Chef Off Ratatouille Novels & Stories

A lot of people are watching us from the window outside, some of them are culinary students as well but they are higher level than us. “I can smell the air of France.” Lunan said while he’s pretending like he’s smelling something. I laughed out loud when he sang the french song, Le Festin, from Ratatouille. This event is very important since we are a candidate that has an opportunity to go to France. My professor instructed us that we only have 1 hour and 30 minutes to do the cooking. Lunan breathed heavily. I guess he is nervous, but I trust my partner really well. We can both do this.

While he’s cooking, Harriet watched him in awe. He has a face that might be suit for a barista, but now, he looks like a handsome chef who is running his small restaurant all by himself. Watching Cassius draining the pasta, Harriet thought that he probably learned how to cook because he’s living by himself. ‘It must be hard being alone,’ Harriet said inwardly. Cassius added the meat sauce. In silent, he mixed the sauce and pasta together for thirty seconds, stirring continuously, to allow the sauce to coat the pasta evenly. Then, he served two plates, topped with the freshly grated Parmesan cheese.

Drew facepalmed. "Parce que tu és le seul fantome que je connaisse qui soit un chef (Because you're the only ghost whom I know is a chef)" Calvin replied. “Wrong, Mason is also a chef. Why not ask him to prepare a dish for you?“ “Nope, I'll pass. I like to have my head intact even as a ghost," Calvin pouted "How are you even sure she has all the ingredients needed for preparing a Coq Au Vin Blanc?“

The chef went on to prepare other ingredients, practically offering one-to-one instruction, deliberately slowing down each frying, steaming, and stir-frying step. Two hours later, the chef was drenched in sweat. This was far more stressful than cooking for a banquet—or even teaching apprentices. When Ella arrived home, she smelled food. She saw Tiesto’s shoes at the entrance. So he was cooking? She clearly remembered that last time, he didn’t even know how to separate corn kernels. “Mr. Sterling? Is that you?” Tiesto turned to the chef on screen. “That’ll be all for today.” He ended the call.

She hurriedly said, "Sally just made us food because she's bored and has nothing better to do. She isn't trying to get Rhonda dismissed." Suzanne quickly flashed Sally a bright smile. Since Sally liked putting up the act of being gentle and capable, Suzanne would gladly help her with that. "Ms. Hoffis, it's true that you make delectable food. I'd like to have some coq au vin, bouillabaisse, and ratatouille tomorrow. That wouldn't be too much to ask for, would it?" Those were three dishes known to be extremely cumbersome to make. Rhonda almost burst out laughing when she heard that. She quickly covered her mouth and stifled a laugh.

Cal cooked? He nodded. “We can make it fun. We’ll play twenty questions.” I bit my lip, then relented. “Okay, but I have to warn you, I haven’t got much experience in the cooking department,” I mentioned. Cal chuckled, low and deep, sending a shiver down my spine. “Haven’t you seen Ratatouille? Anyone can cook.” I let out a quiet giggle. I didn’t expect him to put me at ease so quickly. We’d only really been alone for a couple of minutes and we already felt like old friends.

the kitchen was dazzling and glittering like a French Restaurant kitchen. I had never imagined all my life that I would ever be privileged to enter into this kind of glamorous kitchen. Just like me entering huge restaurants kitchens where different chefs will be chopping vegetables and throwing them into the pot if ratatouille, moving around with trolleys and screaming Table No 1 order coming!!!!! Get the shallot and broccoli!!! Ragôute coming right up!!!!!, My apron is stained, I need a replacement, kitchen assistant!!!! The picture in my head was now like a scene in front of me. I smiled, smiled wildly that I laughed wildly unknowingly.

“We only have limited time, are you ready?” Blanche repeated with worry in her voice. Rat’s slicing onions with a butcher’s knife with such mastery and skill, and as if he didn’t heard Blanche from the second time, he turned on the stove and sauté his chopped onions and minced garlic in a pan. The yummy smell didn’t take too long for the whole room to take. “Rachmaninoff.” Rat stopped and watched the spatula fall from his grip. “Blanche.”

Plates of my favorite Provençal dishes filled it—ratatouille, daube stew, freshly baked fougasse, lavender chicken, even the mushroom truffle soup I adored. And dessert—God. A tower of macarons. A pear tart. A chocolate souffle. My heart twisted. “I—how did you even prepare all this?” I whispered. Viv grinned, a little smug. “We didn’t sleep.” Michael shrugged. “My job was mostly taste-testing.” “Which is the most useless job,” Harper muttered. He nudged her playfully. “Someone had to make sure nothing was poisoned.” Their bickering—light, teasing, effortless—caught my attention. There was something different now, something warmer. A current running quietly between them.

Sharkey then proceeded to turn her back to me whilst she headed over towards the oven. Fiddling with the dials, a light suddenly flared on and a low drone emitted from its direction. Opening the fridge door, she then pulled out a large casserole dish. Folding a tea towel over in two to grab the dish, it was inside the oven before I could blink. “We’re having Ratatouille, in case you were wondering,” she said. I wasn’t, but I kept that to myself. “James is a marvellous cook. You’ll be getting a little slice of heaven whilst you’re under his roof. He was professionally trained in France. Food still means something over there, I hear.” The oven door slammed shut smartly.