Chef Off Ratatouille Novels & Stories

His food is staring at me in the face and I'm fucking hungry! "Evil." I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest. He flashes me a smirk and continues cooking. I bite my lower lip hungrily. How does one cook something that looks healthy yet delicious and unhealthy at the same time? He's giving me the ratatouille vibes right now. The sizzling sound as he sprinkles a spice in the pan resounds in my ears. Killian puts chopped vegetables inside. I lick my lips, keeping my eyes glued to the pan. The more I inhale, the hungrier I get. "How long will this take?"

“This place is very beautiful. I never thought it would look so pleasing. From the outside, it looked … simple. For a minute I thought I was in the wrong place.” “Well, that’s why it’s called ne juge pa. Do not judge” A waitress came over. “Can I take your orders?” she asked. I picked up the menu and frowned. “Soupe ? l’oignon. Cassoulet. Rat- Ratatouille. Rat! They serve rats?” I whispered to Prince . He bit his bottom lips and smiled. “Two Coq au vin, the flamiche, salade nicoise, crepes, a fruit tart and chocolate souffle with a bottle of red wine” he says to the waitress. When she walked off, I spoke.

Chocolate pastries with powdered sugar dusted like cocaine on crystal. The chef stood at the head of the table like he was about to deliver a sermon. Mid-forties. Thin. French. His white jacket was buttoned up too tight, and the sweat on his forehead glistened under the overhead chandelier. His hands trembled as he held a long silver fork. His accent rolled off his tongue like silk, but his voice cracked on the hard sounds. “Poêlées de crevettes sauvages dans une réduction de vin blanc,” he said, eyes darting toward Vittorio. “Served with mousse de truffes sur pain brûlé… and… uh… fraises glacées au miel noir…”

Xavier adjusted his sleeves and wore a cute apron and began preparing all of his wife's favorite dishes. He was sure if his wife saw him in the apron right now she would tease him forever. He made some pasta sauce with Soupe à l’oignon , a french signature dish and chicken noodle soup, which was actually his wife's favorite.. He also didn't forget to add a vanilla rolled ice cream which he personally made for her to the food tray. Xavier was still busy perfecting his work when the chef came back to check up on him.. It wasn't a surprise the boss can cook but what's surprising was how serious and dedicated to whatever he was making..

I told him, dragging out the words so he could hear the proper pronunciation. “Coco van,” he repeated, and I tilted my head towards the ceiling as I laughed again, louder this time. “Coke oh van,” he tried again, and I kept laughing. “Fuck it, I’ll just get the ratatouille,” he muttered, a small laugh spilling from his mouth. “Is that the only thing you can pronounce correctly on the menu?” I teased. “Probably. Thank you Disney, Pixar, and Madeleine,” he said, clasping his hands together and lifting his eyes skyward.

A few minutes later, Fred showed up and the moment he cleared his throat loudly, Sylvia knew it was him. She turned to him with a smile. “Seems like Chef Ratatouille is ready to take on the kitchen.” Sylvia couldn’t hold back her laughter. She leaned on the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “I never knew you watch cartoons.” Fred got closer. “I do and please don’t let anyone find out. They’ll think I’m too old for that.” He whisper-yelled. Sylvia roared in laughter. “It’s good to see you back on your feet Chef Sylvie.”

He nodded and looked back down to his phone. "What do you need him for, you got me here to keep you protected," I said smiling at him. His face hardened some telling me I said something he didn't like. "I don't need protection darling." He said sharply. "It was a joke boss," I said getting up from the chair I was sitting him. It didn't make sense that I was offended by his response, but for some reason, I felt defensive as well. "I am going to go see how Henry is fairing with his army-sized meal." I didn't wait for a response before walking out of the door and heading toward the kitchen. I stood in the doorway for a moment before speaking. I remember the first day I got out of that room and

She smiled and said, "You're back. Just in time. Lunch is almost done, we can eat now." Bellamy looked at her and felt that she was so much like his little wife. Sadness flowed through his eyes. "It smells good, what did you make?" "Chicken, ratatouille, and some leftovers from yesterday. These taste even better today. You can try them later. The broth should be stewed longer for it to taste better," Waverly explained and returned to the kitchen. Bellamy hung his coat on the hanger and went into the kitchen to help her serve the dishes.

Even on grey days. I quickly finish picking some more lavender, as well as rosemary and basil to add to the ratatouille. Walking back to the kitchen I pull out my phone. Connecting it to the red speaker that happens to be the only spot of color in my white kitchen, I play some Chopin. His music is very complicated. The melody is always shifting. Washing the veggies, I pull out a cutting board and knife. Ratatouille is really easy to make. All you have to do is throw the veggies into a pot and slowly boil it. And it's healthy.

" Ryan asked with a very stiff intonation. "Wow! you cooked Ratatouille! it tools delicious," Greta tried to divert the conversation. As Greta shifted to take a closer look, Ryan's gaze fell on Greta's injured knee. But the wound didn't look too terrible because when she took a bath Greta had already cleaned it. "Can I eat it now? I'm really hungry? asked Greta impatiently. Ryan nodded slowly. Greta quickly pulled the stool and sat on it. She started scooping Broccoli Gratin and Ratatouille to her plate and devoured it.