Chef Lovers Novels & Stories

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.

"No, Your Majesty. I do not." The accountant's expression turned incredulous. He had never imagined that someone like me—a perpetual scapegoat—would one day resist. Trembling, he fell to her knees before the queen and pointed at me with bitter fury. "Your Majesty, we truly come from the same place. We know each other." The queen glanced at me with a faint, amused smile, as if her interest in me had deepened. Rising to her feet, she said, "Little chef, I am very pleased with your skill. Since you claim not to know him, I will believe you.

Mo Ting munched on his chicken piece, it was indeed much more delicious than the cooking of his family chef .He didn't know why though- his chef was a first class five star retired chef and his cooking was on par with many notable culinarian . But something about Si Yi Yan 's mother's cooking was different - he had tasted both Ye Mufan and Si Yi Yan 's favourites and realised that Jiang Ning have actually paid really close attention to both of their preferences .

‘In case you don’t have anyone to cook for you’ I said, giving him a flirtatious wink. ‘You need help with the dishes?’ he offered. ‘No I’ll be fine, I’ll just load it all in the dishwasher’ ‘Let me help’ he offered. ‘How come you cook the food and clean up afterwards too… isn’t that against chef code?’ ‘Well my brother Jamie, the chef, is notorious for using too many dishes when he cooks so my mother decided that whoever cooks has to do the dishes. It encouraged us all to use the minimum amount of dishes possible. Jamie still uses the most, but he pays other people to do his dishes for him now.’

‘Some people find it odd that The Blue Thunder Foundation encourages the wearing of uniform when its members are not on official business,’ he said as they passed a small haberdashery. ‘Some people?’ Beatrice asked. ‘Girls,’ he said. ‘They find it a bit geekish. And when I tell them that I cook as well, you can imagine where I start to sit on the nerd-o-meter.’ ‘I aim high on the nerd-o-meter,’ Beatrice said. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with a boy being able to cook. Most of the prominent TV chefs are men.’ ‘Well, I guess that makes me a lucky guy,’ he said.

To say the least, this was the most expensive and exotic assortment of dishes Elena had beheld in such a great amount. And her first thought was the epic scene when, during the lunch, Chelsea had ridden them all in a rollercoaster and then dropped them suddenly with the statement: "Can I get the recipe for this dish?" Elena smiled. Chelsea, the wild one. Now that she is pregnant... Well, Elena didn't want to think about that now. She turned to the chief chef who was standing aside, overseeing the activities of the swift. He was a confident, middle aged man, who loved to talk about his artistry.

Chelsea can, but barely. “The famous chef,” Matt stops working, looking at me incredulously, as if I’ve grown another head. “He’s the British guy, has a million different cooking shows, constantly screaming…you haven’t seen the memes?” I stare blankly, shaking my head. None of what he says ringing a bell.

He stood in his crisp black suit in the gleaming foyer, a grand staircase ascending behind him. "Alfred," Damon cheerfully said, patting the man's shoulder. "How have you been?" He's one of the best chefs in their kitchen. Actually, the only one who's able to handle his dear mother's diet fads and run along with them. That's why Alfred has been working for over fifteen years with them. Quite a feat. "Very well, sir. Care for some ceviche?"

“A chef is someone who cooks.” “Can you cook?” Not so much but I nod. With that intense look, I dare not disappoint. My reply pleases him, he pushes the throw pillow separating us so our knees touch. “Can I call you a baker chef?” My chest vibrates with laughter, I tell him, “You can call me whatever you want, Champ.”