Chef In Training Metaphor の小説・ストーリー

"Primarily. A table. Something that takes longer to make than it needs to." "I can make something that takes longer than it needs to," she says. "You made one thing two weeks ago," I say. "We were both surprised it worked." "I've been practicing," she says. I look at her. "You've been practicing cooking," I say. "Quietly," she says. "When you're working. It requires the same approach as most things—information, structure, attention to process." "Celeste." "What?" "That's the least romantic way anyone has ever described learning to cook for someone," I say.

Stirring sauce, adding cream, mixing spices. I clap slowly. “Chef level.” She bows slightly. “Thank you, thank you.” “I can cook too,” I say. She looks surprised. “Really?” “Yes. Survival cooking.” “What is that?” “Egg. Noodles. Rice. If I do not burn the kitchen, it is success.” She laughs. “That is not cooking. That is survival.” “Exactly.” She points a spoon at me. “No problem. I can cook for you always.” I grin. “Always?”

Once they picked up speed, he ought to have no trouble keeping the train on track. “Focus,” she reminded the sweating newbie beside her. “When Lorenzo calls an order for your station, let him know you’ve got it. If someone is working on the other half of your dish, keep him in the loop on how far along you are. Everybody communicate!” she finished with a bellow. “Yes, chef!” the kitchen bellowed back. She smiled at that, and turned back to work. For the next ten minutes, the kitchen’s chaos became the nimble dance it was meant to be.

'Chef Afonso '- Relief Cook (who doesn't have a specific job but rather fills in as and when needed at different stations) "What's happening here?" Aline, the Sous chef, asked along with her; Cipriano, Executive Sous chef, reached there. "Nothing. This new trainee is making a fuss of unnecessary thing.", Afonso pointed out as if I was some attention-gaining girl by doing anything like this. Aline glared at him and then at me. "I was just teaching her how to hold a knife." "I didn't ask your help, Chef Afonso. And I didn't like you invading my personal space.", I responded.

“Listen carefully, Cass. You have something. A spark, a talent. But it’s raw. Unpolished. Useless in its present state.” “Ummm, thanks, I guess.” “You need to train,” he continues. “At least five years. Work in kitchens everywhere you can. Big, small, fancy, simple. Learn from all of them, but don’t let anyone twist your vision. Take what you need and leave the rest.” “Five years?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. He shoots me a glare that could slice through steel. “Yes, five years. Or more. You’re not ready to make a name for yourself before that. If you try, you’ll be crushed. Learn and you’ll have something no one can take from you.”

“It’s charcoal.” “It’s crispy.” Liora leaned over the table, nose wrinkling. “I’m not eating this.” Julianna covered her mouth, failing to hide a laugh. I shouldn’t have smiled. But I did. Seraphine shot me a look. Sharp. Accusatory. “You think this is funny.” “I think,” I said carefully, “we should add kitchen skill to you training.” She scoffed. “It’s not that bad.” “Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Though young, he had already trained for twenty years. The key was his singular focus on the craft, and practice bred mastery. He mentioned learning from numerous veteran chefs, absorbing the strengths of various schools, and with his natural talent, his skills had been honed to perfection. “You only met him at the interview, so how could you possibly be his fiancée?” Delphine frowned. “Isa, don’t be fooled. “Had you known each other before, forgotten, and then rediscovered your connection, I could still believe that you were his fiancée.

Rightfully so. “Excuse me?” There was a frown on my face as I stopped to look at the boy—man—monster. “I’ve been cooking and baking ever since I was a child. I am trained by five-star chefs. I’ve perfected my craft and no one ever complained… and that’s not because I am a princess. People love my food, how dare—” “People love your cooking… even the inedible ones?” “What are you—you know what?” I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t need to explain it to you. Just leave me alone.”

Anita was busying herself helping the cook to prepare the food as she decided to make some bread as well when Maya called for her in her mind, 'I'm at the kitchen' she replied. 'What are you doing there? I thought you already gave instructions to the cook?' Maya asked in confusion. 'I can't help but help the cook. I wanted to make some bread as well so I must give them a hand to make things easier. What is it that you need?' she asked. 'I just wanted to know what you think of our training.' Maya replied. 'You know that you won't be able to perfect it in one go. It will take time, you have to think that our enemy is more powerful than you, so you shouldn't train hastily.'

"I do." He thought: that's going into the restaurant. The training component, the teaching component, the part of the business that was about developing people rather than just employing them. He thought about the line cooks who would work for him someday, the ones who would come in knowing the basics and leave knowing more than they'd arrived with. He thought: that's going into everything I build. He was happy. He thought: yes. This is what that feels like. ---