Chef Fang Novels & Stories

His voice had an obvious hint of animosity. “I hate having to stay for detention on Fridays.” He said, standing. Am I seriously the only one that feels the negative vibes coming off him? Suddenly, a pencil whizzed by my face like a bullet. I looked up to see Mr. Quinn sprinting towards me, his eyes glowing blue and his face full of anger as he swung at me. I rolled out of my desk and kicked it at him. He jumped over it with ease. I knew something wasn’t right. My teacher is a vampire, which makes me wonder who else is one as well.

"I apologise, Miss Sophie." Miss Sophie's stern gaze fell upon me and then the pot as she strolled towards me. My heartbeat hastened as my chest rose and fell beneath my shirt. Miss Sophie, the head chef, was a woman with an afro hairstyle and a plump figure. She looked at my skilled evasive moves with some pity. Pulled my hand away from my face slowly as it fell to my side. "Well then, since you say it's just a taste, please tell me what you think," she said.

What was it with everyone having their phones on them all the time? “Looks like you’re famous, Monster.” Someone boomed out a laugh from the back. Whoever it was lost in the shadows. “You have your own website and everything.” “I think they might be here for you.” Fang said tightly, and my attention was drawn straight back to him. “Me? What the fuck did I do?” “Oh, I don’t know, videotaped a police chief's daughter and leaked the pictures to the press?” Fang's voice dripped with sarcasm.

Ethan was startled, and wondered what was wrong. Michael exclaimed, "Why does this dish taste so much like Chef Xander’s cooking?" Chef Xander was Xander Stork, whose name was renowned in the culinary world. He was a master chef who had inherited the culinary skills of several generations, and was known for cooking meals that left diners in awe. Even Ethan, who didn't pay much attention to the culinary world, knew about him. Xander had made a name for himself, and he wasn't willing to stay in the kitchen every day. Therefore, he only came to La Maison once a month, on the eighth. Every time he came to cook, the restaurant would be fully booked.

he said, entranced by the way her lips curled around her cup and her face. Her smile broadened. "I'm glad to hear it," she said. "You're not too bad yourself, Monsieur Chef." His heart fluttered, and he resisted the urge to brag and tell her his actual chef name: Le Fromage. He was avoiding the limelight while he could, even if he could use it to impress people. He would simply have to show her sometime. That reminded him about cooking, and that he still needed to do some of that for M. Peluche. Who was still in the prison on this side of the city. And he lived on the other side.

There was also ground pork so it was perfect for the dish I thought I could cook. I cooked pork sinigang and pork lumpia. After more than an hour, I was able to cook a dish and only rice was missing. I was even more hungry when I smelled the delicious smell of pork sinigang. Since I was already hungry, I ate dinner first before them. It was only right that I had finished eating and had put away the tools I used when Felix, who is the chef cook, suddenly arrived in the kitchen and approached me angrily. "Who told you that you can use my kitchen? I'm the only one who has the right to cook in this kitchen," he spoke to me with a sharp look.

while glaring. "My name isn't Elsa," I utter." My name is Cherry". "It isn't my job to help you, Omega," Jack replies and his words are so full of contempt that I almost cry. He says it as his final words to me before he walks away. "Good night, sis," Henry sneers. "Sleep soundly." Then he closes the door, leaving me alone with just a glimmer of moonlight.

“Please tell me this is the call where you fake my death and fly me to an island with no screaming chefs.” Her soft laugh crackled through the speaker. “You sound terrible.” “I feel worse.” She paused. “Tell me what’s going on.” “It’s my head chef. Conrad Wells. I swear he’s on a mission to destroy me. Not my grades. Me.” I exhaled. “It’s not kitchen stress. It’s something deeper. I can feel it. The way he looks at me… like I’m not a student to him, just a reminder of someone he hates..”

An hour had passed. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Chloe,” the chef said, giving me a small bow of gratitude. I smiled at him. He was one of the best chefs in the country. I’d recognized him instantly from a magazine I once flipped through out of boredom. If he was here, it meant one of the council of witches had spent an enormous amount of money just to have him prepare a few dishes for this ridiculous brunch. The last server picked up the tray, and I followed him, holding my head high.

However, in this situation, the only thing ringing in my head was, Please don't ban us from this restaurant, pretty please. My heart nearly stopped when a short, older man with a quirky hairstyle came out from the back. The pristine white chef's jacket he wore proudly declared his title: JR, owner of the restaurant renowned for its authentic Japanese cuisine. This claim felt almost arrogant, but was undoubtedly justified by the delicious food we had.