Orie Chef 소설 & 이야기

It’s just Buriko in a chef uniform. They hear a commotion like applause and shouts around them. The white illumination highlights the judge in the middle. “A chef who is specialized in cutting anything. His accurate and precise incision always makes his food having an exquisite garnish. This is it, Chef Cocong.” It’s just Cocong whose shroud is painted so that it will look like a blazer, yet in the end, he just looks like a giant Indonesian exclusive Mighty Beanz. I’m sorry, I don’t know what the equivalent word for Mighty Beanz is.

Her middle name should have been disappointment for as much of it as she’d experienced in her life so far. They emerged in the kitchen as the dinner rush was just beginning. She looked at Leo for an explanation, but all he gave her was another of his gorgeous smiles. It softened the blow of her disappointment. But all too soon, a chef in a crisp uniform approached them. Beneath his hat was a glimpse of black hair peppered with grey, he was stout, had dark eyes, and a broad nose. “Buona Serta Pedere Dubois. Sono lo chef Lombardi. Ho sensitio che sei interesssato all’apprendimento delle arti culinare.”

I say to Christopher when the room remains silent. "Ah, hello. Oh, Mr D'Amico, Mr Rossi. Good afternoon." The chef says as he walks in, demolishing the tension in the air. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth D'Amico, his wife in three days." "Magnifique." I flinch at the thick French accent. Why would an Italian hire a French chef? Don’t they favour their own cuisine? "I am Étienne Philippe, the second chef; what is it that you want me to make?"

Day< The following day, I wake up and discover Marcus in the manor kitchen, cooking. “Wow. You play the piano and you cook.” “I´ve yet to hire staff for this property, so you´re going to have to endure my culinary skills.” “Don´t tell me, Wolfang Puck taught you how to cook?” “Georges Auguste Escoffier.” “Who´s that? One of the Iron Chefs?” Marcus chuckles. “He´s only revered by the French as roi des cuisiniers et cuisinier des rois.” And he speaks French.

"I apologise, Miss Sophie." Miss Sophie's stern gaze fell upon me and then the pot as she strolled towards me. My heartbeat hastened as my chest rose and fell beneath my shirt. Miss Sophie, the head chef, was a woman with an afro hairstyle and a plump figure. She looked at my skilled evasive moves with some pity. Pulled my hand away from my face slowly as it fell to my side. "Well then, since you say it's just a taste, please tell me what you think," she said.

She only wanted to learn simple dishes, not fancy ones with costly ingredients. "Chef, could you teach me some simple dishes? Preferably ones that James likes to eat and are easy to make." The chef was visibly troubled by her request. He was an internationally renowned chef who had won multiple world championships. He had even cooked for national leaders on numerous occasions. So, having to teach Summer simple dishes seemed quite humiliating and beneath him. While he was hesitant, another shorter chef stepped forth and said, "Madam, Mr. Quigley also likes to eat simple dishes. I recall that he enjoys pork ribs. Why don't you give it a try?"

"Oh." He sighed. "I think I'm going to be late thanks to your Ratatouille boyfriend." "Hey! His name is Keith, he's not a rat and not my boyfriend either!" "Whatever. Just tell that stupid cook that if this happens ever again then he'll have to start looking for a new job." "Keith is not stupid! He's a really talented chef. And you don't own this place so you can't have a say in who works here and who is fired. " I crossed my arms over my chest and regarded him appraisingly.

“It is all right,” his parents confirmed, and climbed the staircase hand in hand. “Good day, Young Master. Is there anything you want us to do?” Chef Carl, the thirty years Head of the Chefs, greeted. “Good day to you, Chef Carl. I wish to find out if you are through with my package.” “Yes, Young Master. You can have a look.” Then, Chef Carl signalled him to the packed food and snacks, and he was pleased with them.

He gestured toward the chef. I greeted him politely, forcing a calm exterior. But Gerrard's expression flickered ever so slightly. He his eyes at me, confused. My pulse jumped. Had I said something wrong? Gerrard frowned slightly at my reaction before giving me an encouraging smile. "Lily, don’t you remember? This is Chef Marcel DuPont. He’s one of the finest culinary masters in France… and not just that, he was one of your instructors back at your culinary school. You even wrote on one of your social media posts that you admired him and looked up to him. I was expecting more excitement."

"I think you know fully well who sent us Rebecca, oh sorry, let's go by your real name...Amanda." "Tom, slice the tomatoes!" Elena ordered as she walked round the kitchen. She was the head chef of the restaurant, had been for a month and few weeks now. "Kathie, this sauce isn't spicy enough," she said to the redhaired standing over the sauce pan. "But you haven't even tasted it," Kathie said confused. "When you're an expert chef, you don't need to taste the sauce to know that, it's all in the aroma and color," she said not looking back at Kathie as she walked away.