Chefe Novels & Stories

She took a seat on one of the tables and waited for someone to approach her. A waiter in his 20s spotted her and walked over with a note and a pen in his hand. “Hi, I’m Chu. What can I get you?” he said, smiling welcomely. He was a new face. She knew what to do. “I want to see the chef,” she said. “Wrong order?” Chu asked. “No. I want to personally thank him for a good meal.” She tapped her purse. “Alright. Follow me.” Sasha followed Chu through a narrow space that led to the kitchen and then past it to another room where some men in aprons mixed powders.

ICode] Subject: Deployed Chef Information: Dear [AIDEN BLACK], I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I am writing to provide you with the necessary information about our recently deployed chef who started working for you a few months ago. Please find attached her passport photograph for your reference. Chef's Name: [NADIA JAMES] Date of Birth: [04/5/1982] Identification Number: [C45886699] Expiration Date: {01/09/2033] Nationality: [AMERICAN] Our agency takes great pride in providing skilled and experienced professionals, and we are confident that Chef [ JAMES] will bring exceptional culinary expertise to your establishment. [She] possesses an extensive background in

Why? Chelsea said she doesn’t think he is who he says he is. I know that’s true. His name is Stace. I smirk. it’s a much nicer name than Mac. Where did Mac come from? I stand and walk over to the porthole and stare out over the sea. What are you up to Stace? What’s your motive? What happened to turn you to this lifestyle?

He gestured toward the chef. I greeted him politely, forcing a calm exterior. But Gerrard's expression flickered ever so slightly. He his eyes at me, confused. My pulse jumped. Had I said something wrong? Gerrard frowned slightly at my reaction before giving me an encouraging smile. "Lily, don’t you remember? This is Chef Marcel DuPont. He’s one of the finest culinary masters in France… and not just that, he was one of your instructors back at your culinary school. You even wrote on one of your social media posts that you admired him and looked up to him. I was expecting more excitement."

“I booked our reservations yesterday,” Phoebe widened her eyes when she heard his words. “No way!” she exclaimed. It wasn’t unbelievable to think he could get them in there and at such short notice owing to his affluence but for some reason, she did find it hard to believe. Ferran was the third most popular chef in the whole world.

Another shift survived. “Alright! A job well done, everyone,” Tom called out from across the kitchen. He yanked off his apron with a dramatic flair and tossed it onto the steel prep table. “Night crew’s coming in—time to let them have their share of the madness,” he added, his tone light but edged with the weariness we all shared. Tom, our head chef, was a master of keeping spirits high, even when the pressure cooker of the kitchen threatened to explode. His words were a signal, a collective exhale shared by everyone in the room.

the magically appearing waiter said as he refilled my water glass. "Thank you." As we stood, Mother reached for my hand and squeezed. "Dear, when I decided to visit you, I decided to share more than that story with you. Please give me time." I squeezed her hand back and nodded. The volume of the room increased as we made our way toward the buffet. Live entertainment crooned as chefs manned the many tables. Artesian breads, bagels, and rolls were just the beginning. There was a raw bar with tuna tartare and sushi, as well as an assortment of oysters, mussels, and crab. Traditional breakfast foods such as waffles, grits, potatoes, and eggs were also present. The dessert bar was too decadent to

I wondered how wealthy he was. "This is Chef Boston, you should meet him. He is our head chef and the real mastermind behind most of the food preparations." Elisa said pointing at the man besides her. I smiled and stretched my hand out for a handshake which Chef Boston gladly recieved. "Pleasure to meet you mademoiselle." I chuckled excitedly by the way he addressed me and also by the hint of a french accent in his tone. "I like this guy." I giggled and pointed at him. Elisa nodded her head at me. "I know right, everybody loves Chef Boston." Elisa agreed.

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

Xavier chuckles and holds his hand up in surrender. “I'll leave you two to it then,” Ramsey said and leaves, with the server following behind him once more. I'm left alone with Xavier once again who's watching me intently. “Who was that man?” I ask. “That's Ramsey Gordon, CEO of Taste. He's also the head chef.” “Oh…” I have more questions but I don't get to ask them because Xavier stands and comes around the table, grabbing my plate from the table. “Now this,” Xavier says, gesturing to the first dish, “is truffle butter filet mignon.”