Cooking Fails Novels & Stories

“That was disgusting. I swear I followed all the directions.” “I think you forgot the sugar and maybe added a bit too much salt,” Mom says. “I put in what they said. ATof salt.” “Was that a bigTor a littleT?” Mom asks. “I don’t know. What’s the difference? ATis aT.” Mom laughs. “Maybe you should think about taking some culinary classes. Or leave the cooking to Jacques,” she says, referring to the chef I’d hired. I sigh in frustration. Another failed recipe. I’m a smart, successful businesswoman. You would think I could figure out something simple like baking.

“We should make a list! A fun list!” “Well,” Zarek said, puffing out his chest proudly, “I want to cook for you. Really cook, not just order takeout or have the kitchen staff do it.” Zade immediately started coughing, nearly choking on his own spit. “No. Absolutely not. That’s a terrible idea.” “Why not?” I looked between them, confused by Zade’s strong reaction. “Zarek can’t cook to save his life,” Zade said seriously, like he was delivering grave news. “Last time he tried to make eggs, he nearly burned down the kitchen. The fire department had to come.”

“Miss Carrington, if you get hungry, there’s a kitchen downstairs.” The kitchen, huh... Well, embarrassing to admit, but Raina’s cooking skills were pretty terrible. Not that she hadn’t tried. There was a time she was obsessed with cooking, spending most of her days in the kitchen, convinced she was making progress. But the more she tried, the worse her dishes turned out—heading in a terrifying direction. Eventually, the person she wanted to cook for wasn’t there anymore, so she stopped trying altogether. Raina rubbed her forehead and said, “...Uh, can I ask something?”

Clamping my mouth shut hastily, I tried to remind myself what happened the last time I pissed him off. "Surprised?" He turned his head slightly and smirked at my stunned face. "Actually, yeah." I murmured, watching him cut an avocado. "Can't you cook?" His silver eyes twinkled as his smirk deepened. My mind went back to the numerous cooking lessons my mother had tried (and failed) to give me. "Um, not really.." I trailed off, feeling the blush creep to my cheeks. "Why is that?" Alpha Killian asked, turning his back to add some ingredient to the sizzling pan.

Clement said, being more shameless than I'd ever seen. … Once I was discharged from the hospital, I went straight home. The second I opened the door, the delicious aroma of home cooking welcomed me. Clement had an apron on in the kitchen. When he saw me, a big smile spread across his face. "I cleared my schedule today to cook for you. Come on, let's eat!" I gave him a fleeting look before turning and going to my room. I packed up my stuff and headed for the door, only to find Clement standing in my way.

I wanted to try something different by taking over dinner, but… I’d messed up real bad. I swallowed hard, dropping the plate in my hands onto the counter. For the second time in two weeks, I’d cooked something that wasn’t edible. Another familiar sting of failure pricked me. “What’s wrong with it? Let me guess.” My fingers carefully reached for the apron wrapped over my waist. “Too much salt? Pepper? Spice?” His coughing continued, and the sound made me feel a deeper sting of not being good enough at something I’d tried to please him with.

Even if my cooking tastes good to me, if it tastes different from how it should taste, it will fail. So I'm worried about Manang's response. She swallowed and said, "No..."

she murmured with puffy eyes. He froze before quickly shaking his head, “No! Not at all—” “God, Damon, you can stop trying to make me feel better already. I’m not just bad at cooking, I’m a goddamn culinary disaster! I didn’t even know some ingredients aren’t meant to go together! I swear, I’m never gonna cook again. Ever! If I accidentally killed you because I was too pigheaded about playing chef… I would die out of heartbreak!”

I pouted. "But I don't even like cooking... it's rare that I ever step foot in the kitchen." "Then I'll do it," he said effortlessly, naturally, as if it had always been his role. His intensity was disarming, and I couldn't meet his gaze. I turned away, letting my back face him. "Let's wait," I murmured. "The one-month period isn't up." For a moment, the room was still. Aaron didn't speak, only reached out to smooth the covers around me.

… Melody took off her coat, donned an apron, and started prepping the ingredients, swiftly defrosting, chopping, and seasoning in one go. As the pot simmered with bone broth enriched by herbs, Melody encountered trouble while frying ribs. The induction cooker had malfunctioned, causing the flames to flare uncontrollably from beneath the pan. A passing maid, witnessing the flames nearly reaching the exhaust hood, exclaimed in shock, "Oh my god! Miss, are you okay?" Melody quickly intervened as the maid was about to douse the fire with water, warning, "Don't use water!" Understanding that water could exacerbate the situation, Melody promptly unplugged the cooker, her face feeling the intense h