Chef Saltbaker Novels & Stories

She nodded once, a sharp, silent signal of mother-to-daughter understanding and ushered the sous-chefs out. I turned to the pantry. I didn't know how to bake. Isabella hadn't been a housewife; she’d been a socialite. Valencia was a corporate shark. But I had Jax. "Jax, I need a recipe. Something chocolate. Something that smells like home and looks like a bribe." "V, I'm a hacker, not Martha Stewart. Fine... searching... okay. Ultimate Revenge Chocolate Chip Cookies. High sugar, high butter, low room for error. I’m projecting the ingredients onto your contact lens now."

Fortunately, they didn't despise Sebastian's wife for being a low class, after all, Sebastian's friends aren't easy to deal with as they choose who they want to be. As Larry asked, K Whatever felt relieved that she didn't have any dramas with his friends. "Well, I don't know how to cook but I know how to slice some ingredients." That was a lie. She knew how to cook well but the kitchen hates her as every time she cooks if the pan isn't on fire, the kitchen is. If the kitchen is safe, she wouldn't. Her bad luck became a hindrance to her culinarian ability. Her sister became a chef made K Whatever grateful... As she only needs to worry about the dishes!

With a gentle nod between them, they began preparing the meal together, Celia rolling up her sleeves, ready to lose herself in chopping, seasoning, and stirring, side by side with the woman who knew the kitchen best. Their quiet cooperation filled the space with a calm sort of rhythm. Celia washed her hands thoroughly, then turned to the fresh ingredients the chef had already laid out on the marble counter. After a brief exchange, they decided on something hearty yet comforting, rosemary garlic lamb chops with a side of creamy mashed potatoes and sautéed green beans. It was one of Rafael’s favorites, though he rarely asked for it himself.

She looked at Caleb and returned to her previous gentle attitude. “Caleb, you haven't been here for three years, so you probably don't know that this restaurant has a new head chef. He came back after studying in New Zealand. There’s a dish that I believe should suit your tastes.” She took the menu as if it was her lifeline. Caleb remained calm. There was no other expression on his face. His gaze was indifferent, and he did not refuse or respond to her. ‘Some people may seem cold, but they’re actually sharp-witted. It’s difficult to deal with that type.

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.

“A guest in my kitchen. Sort of.” He stands. “You’re cooking?” “Trying. You’re eating.” He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t rush to help. Just follows. I make shakshuka—eggs poached in spiced tomato sauce. Easy. Familiar. One pan. Comfort food from my early catering days. He leans on the counter, watching me. Not like an investor. Not like a lover waiting to be impressed. Like someone who knows how much it took just to pick up the knife again.

Calvin pouted "How are you even sure she has all the ingredients needed for preparing a Coq Au Vin Blanc?“ “Oh, you don't need to worry about that. She restocked the fridge after I emptied it.“ “Et vous voulez encore matter? (And you want to empty it again?)," Mason asked as he appeared in the kitchen. “No, what do you mean? I just want to have some Coq Au Vin Blanc. By the way, Mason is a sous chef and you're the executive chef" Calvin replied nonchalantly. "That doesn't mean you… wait a minute! Calvin, how do you know what kind of chefs we are?“ Drew asked.

She only wanted to learn simple dishes, not fancy ones with costly ingredients. "Chef, could you teach me some simple dishes? Preferably ones that James likes to eat and are easy to make." The chef was visibly troubled by her request. He was an internationally renowned chef who had won multiple world championships. He had even cooked for national leaders on numerous occasions. So, having to teach Summer simple dishes seemed quite humiliating and beneath him. While he was hesitant, another shorter chef stepped forth and said, "Madam, Mr. Quigley also likes to eat simple dishes. I recall that he enjoys pork ribs. Why don't you give it a try?"

Remembering the ridiculous things he had done in my previous life, I quickly walked into the kitchen—just in time to see him place the entire slow cooker onto the induction stove and reach for the power button. "Stuart! Didn't I tell you not to touch my things? And is there seriously something wrong with your brain? Who taught you to heat up an electric slow cooker on an induction stove? If you don't know how to use something, can't you at least read the manual first?"

she motioned for Izzy to come forward. Izzy stood up and walked towards the chef with confident strides, leaving me standing there. "Isabella is the Chef de Cuisine of an up-and-coming French restaurant in Miami, and after Bergqvist told me about you, I looked up some information and was impressed "Ruth continued. The eyes of all the cooks turned to me, and a sense of pride began to grow in my chest that she had allowed me into her life, even for a short time. "I thought it would be someone more experienced," I heard someone whisper next to me.