Novel Küche Novels & Stories

“I can’t cook. Like at all. I burn anything I try to make.” “I’ll help teach you over the next few weeks. At least until I leave for school. There is also a cookbook in the pack house kitchen, and your kitchen that our mothers made together with of all their recipes. They also give all kinds of tips, and instructions on how to cook things properly.” “There is?” “Yes. That’s where I got all of the recipes for everything I ever cooked for everyone. I didn’t know they made it until very recently, but it’s what I always use.”

Human. Utterly domestic. Alexander sensed my presence without turning around. "Come in." His voice echoed softly in the empty kitchen. I wandered inside. Peeking into the pot. Simple egg noodles simmered in clear broth. With two golden soft-boiled eggs and floating green onions. Aromatic. Inviting. Perfect. "Mr. Knight, you're quite the cook." I teased him. Stepping closer to the stove and brushing my shoulder against his arm. Alexander turned off the heat.

There was only one other person in the apartment. "Ares?" I called out, my voice tight. ... Ares While Kia was occupied in the bathroom, I had a clipboard in hand and a mission to complete. I had decided that failure in the kitchen was no longer an option. Just yesterday, I bought a cookbook with "Beginner Friendly" stamped across the cover in bright letters. "The CEO of Vueravista does not do average," I muttered, flipping past pictures of salads. "She is not going to find out I can't cook a proper meal. Master Chef Ares starts today."

And then she saw the books. She gasped, her eyes widening and her hand covering her mouth. Leather-bound volumes with gold-embossed titles: Escoffier's Le Guide Culinaire, a culinary Bible. She knew the name. Every chef did. More treasures followed: Essentials of Italian Cooking, and tomes of French, Japanese, African, Latin American cuisine. The collective knowledge of culinary masters from around the world. A lifetime of learning, pressed into the spines right before her eyes. She felt her throat tighten so much that she was breathless for a moment.

Drkov and Dalziel went to the company, and finally, there were only a few women left in the house. Because she had to take over the kitchen, Daisy asked the editor-in-chief to let her come to the company on Tuesday, today she needed to review and rearrange the kitchen. Mrs. Nenito gave her two books, one was the monthly income and expenditure of the kitchen, and the other was the menu. The Drkovs were a rich and luxurious house, so every meal and every day the dishes changed, almost nothing on the table was the same, every week it changed, and those were rare dishes.

Despite the kitchen’s archaic style, it was impeccably clean and well-organized, with pots and pans hanging from hooks and utensils gleaming in the candlelight. A massive chimney dominated one wall, its mantle adorned with copper pots and a collection of spice jars. The smell of herbs and wood smoke still lingered in the air. The refrigerator was tucked into a nook between the brick walls. Its modern design stood out starkly against the rustic essence of everything. She opened it, and each dish looked like it belonged on the menu of a five-star restaurant. There were delicate pastries, rich stews, fresh salads, and an assortment of gourmet cheeses. She settled on what looked like a square pi

Jenna smiled and he grabbed her hand, pulling her to the kitchen. Jenna smiled, “This kitchen is as elegant as the castle’s” Clay nodded and smiled brightly, “My mom was the best chef around.” Jenna smiled and Clay grabbed his mother’s journal cookbook. He opened the page to dragon stew and Jenna smirked, “Spicy.” She grinned. Clay chuckled and Jenna smiled as she flipped through the pages, “Maybe we should pick a recipe from here tonight to cook?” she offered. Clay smiled, “I would love that. We should be able to get ingredients pretty easily. Hopefully, the garden was taken care of more than the house.”

But what caught my attention was the wall of books. "You read," I said, surprised. "Does that shock you?" "I pictured you as more of a... business reports only kind of man." He almost smiled. "I have layers, Clara." He took the wine from my hand and led me to the kitchen. It was modern, all marble and steel, but there was a pot on the stove that smelled like garlic and herbs. "You cook too?" "My mother taught me. Before she died." The air grew heavy. I didn't ask how she died. I had a feeling the answer would be painful.

We stop at one particularly tall shelf in the left-end corner. “These books here are mine.” He pokes a finger at a title and draws it from the shelf. The cover is new and glossy, and the size of a magazine. “This is called Mastering the Art of Greek Cooking. I wrote this book under the pen name of Oliver Youngwood.” He gives me the book. “And you write cookbooks too! What a surprise.” I’m beginning to admire the man a lot. It’s true what they said about him on the internet then. He’s a man of many talents. “Just what else can you do aside from being a CEO and a chef?”

she asked, amusement glinting in her eyes. She entered the kitchen fully, what looked to be a cookbook was opened on the countertop, ingredients and utensils were strewn all over the place. “I think it’s pretty obvious,” Justin replied, obviously testy now. “Damn it, how hard could it be to just throw something basic together?” Luna glanced at the recipe that the cookbook was opened to. “That does not look like something basic,” she commented, tongue-in-cheek. Justin glanced at it, he frowned. “That simple thing is not basic?”