Chef Fang Novels & Stories

She thought it was to show the authentic version of this restaurant. Jessica glanced at the seafood in front of Blake and put down the tableware. "Don't you like Chinese food? But you seem to be very familiar with this restaurant." Blake said, "I'll occasionally change my taste. Is there a problem? Besides, I just said that the chef was originally the president of Italy. The Ferguson Group has a cooperation with his former boss. Of course, I'm familiar with him." Jessica understood and lowered her head to continue eating. Then she heard the man's voice coming slowly from the opposite side. "Jessica, now that you have something to eat, are you not going to use your brain?"

My tongue instinctively began to salivate, as if it recognized the aroma even before my eyes had opened. Before me was a steaming hot bowl of Mrs. Dave's renowned spicy soup. Mrs. Dave, a talented African chef, had married and helped her husband run his family restaurant so he could focus on his producer dreams. Over the years, she had expertly woven an array of foreign and African dishes into the menu, creating mouthwatering offerings that people like me simply couldn't resist.

Two pack warriors took hold of the chains, leading me along as we made our way to the pack house, where I would be confined in a room. "I'm hungry!" I growled, unable to contain my frustration, as Damien made to leave. He turned to me, his gaze meeting mine with unwavering determination. "You will be fed," he replied calmly, without a trace of mockery or condescension. And without another word, he left the room. A short while later, pack servants arrived with a dish of food. Anticipating a meal of meat, I was taken aback when I saw that it contained only vegetables. Disappointment and anger welled up within me, and I contemplated attacking them out of frustration.

I say to Christopher when the room remains silent. "Ah, hello. Oh, Mr D'Amico, Mr Rossi. Good afternoon." The chef says as he walks in, demolishing the tension in the air. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth D'Amico, his wife in three days." "Magnifique." I flinch at the thick French accent. Why would an Italian hire a French chef? Don’t they favour their own cuisine? "I am Étienne Philippe, the second chef; what is it that you want me to make?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't your head chef just quit two days ago? Something about how he couldn't continue to work for you? Because he couldn't stand how you had no respect for the culinary experience whatsoever?" I spared Emelia a glance and watched as the woman literally vibrated with fury. But before she could say a thing, Maria continued on. This woman really had no brakes. "And Frank, who is with the Food Forager, by the way. One of the top food critics in the world, in case you didn't know, Emelia," Maria casually threw out to Emelia like it was nothing and continued on her blaze of annihilation. "Didn't you guys release an article a couple of days ago about the second restau

They both looked up to see her coming towards them and immediately took a somewhat serious stance. "Mrs. Cagliari welcome to the kitchen. Currently as Mr. Cagliari has ordered, the menu for this evening's client dinner is underway" Tara informed her, and the chef besides her nodded calmly in agreement. "This is the resident chef, Mr. Frank. He is the one in charge of running the kitchen and arranging the daily menu. Mr Frank this is Mrs. Ashleigh, Mr. Cagliari's wife, be sure to carry out her instructions as well" Tara explained and his eyes lit up in acknowledgement. He quickly wiped his hands on his apron and extended his hand to shake hers.

Chef beamed when he saw me walk in and made a huge fuss about my outfit. “You’ve moved up in the world, Cheri!” He exclaimed, and I smiled at the dear man. He wasn’t French at all, but Eli’s father sent the man to France for some cooking courses and now Chef imagined himself to be French! I softly explained what happened upstairs and he gasped. “But Cheri! They should have told me you were here for lunch! I would have prepared your favourite meal!” He exclaimed, and I could see Eli trying to look the other way as if it wasn’t his fault.

Maddy asked, installing fear in little Meg as she shook her head quickly. “Smack her ass, then we would give you a smack down.” I said, and we laughed. I took an apron and tied it on my waist, I guess I haven’t said this before, but I’m a professional chef, something I call my natural talents. I prepared five new different dishes before taking orders and serving tables and, true to Maddy’s word every male folks came in with an obnoxious smile on their face, after serving the last table, I removed the apron and sat on a chair with a bottle of cold water.

Fangio paused, glancing at Matt briefly before continuing, “the gang you are in... I want to hire them all, but you are what I need now.” Holding in his laugh at Clyde’s arrogance, Matt stared at Elijah and then at the Lobster Frittata, a two thousand dollars breakfast that includes ounces of Sevruga caviar, an entire lobster, six fresh eggs, cream, chives, and lobster sauce, served over a bed of Yukon gold potatoes… even Clyde looked shocked when Elijah ordered them like his wallet had gotten hurt a little. “You want to own me... Hmmm, I am listening.” Elijah stated slowly, placing both hands on the table, watching Mr. Fangio closely, waiting for his response. “What’s your price?”