Ego, the evil restaurant critic, softens at the taste of gourmet ratatouille, and we are both transported back to our youth. He, galloping into his childhood kitchen to hot stew; me, bundled in blankets in my living room as my brother and I watched our favourite film.
His vampire facade (and his ego) softens, and a beret signifies his newfound satisfaction with life. And Remy, obsessed with being unratlike, is reabsorbed into the clan with a new appreciation of familial support, whilst the rats equally support their black sheep (or blue rat).
For me, rather than Linguini or Collette, the kitchen is the real love interest with its bubbling pots and montages of Remy tossing spices into pots. How does cartoon food always look so delicious?
It’s full of nostalgia for the golden years of Disney Pixar: Cars, WALL-E, Up. It turns out I was only 6 when Ratatouille was released, but the cartoon wisps of steam still warm me like they did the first time.