Limp, lame, implausible, though at least pleasant to look at. A family of Indians open a restaurant in a small French village which already has a Michelin-starred restaurant, owned and run by Helen Mirren. After a hesitation of perhaps 20 seconds by the locals the restaurant is soon filled with happy French customers who have all embraced Indian food; it takes another minute for Mirren's sour hater to reveal that she has a heart of gold and wants no underhand tricks against the Indians (her chef had just tried to burn them out, in the worst misunderstanding of managerial directions since Thomas A'Beckett).
The Indian's golden-boy son becomes a fabulous celebrated French cook but nevertheless leaves celebrity in Paris to work in Mirren's provincial restaurant. There's almost no racism, no commercial competition, no family rows that last longer than a nano-second, and absolutely no tension. It did make me quite hungry watching it, though.
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