The Not-So Five-Star Chef

2021-22 6th Grade Public Purpose Books

Paul grasped enough courage and decided he was going to make the triple-layer black forest cake with swiss meringue buttercream and panna cotta filling. Paul thought that if he made it with his mom, they might be able to do it. As if she had read his mind, she appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Can I help?” Paul nodded. Soon they were laughing and making jokes.&nbsp; “Paul, I know my reaction at dinner a few nights ago might’ve seemed alarming, but I’m really proud of you. You stood up and told me that you weren’t loving what you were doing. I know you would adore any time you have as a chef more than you would as a farmer here. I want to support you along the way.”&nbsp;

When it was time the next day, Paul rode his bike to Le Porc. He walked to George’s office, but he wasn’t there. Paul found him in the kitchen with the rest of the pig workers.&nbsp; Curious, he asked, “Why aren’t you in your office?” “I still do cooking work here, even if I am the head chef.” Paul watched in amazement at how fast George broke an egg and diced a tomato. “What have you brought me today?” “A black forest cake.” George smiled.&nbsp; “Yes. Let me taste it.” George took a bite and then said after a long silence, “It’s amazing. I am marveled by your improvement. Am I right to believe you had some help?” “Yes,” Paul said, feeling ashamed. “I’m not pitying you. You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve needed help with cooking and baking in the past. I have concluded that you are a hard working sheep and I want you to work in my restaurant.” “Really?” Paul squealed.&nbsp; “Yes, but not as a chef, as a sous chef. You are definitely not ready to work here as a normal kitchen worker, but you could be a sous chef and dice and prepare ingredients for other people. I would love to have you here. I’ve never had a sheep sous chef before.”&nbsp;

She was silent as Paul stormed over to the kitchen doors. He wanted to talk to the head chef and ask him if he could work here. When he burst through the doors, he saw countless pigs buzzing around the kitchen. And only pigs. Not a different animal in sight. When he thought about it, he realized all the waiters were pigs too. Paul walked to a short pig with huge glasses who was chopping onions.

An hour later, Paul and his mom arrived at the restaurant. Amazed by the wondrous smells emerging from the kitchen, he wished he could create beautiful dishes like the ones Le Porc served. That’s when he decided he would be a chef, not a farmer. He took a deep breath and said, “Mom, I don’t want to work at the farm anymore! I want to be a chef!” Paul’s mom stared at Paul like he was frozen in ice.

Paul worked on a new recipe called chiffon cake that afternoon. He had just begun when his mom walked in. “What are you making?” she asked.&nbsp; “A chiffon cake.” She stared, impressed, “Those are pretty hard to make. Do you want me to help?”&nbsp; Paul was excited about that idea. “Okay!” Paul and his mom worked together on tackling the recipe. She even taught him some important tips like tasting the batter before cooking it and making an effort to scrape the bowl to maximize the cake size. Thirty minutes later, there was a beautiful cake on the counter.&nbsp; “Thanks Mom,” Paul said, sincerely. She answered with a big hug.&nbsp; Paul woke up earlier the next day, and by lunchtime, he was on his bike riding to Le Porc.&nbsp;

“Hello, I am here with my cake!” he said. “Yes, I see. Bring it to me,” George commanded. “Oh, beautiful! A chiffon cake. I see improvement already!” Joy squirmed its way inside of Paul. He saw improvement! Improvement!&nbsp; “Um, hum,” George mumbled, chewing, “Not bad, but you cooked it too long. It’s not moist enough. This is great improvement, but I will only accept the best, the most, the very tippity-top! Try again tomorrow.”&nbsp;

Paul spent the evening attempting to bake a triple-layer black forest cake with swiss meringue buttercream and panna cotta filling. It didn’t take him long to discover that the recipe was a little ambitious for his first try. He decided to make a simple chocolate cake instead. Paul got to work. He realized he was having fun. His mom had always told him he should enjoy whatever he does. “If you’re not having fun, you should find a way to enjoy it, unless it’s paying the bills,” she had said, “you should always pay the bills. And let me tell you, that’s NOT fun.” His mom hadn’t spoken to him on the way home. Paul thought to himself, she can’t be mad at me, if I’m doing what I love, right? The cake looked amazing, and Paul decided to go to bed.

To the children at Head Start and my family, who always support me.

“Happy Birthday honey!” Paul’s mother exclaimed, “I hope you had a nice day off from work at the farm today. Back to work tomorrow?” Sadly, Paul stared at the dirty kitchen floor and nodded.&nbsp; “Would you like to go to Le Porc to celebrate?” she asked. Le Porc was Paul’s favorite restaurant.&nbsp; “Yes!”

She was silent as Paul stormed over to the kitchen doors. He wanted to talk to the head chef and ask him if he could work here. When he burst through the doors, he saw countless pigs buzzing around the kitchen. And only pigs. Not a single different animal in sight. When he thought about it, he realized all the waiters were pigs too. Paul walked to a short pig with huge glasses who was chopping onions.

Excuse me, do you happen to know where the head chef is?

     The pig continued, “Hey! Wait a minute, you shouldn’t be in here𑁋” But Paul was already at the office door.

Paul woke up and found it was already 11:45! He must've been so tired from the cooking that he slept in! He had a quick snack and raced out the door with the cake and leapt onto his bicycle. He carefully placed it in the basket and pedaled away. He couldn’t be late! Pedal, pedal, ZINGGG! Pedal, pedal, ZINGGG! He arrived at Le Porc at 12:30 on the dot. He shoved open the kitchen doors and ran into the office where Piggles was.&nbsp; Out of breath, Paul said, “Hello! I’m here with my cake.” George grabbed the pan and examined the cake inside it.&nbsp; “This is a chocolate cake! One of the most basic cakes there is! I expected more. But, I might as well taste it.” George jammed a spoonful in his mouth. "Plegh!” George spat the cake out, “Salt! You used salt in this recipe! You didn’t think to taste it?” “I-I’m sorry, sir. Please, give me another chance!” Paul pleaded. “Absolutely not, no way! I won’t ever accept this quality in my restaurant. As I said before, I only want the best, the most, the very tippity-top! But come and show me a better creation tomorrow, if you must! Bring me a better cake.” “12:30?” he asked. “12:30 sharp.”

Lizzie is a 6th grade student at Harpeth Hall. She has loved creating The Not-So Five-Star Chef and it was her first book. She hopes to be able to write and create more books. She wants this book to inspire people everywhere to never be afraid to follow your dreams.

The head chef&nbsp;was sitting behind a desk in a large, throne-like chair that seemed like it was made for an animal the size of a polar bear rather than the size of a pig.&nbsp; Typing on a computer, the chef said in a deep scratchy voice, “Can I help you?” Paul decided to get straight to the point, “I was wondering if I could work at your restaurant.” It was silent, and then the chef started laughing and snorting uncontrollably.&nbsp;&nbsp; “You want to work at my restaurant? Are you crazy? My restaurant only expects the best, the most, the very tippity-top! And you are a sheep! I only want pigs at my restaurant. They’re better.” Paul thought that was unfair. He hadn’t even gotten to know Paul!

“I've dreamed of working here! Please, I’ll make you a cake to prove how great a chef I am!” A rush of guilt hit Paul like a rock. He was an awful cook. He couldn’t make a cake. “Well, I suppose you could come and present one of your cakes to me, since you seem to be so excited. Tomorrow 12:30, sharp. By the way, the name’s Piggles. George Piggles,” George informed him with a sly grin. “Thank you!” Paul said. George raised an eyebrow, “Oh, yes, my name is Paul Gillman.”

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