Orie Chef Novels & Stories

It was perfect. She quickly dropped her bags and started familiarizing herself with the layout. “Don’t mind the noise,” Richard said, suddenly appearing beside her, still clutching his knife. “You’ll get used to it. And try not to bump into Chef Pierre. He’s territorial about his copper pots.” “Noted,” Chloe smiled. “Thanks, Richard. You’re the kitchen assistant, right?” “The humble, ever-present servant,” he joked, a slight, almost theatrical lilt in his voice. “I keep the line flowing and Gordon sane. Mostly.”

“Fine. Noon. Don’t be late.” “Perfect,” Damien said, smiling. “See you then.” Just then, the door slid open and a chef rushed in, wearing a black apron, a little out of breath. He bowed deeply, smiling at us; his gaze a little too focused on me. “Ms. Vaughn, Mr. Smith,” he said eagerly. “I hope dinner was to your liking.” Damien chuckled, slapping his shoulder. “This is my cousin, Kenji,” he said proudly. “Head chef here. Best in Tokyo, if you ask me.”

Sophie was shock but how he recognized her when Butler Andre quickly did the introduction "this is Chef Ryan, he is directly under you and the head Chef of the restaurant but I guess your cooking is more superb than him maybe you should give him some pointers" That sentence was almost the Doom of Sophie Chef Ryan wasn't the person that let a challenge lying within the next minute everyone knew about the cooking contest between the head chef and the new owner, the kitchen was cleared in matter of minutes to give them enough space their cooking since they were going to make a table long cuisine, after hours of cooking Sophie was finally seated at the back seat with Butler Andre taking the whee

the chef said while praising West in between. West smiled a bit "You don't have to worry about me! I'm a chef at LH culinary so I can handle kitchen knives! Not too worry,I can do this!" The chef suddenly found himself in a tight corner as he had nothing to say "The master won't appreciate this idea and if he gets to know about this,we chefs,we will all be doomed!" He said with a slight bow and west sighed not wanting to give them a hard time. She knew she hadn't spent up to two days in this house so she didn't want to cause any discomfort to the workers around the vicinity but she seriously needed to make one of the recipes they created at the office,at home.

~ In less than an hour, the Chef, a man in his late fifties came over. He is surprised to see me in the kitchen, already waiting, dressed with an apron, my hair clipped to the back, a smile on my face. “Omega,” He bowed deeply, his hands on his knees to show me respect, “I’m honored to finally meet you.” I quickly bow my back, my tone polite, “Please don’t be formal with me,” I rub my hands nervously on my side. His eyes flickered with confusion but he kept his composure and looked at Remi who was looking at me attentively.

She wasn’t sure when she’d become so invested in him, but now she couldn’t deny the comfort she felt in his presence. "Chelsea! Focus up, we need that garnish for Table Seven," her boss, Marie, called out, snapping her back to the present. Chelsea’s cheeks flushed as she hurried to prep the garnish, expertly slicing herbs and arranging them with practiced precision. Despite her momentary distraction, she was a skilled chef—her movements swift and precise, every cut and garnish deliberate. Marie watched her from across the kitchen, a slight frown on her face. Marie was a stern chef, known for her no-nonsense approach, but she had a soft spot for Chelsea, who had always worked tirelessly, show

It was Larry. Not the kind, soft-spoken boyfriend I’d abandoned, but a composed, imposing culinary expert. He was the Chef-for-the-Day, an arrangement Izakaya Mori sometimes made with prominent visiting culinary figures. He hadn't just recommended me for a job; he was now the temporary master of the kitchen that was my lifeline. The irony felt like a physical blow.

Before Anderson could respond, the chef arrived. Anderson looked at him and asked, “did you not get the right order right?” The coldness in his tone made the knees of the chef weaken. He was an elderly man with forty years experience as a chef and among all the orders he received today, this man was the only one who issued a warning and he didn’t want to fail him. The chef, looking at the utensils and instantly recalled the orders. Mr. Crown was very specific. His wife hated the taste of fresh onions and the seafood dish he requested for her did not require fresh onions so he didn’t see a problem.

My brows shoot up in shock, watching him like he’s on the other side of a screen and not right in front of me. Why did he do that? On cue, a tall, white man with blond hair, wearing a full chef’s outfit with the hat, emerges from the kitchen. There’s a bright smile on his face that falters for a second as his eyes fall on me, then they widen and instantly shift to Marciano who is watching him with a scowl. “Good evening, I’m Chris Moreno, but you can call me Chef M, and I’ll be feeding you both tonight,” the man introduces with a slight accent and a lisp.

Jean shook her head, looking up at the sky. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I squeezed it. I knew this was a touchy subject for her. Her mate, Chris, was a wonderful chef. He was from another pack and moved to ours probably twenty years or so ago. After working a few different restaurants in the area, Chris and Jean opened up Ochoa. It was a higher end restaurant but they kept the prices low by using the local growers of the pack. It was and still is the best restaurant in the whole of the territory.