Chef Off Ratatouille Novels & Stories

I said, my voice higher than usual. “Right,” he said smoothly, as though he hadn’t noticed my slip. “Can you eat yourself?” “Yeah,” I replied, avoiding his eyes. He handed me one of the bowls and reached for the laptop again. “So what do you wanna watch?” I thought for a moment, searching for something light, something that wouldn’t twist my insides more than they already were. “Hmm… Ratatouille.” His lips twitched upward. “A classic. Great choice.” As he set up the movie, I took a tentative bite of the congee. Just like the chicken soup earlier, it was absolutely delicious, the rice silky and the broth comforting, the ginger warming me from the inside. It seemed Rayne had inherited Marina’s

"Oh." He sighed. "I think I'm going to be late thanks to your Ratatouille boyfriend." "Hey! His name is Keith, he's not a rat and not my boyfriend either!" "Whatever. Just tell that stupid cook that if this happens ever again then he'll have to start looking for a new job." "Keith is not stupid! He's a really talented chef. And you don't own this place so you can't have a say in who works here and who is fired. " I crossed my arms over my chest and regarded him appraisingly.

she shrugged, and then added, “Why are we whispering?” I clear my throat awkwardly, she wasn’t whispering, I was, and he heard us now anyway. Walking into the kitchen like I was not staring at him from outside like a creep, I wear my apron and smile at him. “What should I do chef?” He had been peeling the potatoes, he looked up at me, a smile on his face, “Mash the potatoes.” I pout immediately, I waned to help with the salmon, I didn’t watch any videos about potatoes.

“Of course. I can keep the ratatouille heated for as long as you need.” I relocate to the kitchen and when Scott emerges five minutes later, he’s buttoning up his jeans. My eyes are drawn to his crotch. As his hands work their way upwards, I catch a glimpse of his flat, toned stomach and the hairs at the top of his trousers. A wave of heat spreads through my body. I turn my back and decisively stir the ratatouille. Scott’s praise for the meal is so lavish, that you’d think he’d dined at a Michelin star restaurant.

She watched the large cast-iron pot intently. "I am building the flavor base," Aurora continued. "Onions, celery, carrots." Mirepoix, Lily wrote in neat block letters. Aurora smiled faintly. "Yes. Mirepoix. Did your father teach you the French culinary terms?" Lily nodded once. "Did he teach you the exact ratios?" Aurora challenged gently. Two to one to one, Lily wrote back immediately. "You have a very good memory, Lily." I remember everything, the child wrote.

The last customers had left hours ago, but the kitchen at La Belle Époque still hummed with residual heat from the ovens. Mia, 24, wiped down the final station, her short black waitress skirt riding up her thighs as she stretched to reach the top shelf. The only other person left was Chef Alexandre, 35, tall, broad-shouldered, with dark tousled hair, tattoos peeking from his rolled-up sleeves, and that dangerous, charismatic smile that made every female staff member weak.

Then I noticed that one of the chefs took the sauce to the Rotisseur (responsible for roasting meat and mixing it with the sauces). 'Sauce is prepared; you can taste it and then use it for roasting meat.' 'Ahhh. You're the best. I don't think I need to taste it.' I heard their conversation. "Hey beautiful, instead of working, what are you doing by turning your head in all directions?" I heard someone's voice, and I turned my head toward the source of the voice. I rolled my eyes, hearing 'BEAUTIFUL' from his mouth. "Just looking around to see how people around here handle everything.", I responded.

Yakov countered, unable to resist. I crossed my arms, feigning annoyance. "You're impossible. I'm demonstrating how to cook arroz caldo, what do you mean guard it in cooking?" I asked, exasperated. "Wait so you don't cry," he said tauntingly, but I just rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove. I grabbed the bottle of patis. "Add patis, for those who are annoying!" I sprinkled the fish sauce with exaggerated force, letting a few drops splash dramatically into the simmering pot.

She was so focused in cooking she did not even notice him grinning at her. Raphael decided to join her, when he stepped into the kitchen, he gestured for the cook to leave. He appeared a bit displeased because he was interrupted while doing his work but he knew better than to argue with a Desroches. He sneaked up behind her and lowered his face just behind her ear.

I curiously asked, placing my elbows on the counter. "It's called Ratatouille. Trust me you'll love it," He answered, his eyes focused on his hands. "Yummy-like in the movie?" I questioned, letting out a small laugh. Setting his knife down, he looked up at me and gave me a confused look. "The animated film with the little rat that cooks?" I tried to explain but his puzzled expression remained. "What are you talking about?" He asked, turning around and tending to the pot on the stove.