanks, darling.
-Excuse me!

May I ask you a question?

-Manuel...
-Tell me.

You've got two cheese platter options
in the menu.

What is the difference?

Well, we have the house cheese platter,

which is 3500 pesos,

and also the happy cows cheese platter,

which is the one you've chosen,

that has a slightly higher cost,
at 7000 pesos.

Both options let you taste
a selection of cheeses

like Morbier, Gouland,

Reblochon,

but the difference
is that the house platter

has dairy farm cheese,

while happy cows' cheeses

have a completely different
production system.

Can you explain the concept
of a "happy cow" to me?

Don't answer, dear.

They are cows that die happy, sir.

But you don't have to kill the cow
to make cheese.

Yes, you do!
For example, the Burrata.

They hang the cow, and while she agonizes,
they collect the whey.

But you can't milk a dead cow!

No. She is milked before dying.

So why would they kill her afterward?

Just out of spite?

What you're saying makes no sense, girl.

Cows are the most mistreated animal
on farms.

They take their newborns away.

Their horns are removed
with an electric device

which causes extreme pain.
They are artificially inseminated

-every two months.
-Enough about cows.

And the happy cows?
How are they milked?

Does the cow come by herself and says,

"Drink up, Jorge!
Try this milk! This is on the house!"

C'mon, don't mess with her.

Happy cows are free to roam the fields,

eat natural food, nurture their breed...

And embrace death for the cause? Is it?

They die naturally of old age.

At any rate...

-the cheese is horrible!
-Stop it, Manuel.

-You can go, my dear. Thank you!
-Thanks.

She hasn't realized.

-Excuse me.
-Yes?

Just in case, you should know,
that guy is Manuel Tamayo Prats.

He's a very well-known food critic.

Thanks.

Why don't you sell this car
if you can't drive it?

You don't know how to cook,
but you never really sold your kitchen.

Yes, but I don't pay taxes and insurance
for my kitchen.

At least learn how to drive
and get your license.

I can't learn anything else
at this point in my life.

Well, at least get rid of it.

I have a very smart Armenian friend

who is now working
in used high-class car sales.

Tito Barsami�n.
I'll give you his number later.

Mister Manuel hates
pots and pans being kept in the oven.

It grinds his gears,

or as he says, makes him depressed,

seeing bath soap bars turn cracked
or too worn from too much use...

Yes?

Mister Manuel?

Who is it?

It's Antonia.

I'm sorry to bother you, sir,
but Mrs. Graciela sent me.

She told me you were
looking for someone to work for you.

I can't understand a thing.
Can you speak slower, please?

Mrs. Graciela has sent me.

Ah! Grace! Grace sent you.

Yes. She told me you needed
a new housekeeper.

Listen, I'm very sorry
you came all the way here,

due to my friend's intrusion,
as she always does what she wants

instead of what she is told to,

but I don't need anybody.

I'm very sorry!

-No, sir, but...
-Goodbye!

For cotton shirts,
adjust the ironing press

to 160 degrees Celsius.

I can't read a thing here.
Let's leave it there.

Spray the garment with starch.

Okay, yes.

First, iron the inner side
of the collar

and then the outer one,
pressing it hard.

-Mister Manuel!
-Yes?

How are you?
Excuse me, I'm Antonia.

I don't have any clothes
for donation, sorry.

No! I'm not here for clothes,
I'm here for the job.

Oh! You're the girl that Grace sent.

-Yes.
-Did you spend the night here?

No, no, sir! I'm staying
in a pension at Constituci�n.

I bring all my stuff with me because...

they say there is
a lot of theft here in Argentina.

But I already told you
I don't need anyone.

But I do need to work, sir.

-I just need one opportunity.
-You don't understand.

I had an irreplaceable person here.

Please, let me try.
You'll see I am very useful.

-I swear, sir.
-Do you know how to read and write?

Yes, of course.

Do you have any references
from previous homes you've worked for?

No, because I just got here from Paraguay.

Okay. And what do your parents do
for work?

Nothing. They passed away
when I was a child.

I was raised by my grandmother.

Oh. So...

Do you know how to cook?

I guess I do...

a little bit!

Listen...

I'm going to give you a test.

A test?

You're going to the greengrocer's.

Good. Nice.

Rotten.

These were in the freezer.

Stale.

Molded.

A disaster.

-Do you want me to go and change them?
-No.

You have to watch out
while buying.

Greengrocers are like magicians,

trained to give you,
among the good vegetables,

other shitty ones
they couldn't sell to anyone else.

What do I do with these?

But they look good.
They don't have spots or anything.

But these are Nanicas, my dear.

You don't have to be
a banana expert to notice.

You can't cook with Ecuadorian bananas.
They are too sweet.

In this house,
we use the Cavendish Valery variant.

At most, I'll accept the Musa variant,

like the ones from Colombia,
is that clear?

Yes, sir.

Let's go to test number two.
Follow me. Come on!

