Chef Lovers Novels & Stories

Judy said immediately as she pulled Phoebe while acting cute and pretending to be pitiful. In the end, Alex said, “Since we’re already here, let’s make do with the dinner!” Such words made Richard infuriated. What did he mean by ‘let’s make do with the dinner’? The chefs here were all scouted from the high price of Michelin. Each of them was master level and the yearly salary was more than ten million dollars. ‘I’m afraid that insignificant people like you have even seen those dishes before.’ Surprisingly, Phoebe nodded her head and said, “You’re right. Anyone outside who cooks the dishes is no match for you, the real chef.”

Her chef’s whites were immaculate even at the end of a fourteen-hour shift; her knife work was surgical, her sauces legendary. He was the rising star at Atelier Rouge across town—thirty-one, tattooed forearms peeking from rolled sleeves, dark curls tied back with a bandana, a mouth that smirked more often than it smiled. His food was bold, aggressive, built to provoke. Critics called him a genius; older chefs called him a showboat. Emilia called him an asshole. Publicly. Frequently. Tonight they were forced to share the same space.

A grand chandelier hung from the center of the dining room, illuminating the tables, each adorned with a centerpiece of fresh flowers. It was a good job as just a waiter. However, I’d catch myself staring longingly at the open kitchen. It was always a hive of activity, with the chef moving with precision and grace in his pristine white jacket. Stainless steel counters gleamed under the bright overhead lights, a controlled chaos of sizzling pans and the rhythmic chop of knives. At the helm of this culinary mastery was Chef Pierre, renowned for his cultural fusion dishes.

The Michelin-star chefs stood on both sides, all looking at Cordelia in anticipation, hoping to be picked. Cordelia was puzzled. “Grandpa?” “What cuisine would you like to have today?” Liam asked with a grin. Cordelia winced, looking at the chefs of different ethnicities and nationalities. There were chefs from Chaiseland, Feranche, Etalia, Ilbon, Taeguk, Asperia… Liam had basically gotten all the cuisines in the whole world into his house. Cordelia had trouble deciding what to eat. While she mulled over the options, Zephyr had gone through the menu and placed it on the servant’s tray gracefully.

Her middle name should have been disappointment for as much of it as she’d experienced in her life so far. They emerged in the kitchen as the dinner rush was just beginning. She looked at Leo for an explanation, but all he gave her was another of his gorgeous smiles. It softened the blow of her disappointment. But all too soon, a chef in a crisp uniform approached them. Beneath his hat was a glimpse of black hair peppered with grey, he was stout, had dark eyes, and a broad nose. “Buona Serta Pedere Dubois. Sono lo chef Lombardi. Ho sensitio che sei interesssato all’apprendimento delle arti culinare.”

Alpha Stone turned to Alaric. "I thought you said it's not about the theatrics. Clearly, the theatrics have captured the hearts of these people." Alaric let out a dry, hard laugh. "Your chefs have no theatrics compared to mine. Should I remind you of the first round? My Chief Royal Chef used wine to make fire erupt from the pans. In the second round, she froze, someone bled, and they gave us a show. In all of it, she still allowed the other chefs to shine. Though it is still about the taste. And we both know we can't argue about that."

"No. You’ve got to be kidding me." Raphaël gave her a charming nod. "Guilty as charged. But I assure you, no favoritism. Unless she botches her ganache." I shot him a look. "Not a chance, Professor." "Then you’ll do just fine," he said, straightening. "I must say, I’m honored to have a seasoned chef in my class." Then he added with a wink, "Especially one who already knows the hidden gems of Paris." I tried to suppress a laugh. Across the room, Chloé narrowed her eyes at us.

I should be making the orders and also be the one reprimanding her I thought. She bowed slightly before turning to leave and I watched her sway her hips all the way. "She knows how to cook, I will have to ask her to teach me," Leah said to no one in particular and I rolled my eyes. Leah was very terrible at cooking. But she's right, Olivia can cook. Did she attend a culinary school or something? I had taken a mouthful of avocado toast and it was marvelous. "Is this the new chef?" My dad asked as he ate another mouth full of avocado toast.

Jo admitted honestly. “Damn, man. I already know who pampers her palate.” Matthew announced, laughing. “Not me, Matt. It's all Claude's fault. He pampers all of us, culinarily.” Patrick confessed. “Yeah… he is the real MasterChef between all of us.” Jo revealed the facts. “I must necessarily take you for his chicken stewed in wine, Chateaubriand tenderloin, and goose livers, known as foie gras.”

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.