Novel Chef Novels & Stories

Finally, I saw Alex Davis - my goal. He wore spotless white clothes and the typical white hat with confidence, so everyone could instantly figure out he was the Chef. His eyes found me at my table and a chill ran through my body, as I knew I messed with this guy for no reason. His salad was divine. “Are you the cook?” I started before they reached the table. “I am The Chef. Alex Davis,” he corrected me, showing me he wasn’t easily scared by power and riches. “May I know what the problem is, miss?”

An hour had passed. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Chloe,” the chef said, giving me a small bow of gratitude. I smiled at him. He was one of the best chefs in the country. I’d recognized him instantly from a magazine I once flipped through out of boredom. If he was here, it meant one of the council of witches had spent an enormous amount of money just to have him prepare a few dishes for this ridiculous brunch. The last server picked up the tray, and I followed him, holding my head high.

Suddenly, the old woman’s eyes opened wide when she learned that Maria Fernanda, the woman in front of her, was the author of that event, and the new chef Stefan’s friend had said had just hired some days ago. “Oh, my God! Is it you, darling?” The woman asked with her sparky eyes. “Mmm…” Fernanda didn’t know what to say. “Yes, I’m talking to you! The new chef, the one who did all of this possible!” “Oh!.. I… I see, yes, I think it is like that!” She laughed.

I asked him, his eyes widen as soon as I said that, looking at me in disbelief “Did you just question my ability to prepare a good meal?” He asked I sucked in a laugh, looking at him with a straight face “I believe I did, can you cook?” I asked again, he scoffed “Do you know what people call me? Chef Delectablehands.” He says, I burst out laughing as soon as I heard that. “Chef Delectable, did you just make that up right now?” I asked, he nodded solemnly but his eyes lit up once again.

I swallowed a few times and gently removed his head from my shoulder. “Rest now. I’ll wake you up when the food is ready.” He must have sensed my avoidance because he gently squeezed my waist before slowly letting go. I helped him lie down in bed. The next day, the new chef arrived at the mansion. I knew her back in high school. Analyn was my friend together with Meimei. The woman used to be a troublemaker back then, but now, she’s one of the in-demand chefs’ in the country. She gave me the infamous ‘criminal offensive side-eye’ and I rolled my eyes at her, in return.

Rebecca, Lloyd's older sister, smiled toward Grandpa Ingell as she speak. "We didn't know you hired a new chef after Chef Rovo returned to his home country." Chef Rovo was a refugee that Grandpa Ingell accepted into the family. Grandpa helped him to achieve his dream to be a chef. Then, grandpa helped him to go back to his home country as a first-class chef that could help him to make a living and have a secured income. Chef Rovo was now a well-known figure in the culinary world and he was admired by many all around the world because of his vast knowledge of the world's cuisines.

Meal time was the only time Zen saw Liu Feng, and dungeon diving was the only time he saw Damian. “And steamed beef chuck was inspired by the deadly sauna spell?” Sheepishly, Zen nodded. The Seer saw through him easily. It was difficult to create a creative menu when he spent most of his time in the dungeon. Back when he was a civilian chef, Zen remembered how hectic kitchen life was. Even after lunch rush, they were always busy. There was always something to do. When the apprentice chefs were busy cleaning up and prepping ingredients, the senior chefs would create and test new recipes for the seasonal menu. Part of Zen missed doing that. However, after his death, the new him had to put that

Chelsea absorbed every word, her excitement growing as he talked about what they would learn, the challenges they would face, and the opportunities that lay ahead. “By the end of this course,” the chef concluded, “you will not only be masters of culinary arts but also storytellers through food.” Chelsea’s lips curved into a small smile. She had always dreamed of creating stories through her dishes, but she had never imagined she’d get the chance to learn from the best. --- Meanwhile, Aria sat in a dimly lit café, her nails tapping against the wooden table as she waited for the private investigator to show up. She didn’t have to wait long. The man slid into the seat across from her, a folder

“Is this inspiration, or plagiarism?” The room went quiet. I turned sharply. He smirked. “Chef Laurent has something just like this planned for the next Wine & Food Festival.” My pulse quickened. “And you are?” “A nobody,” he said, grinning. “But look at all your recipes—quite the feat, for a drunk food developer like you.” I stiffened. Chef Laurent was a celebrated French chef, known for his pride in tradition. Why would he suddenly dabble in Asian dishes? What did this man want? Is he an opportunistic competitor? A saboteur?

"Trying to steal my scoop?” “Please. You and I both know you're the queen of food journalism.” He says, smirking. “Besides, I’m here for the drama, not just the food.” “Same. Always.” I admit. “There’s always at least one chef who has a breakdown before the main course round.” Frank snorts. “Oh, it’s practically a requirement. Who do you think it'll be this year?” “Too early to say, but I’d put money on one of the newcomers.”