This exercise

was given by a great artist
to his disciples.

A great friend of mine.

Now he lives alone in a ranch in Jujuy.
I don't know what got into him.

The thing is, at first,

his students laughed at him,

but later they understood
the great importance of this exercise.

First, you'll take out
everything that's stored in this aisle.

Everything.
Don't leave anything behind.

Then, clean all the shelves thoroughly,

and, after that, put everything back

exactly where it was before.
Understood?

-Yes, sir.
-Great.

I'll leave you to it now
and come back in half an hour.

Time... and memory!

-Yes, sir.
-Get to work!

Well, let's see.

This saffron expired two years ago.

I tried to put everything back,
and that was right there.

Time, memory, and intelligence!

If something is expired,
you have to throw it away.

-That's common sense.
-I'm sorry.

Do you know what saffron is?

No, sir. What is it?

It's a spice.

Each kilo costs 5000 euros.

And what does it taste like?

Let's see...
Its flavor is hard to describe.

Astringent and spiced,

with a bit of turmeric
and dried tomato.

Just a little bit spicy,

and a fragrance like... dry earth.

And so... do you want me to throw it away?

Next test! Let's go.

Who taught you
how to clean windows, dear?

No one.

Listen. "Don't rub forcefully,
and don't let the foam build up.

The movements have to be
linear and not circular."

What did you put in the mixture?

Glass cleaning fluid, sir.

Nothing else?

No. Is it wrong?

"Windows should be cleaned
with water and a bit of shampoo.

No bleach, grease cleaner, or alcohol.

In winter, to prevent fogging,
a final rub must be done

with water and glycerin,
drying it with a suede cloth."

I didn't know, sir, I'm sorry.

I gather there's a lot you don't know.
Go on.

She's a disaster, the Paraguayan you sent.

Don't call her that.

But she's Paraguayan!
What do you want me to say?

"Person with a Paraguayan condition?"?

Give her an opportunity.
You have impossible standards.

Celsa had 40 years
to learn all of your pet peeves.

Yes, but I don't have another 40 years
to teach her.

I'm very sorry,

and I'll hang up now
because I've got a lot to do. Goodbye!

Antonia.

Yes, sir?

Tell me how much I owe you for the day.

No. How can I charge you
if it was just a test?

Please, I insist.

Did I pass?

Well, I see you're not very intuitive.

No, naturally, you did not pass.

This is not a judgment on you as a person.

But, sir, I can learn.

You tell me how to do it, and I'll do it.

I can even memorize
those notebooks you have.

No.

I need to work, sir.

I have a daughter
who stayed in Paraguay.

She's 5 years old.

She stayed with my grandma
in Guarambar�.

She's there while I can...

save up some money
and bring her to live here with me.

Please, sir.

Let's do this.

I'll give you one last test.

But you can't work here
if you can't do this!

What is it?

Do you know how to drive, or not?

Yes, I do, but I don't have a license.

That makes two of us. Let's go.

-Where?
-It's irrelevant.

Open up.

There you go.

Let's go.

Are you sure you know how to drive, girl?

Yes, yes!

The thing is, there aren't
so many cars in my hometown.

Move, you cunt!

What's your problem,
dick face?!

Get out of the way, asshole!

Relax! Relax, dear!

Don't worry about them. Pay attention.
Look ahead. That's it.

Where to now?

Left. To the left now!

Fuck my life.

Quiet, I'll do the talking.
Open the window.

-Open it.
-Good afternoon.

Good afternoon!

Car ID, license, and insurance, please.

Two out of three, perfect.

-Two out of three, you say?
-Yes.

Car ID and insurance.

Two out of three. It's not that bad.

You don't have a license?

No, she doesn't have one.
Me neither.

The truth above all else.

-Listen, sir...
-No need to thank me.

I could lie and tell you
we were in an emergency,

or worse, try to bribe you.

Sir...

Or even call some of my friends
who work for the government

who would settle this issue in a minute,

but I prefer to be honest,
because I respect your work.

What do you say? Can we go?

Sir, are we far?

-Just follow me.
-Alright.

Son of a bitch!

You can stay here tonight.

I'm not eating anything.
But if you are hungry,

you can fix yourself something to eat.

Tomorrow I'll pay for your day's work,
and you can go.

-But, sir, please!
-No, that's it, my dear.

I know you tried hard,
but it didn't work out.

No need to go over this again.

You will find something soon.

When you do poorly on a job
after two tests,

it means you're not
qualified for that particular position.

Now when you do very,
very poorly, there may be hope.

I mean, the extremes touch each other,

and something that is so bad
can turn around and become good.

But my friend Manuel,

who is a mountain of dogmas,
would never understand this.

In that, we are very different.

In fact, perhaps my friend and I
do not have so many things in common.

In the first place,

we don't live in the same country
and we don't speak the same language.

But there are two things that unite us.

Being two old, slightly mean bastards,

and the pleasure of good food.

Hmm!

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