Gordon Ramsay Gifs Novels & Stories

Ryan had somehow managed to get flour in his hair, on his shirt, and across the counter. “You’re supposed to fold it, not attack it,” I said, trying not to laugh. “I am folding it!” he said defensively, his voice muffled by laughter. “I just happen to be passionate about it.” “Looks like the batter lost the fight,” I teased. “Fine, Gordon Ramsay. You take over.” He handed me the spatula dramatically. Molly clapped her hands. “Teamwork! Aunt Celeste’s the chef and Uncle Ry-Ry’s the helper!”

I tried not to stare, but it was damn near impossible as I just watched him work. “Careful, Gordon Ramsey,” I said when he turned on the gas and caused a large flame to burst out of the burner. “You’re about two seconds away from setting that pan on fire.” “I know what I’m doing,” he said confidently, just as the first pancake flipped sideways and hit the counter with a dramatic splat. I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach and doubling over while Ethan glared at me like he wanted to tell me to fuck off. “Gordon Ramsay would sue you for defamation,” I said when I finally stopped laughing, while he shrugged nonchalantly.

I called back. “I think we all know you’re the one who does that!” Rita shot at me. “But for real, I’m going to rock this meal and prove everyone wrong, starting with you!” As she began chopping garlic, I couldn’t help but laugh at how spirit-filled she was. “Cutting garlic and making pasta is not going to redeem you, you know!” “Oh, please! Watch me!” Rita said, as she continued sitting, giving it her full attention. “Fine, Chef Rita,” I answered sarcastically. “Just don’t go all Gordon Ramsay on me. I’m not ready to yell explosions in my kitchen!”

She said proudly and I laughed. "Mandy.. it's a-" "Shut up! Eat or I'll kick you out from my house." She hissed and I ate a spoonful of it. My eyes widen enjoying the delicious cookies with milk inside my mouth. "Wow.. you beat Gordon Ramsay." I said as I clapped my hands in front of her. She smirked and wiggled her eyebrows cutely. I was enjoying my food when she suddenly put her hands in front of me. I looked at her raising my eyebrows.

If Matthew hadn't done that five years ago, maybe he would've turned his life around without having to rush to every corner trying to start afresh and save his family too. "I'd have to see for myself if you can give Gordon Ramsey a run for his money," Erika smirked, still checking out the interiors and when she turned to him, he stuffed something in her mouth midway of her sentence. He was cooking something before they started getting into chicken alfredo. Erika ate the brown fried goodness and the favours melted in her mouth as if she was at a michelin star restaurant. "What is that? It's so good!" "It's an Indian style fish fry, it's the perfect snack," he said with a pleased look on his f

he replied, a broad smile on his face. “How could I forget?” Thersa laughed softly. “You’re the one who persuaded Gordon Ramsay to taste my cooking.” Leo laughed too. “Those meals of yours were unforgettable and I’ve been raving about them ever since.” Thersa’s eyes sparkled. “I’m so glad you enjoyed each one of them.” Meanwhile, Diego watched them, his hand still awkwardly raised in mid-air. As Thersa turned to continue greeting other guests, Leo glanced at Diego’s stiff posture and then back at Thersa, who was now warmly shaking hands with another gentleman.

Gordon Ramsay would have sent me packing in thirty seconds flat. Still, I soldiered on, tossing the uneven catastrophe into a sizzling pan with oil. The hiss and pop of it made me jump back like it had personally threatened me. A splatter landed on my wrist, stinging, and I hissed louder than the pan. “This is fine,” I said into the empty kitchen, waving my hand dramatically in the air. “Everything is fine.” But it wasn’t fine.

“Fine. You do it, Mr. Expert.” Logan walked over, close enough that I could smell his cologne, subtle but sharp. I handed him the knife and stepped aside, arms folded. He took the tomato and made clean, precise slices. Of course. “Okay, Gordon Ramsay,” I muttered. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dinner turned out better than expected. We ate slowly, with soft music in the background and candles that flickered lazily. We didn’t talk much while eating but it wasn’t awkward. It was… easy. His presence was calm, grounding.

I quipped, the words dancing off my tongue like a cheeky Italian sonnet. Sasha shot me an unamused look, her eyes narrowing as she delivered a swift slap to my arm. "You think you're funny, Leonardo? I'm taking a break, not auditioning for MasterChef." Rubbing my arm dramatically, I barked out a laugh, "MasterChef? With those cooking skills, I bet you'd make Gordon Ramsay cry in shame."

In a black t-shirt and soft gray joggers, sleeves lazily rolled up, flipping something in a pan like Gordon fcking Ramsay had personally ordained him. “Ethan, get away from the eggs. For the love of all things edible, don’t touch anything,” he said without even looking. “I’m just observing,” Ethan mumbled, chewing dramatically. “You’ve already broken two yolks and tried to salt the butter. Go observe gravity somewhere else.” I blinked. “What in the parallel domestic universe did I just walk into?” I whispered. Mr. Wright turned his head and—oh no. That was a smile. That was a genuine, soft-edged smile on his face.