Orie Chef Novels & Stories

"It's Gourmet. My chef." "So you hired someone that isn't me huh?" I said with a frown. He gave out a laugh that completely warmed up my whole heart. "I didn't have anyone at that time and you know I'm a bad cook so...I had no choice." I watched him buckle up his jeans as I dug my fingers through my hair. "He doesn't sound American to me." "That's because he's a french-Italian with over twelve years experience in cooking and over three hundred recipes. Trust me, he's good."

He wastched us both suspicously, then said, "Vince, I see you met my daughter." His name is Vince? "I'm Sofia. It was a pleasure to meet you." I indroduce myself to 'Vince'. "Vincenzo Moretti." He said in a deep voice. He had an accent. "Vincenzo is the Italian Don." My papa said to me. That explained his sexy accent. Did I just call his accent sexy? "Why are you having a meeting with the Italian Don?" I ask, confused. "I'll explain later, now come, your mama made breakfast." He answered.

Entering the main cuisine, we were greeted by the head chef who introduced himself as Chef Aldous Fritzerg, a French chef. "Nice to meet you, doctors." Georgina and I shared a look before we both give him our nice to meet you too smile and asked for the young bellboys that they have. His brows knitted together with the question and asked us why we were asking. Georgina nudged me, signaling me to do an alibi since I am good at it. And thanks for the stress pill and camomile tea I took this morning, my emotions didn't overcome me. Instead, I overcome it.

A man so legendary that his name alone commanded absolute respect in the world of high-class cuisine. He was known as… Jean-Pierre Gaston, The Imperial Chef of the Grand Duchy of Verseille. A perfectionist, a tyrant in the kitchen, and above all—an unwavering believer in the superiority of traditional gourmet dining. For decades, Jean-Pierre had stood at the pinnacle of culinary excellence. His name was whispered with reverence among noble circles. His dishes were worshiped by kings and emperors alike. But now… now some foreign "fast food" was threatening to dethrone him? It was unacceptable. It was an insult. And so, with fiery determination, Jean-Pierre did the only thing a proud master ch

At that time, I would be the only one who would be embarrassed. Seeing that I was silent, Maddox probably thought I didn't want to go, and quickly persuaded me, "Ms. Chancey, the cook bought fresh ingredients early this morning. By the way, our chef is currently the best Michelin chef in New York. Ms. Valeria and Mr. Krish will love it..." Maddox suddenly paused. He saw a figure not far away and was taken aback. "Ms. Melany..."

The waitress that I had met outside said as we reached the front of a white door. I pushed the door open and was instantly blasted with the smell of spices, seasoning, and pepper. A chef stood at the corner giving instructions in French, mixing in some English to a young man and woman. They both looked physically distressed and they seem to be in a hurry to cook. “Who are you?” The chef noticed me. His name was written on a name tag. Chef Grand. “Hello, I'm here for my interview,” I said, feeling the tension suddenly rise like a tidal wave.

When my coworkers, managers, and Chef Pierre weren't complimenting me, our consistently full dining room provided all the confidence I needed. *** Three months later, I'd logged enough hours and proved myself. Now, instead of being the second in command, I had the esteemed title of chef. Finally, I was an official member of the culinary team. Like a fledgling, having been gently nudged and trained to fly, I was ready to spread my wings and take the first flight. I pulled on my short toque and immaculate jacket, planning to honor Marie-Antoine Carême, the original designer. I’d read that he chose white not only to represent purity but also as a challenge. He said that skilled culinary artists

However due to the relationship I had with Carl and Tristan, we got into some athletic sports. “Huh?” I was confused on what Chef Kieve meant by his initial statement. He was an extremely talented chef, mastering cooking meals from various parts of the world, owning various restaurants and being a big family as he had ten children and he was married to two women. Polygamy was the norm in his country, so it wasn't a big deal. He was a middle-aged man and I truly admired him, therefore I loved to hear his opinion on things, majorly on meals. Meeting him when I was fourteen was the highlight of my teenage years.

He could feel her heart racing. "The heat is the most honest thing in this room. It strips away the pretenses. It shows us exactly who we are." "And who am I, Chef?" Marco stepped back, the sudden distance feeling like a cold draft. He pointed to the pan. "Right now, you are a sous-chef who is dangerously close to overcooking a piece of sea bass. Plate it. Now." Chloe jumped, refocusing. She plated the fish with a fluid, instinctive motion, the emulsion swirling perfectly around the protein. She slid the plate across the stainless steel pass.

I suddenly got annoyed again. "Well, Ella, initially I chose Chef Keaton but he refused for many reasons and finally he offered his friend, Chef Sebastian Monsera, an expert in Italian, French, and Chinese cooking. But if you want to choose Chef Keaton, you have to persuade him, isn't that right, Chef? " I gulped saliva, how could I persuade him, Zee? Ah, if you knew, but wait... why doesn't he want to? If he forgets his memory, it's impossible to refuse, whether it's because he's far from his wife.