Kitchen War Novels & Stories

I had memorized it without meaning to. "The kitchen in the east wing of Thornridge," he said. "The old one that nobody used for fifteen years because there was a dispute about who was responsible for maintenance. Jax had it opened last week. He's been running informal cooking sessions in it, teaching three of the Omegas who wanted to learn." He paused. "I walked past it yesterday and heard them arguing about the correct way to deglaze a pan. Very heated. Nobody was afraid of anyone." I held that. The specific image of it, the unlocked kitchen, the argument about deglazing, the absence of fear as something ordinary enough to produce opinions about cooking technique.

Kain stood at the stove with his back to me, wearing a grey sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, holding a spatula in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He was cooking eggs. The sight of him—this man who had killed for me, who had carried me through fire and smoke and the wreckage of everything I had ever known, who had spoken to enemies with a voice that could strip paint from walls—standing at a stove in a kitchen that looked like it belonged to a cottage in a storybook, cooking eggs, was so jarring that I stopped in the doorway and simply stared.

When she turned around, he was standing in the kitchen doorway. Not talking. Not leaving. Just watching. She sliced garlic. He watched. She dropped pasta into boiling water. When she reached for salt, he was still there—arms crossed, back against the doorframe. "Don't you have something else to do?" "I'm supervising." "Supervising what." "Making sure you don't burn the kitchen down." She rolled her eyes. But when she turned back to the stove, the corner of her mouth lifted. "You're smiling," he said.

The Kitchen Staff Conspiracy Cook hunched behind a flipped-over supply cart, white-knuckling a heavy metal ladle like it was Excalibur. The kitchen staff, dragged in to help with Kael’s stupid ceremonies, cowered around her, flinching every time the fighting kicked up on the platform above. Thirty years she’d kept this kitchen running, and now a bunch of thugs were making her people serve dinner to the monsters trashing her life’s work. Her eyes were murder-bright.

Lucia, as expected, doesn’t even blink. Frank peers over. “Ohhh, this is cruel. Rabbit, miso, black garlic, and – wait, is that durian?” I wince. “That’s just evil.” The clock starts, and the kitchen explodes into motion. Frank and I drift through the stations, taking in the chaos. Pots clatter, knives fly, flames roar. "Excuse me!" a chef yells, nearly knocking me with a pan. “Rude.” I mutter, sidestepping.

The hall was nearly murky and the living room was darker as I strode down the staircase and went to the kitchen, turning on the lights. I hiked toward the fridge, opened it, and peered at the food items. Should I make myself a midnight meal? But I didn't know how to cook, the last time I tried to, I nearly chopped my fingers off and burnt my parent's kitchen, I was banned from ever stepping into the kitchen, Kareen was a much better cook, she didn't spend her time being a nerd.

But before I could take the whisk, he turned it on me, flicking a bit of batter in my direction. “Oh, you’re asking for it!” I grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it at him, leaving a white patch on his dark shirt. “You’re going to regret that,” he said, grabbing a spoonful of batter and aiming it at me. By the time we were done, the kitchen looked like a war zone. There was flour on the floor, batter on the ceiling, and both of us were covered from head to toe. “This... was a disaster,” Adrian said, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter.

I don't care if they are the last ones I kill, there is no problem there. I saw cousins ​​Lexy and Nikolai together. They eat quietly. They both look troubled. Even if I wanted to approach them, I couldn't because the two men had already arrived. I just took a deep breath. I started eating without looking at those with me who I know are looking at me now and watching me eat. To my great annoyance at the stare they were making, I slammed down my spoon and fork that created a loud noise. They were both surprised by what I did, I looked at them badly.

Meanwhile on the other side, far from the sight of the graceful movements of the house maidens was the large kitchen sealed in white walls with complete kitchen equipment and latest customized kitchen tools that every chef dreams to lay their hands on. A man in black chef coat paired with white cotton apron fought with his co-chefs, arguing while running through the recipe of dishes that are considered as off boundaries to prepare or worst it'll cast a misfortune to whomever dares to serve these shouldn't-be-mentioned-dishes that are blacklisted due to their youngest master's hard to please taste buds.

I pondered in my head. "For the boys of course," she said, pausing as we entered the huge kitchen area, noise from different angles filled the air, with different kitchen workers there being busy, while some stood in a corner filling and piling up as much first aid boxes as possible, I counted about 8 boxes before I stopped. Are we at war? I silently thought. "We're at war," Evelyn said as though reading my very thoughts. "You girls, get over here" Simone ordered, "ready those onions ready as soon as possible" she added, pointing at a basket of onions that stood by the counter. I had never seen her so serious, immediately, I and Evelyn got to work.