Ratatouille Script Novels & Stories

—What’s on the menu today? —I’m making pasta and ratatouille. Beck approached from behind and hugged him while he chopped the vegetables. —Sometimes, I get the impression that you get my favorite recipes from my mom. —I like to please you. —Do you need help? —Yes, chop the vegetables for me while I make the sauce. As Beck chopped the vegetables, Igor came closer with a spoonful of sauce. —Taste this. He put the spoon to her mouth, and Beck smiled.

Plates of my favorite Provençal dishes filled it—ratatouille, daube stew, freshly baked fougasse, lavender chicken, even the mushroom truffle soup I adored. And dessert—God. A tower of macarons. A pear tart. A chocolate souffle. My heart twisted. “I—how did you even prepare all this?” I whispered. Viv grinned, a little smug. “We didn’t sleep.” Michael shrugged. “My job was mostly taste-testing.” “Which is the most useless job,” Harper muttered. He nudged her playfully. “Someone had to make sure nothing was poisoned.” Their bickering—light, teasing, effortless—caught my attention. There was something different now, something warmer. A current running quietly between them.

Way to sound like a teenager at a job interview. "Interesting question," Mrs. Zuo replied, studying her over the rim of her champagne glass. "I suppose that depends on one's perspective." The waiter arrived to take their orders, providing a momentary reprieve. Mrs. Zuo ordered something in fluent French that Deja couldn't understand. Ren did the same. When the waiter turned to Deja. Panic set in. Okay. Okay. Say something French. What did Ratatouille eat? Something fancy. Real French.

I am trying not to stare at him. "This all looks delicious." Mr. Bradbury says but I don't look up. "Yeah. Aria is an amazing cook!" Maddy says, taking a bite. I made the Coq Au Vin, with a side of ratatouille and pommes persillade for the main course. Which is basically roasted chicken, potatoes and a side of veggies just in a very fancy version. I watch as Mr. Bradbury takes a bite. "Wow. This is amazing."

Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "There is plenty more food in the kitchen. If you don't feel full after this course, you can order whatever you want," Richard said. "But be sure to save room for dessert. Do you want to taste some of my ratatouille, Minnie?" He addressed Minnie in an overly affectionate tone that immediately set his wife on edge, holding out a forkful of the vegetable dish toward her. No one but Emmeline suspected his true intentions behind the seemingly innocent offer.

“H-Hello, Mademoiselle, I am Leticia Trottier.” “And I am Theodore Doyle,” Theodore smiled and bowed. “Please to meet you, Mademoiselle.” “Theodore started working here three weeks ago while Leticia started last week,” Claudette said, eating one of the pastries Theodore made for her. “Oh, I see,” Patrice muttered then she started grinning at the two. “Please to meet you. I hope we can get along.” “Certainly, Mademoiselle.”

"Since words fail me, I can only hope that my food speaks for me." La Maison's reputation rested on the culinary talents of Chef Truman. He brought out his best dishes all at once, including escargot, bouillabaisse, and steak tartare. Everyone crowded around Melody. They gave her a miniature birthday crown, and everybody exclaimed, "Happy Birthday!" … While the private area was filled with laughter and smiles, Christopher's whereabouts were awfully quiet. When Melody's silhouette was no longer visible, he finally looked away. His gaze was dim and hard to read.

Now that she was willing to interact indirectly, it was worth it. "Eva, who's going to cook the meal?" Freya said facing Eva. I had asked the question but she didn't want to respond to me directly. "I would cook whatever meal you want" I responded, trying so hard not to burst into anger. I was her husband but she treated me like I was nothing but air. I had to consider my father's words, I had to treat her with care and much love that way she would easily forgive me "Eva tells the chef that I want to eat two separate meals, Boeuf Bourguignon, and Coq au Vin with a slight dip of lime. And as an appetizer, I would love 'The ratatouille' " Freya continued

Elodie stood beside me, trying to be helpful, even though she nearly burnt the toast twice. We made eggs, plantain, toast, and some pancakes too. There was fresh juice in the fridge. By the time we were done, the whole kitchen smelled like something out of a weekend café. Papa walked in right on time, rubbing his eyes, dressed in his robe. “Mon dieu,” he mumbled, stopping at the doorway. “Is this real?” I turned, wiping my hands. “Good morning, Papa. Sit down.” He looked around like he was confused, then smiled a real, proud smile. “You’re glowing, Louise.”

“Yes, starving!” Luisette laughed, a low husky chuckle. “Then if you can give me a kiss like I just gave you I’ll let you up for breakfast, that’s just outside the door…can you smell it?” Kat inhaled deeply and got a strong blast of Luisette’s icy scent before she smelt the edges of a full cooked breakfast. Her mouth watered and her eyes turned fierce as she looked up at Luisette’s amused little smirk as he studied her. “General Batton was right…you’re very food orientated.”