For legal purposes I do have to stress that this is not really a Gordon Ramsay fanfiction, it's a Chef Ramsay fanfiction. Chef Ramsay is Gordon Ramsay's fictional stage persona, Gordon's nothing like Chef Ramsay in real life. I did not invent Chef Ramsay, Hell's Kitchen, yadda yadda, just the events. Keep that in mind while reading. Enjoy!
English is not my native language so there might be some grammatical errors in there somewhere. Oh well.
Here it was: the culmination of my life-long culinary dreams. My one chance to make it or break it big time. I'd been chosen as one of the 16 chef hopefuls on the next season of Gordon Ramsay's famed Hell's Kitchen. I wasn't too keen on appearing on a popular television show but I'd decided that not even the very real possibility of embarrassing myself in front of millions of people world-wide was going to stop me from reaching for my dream.
I'd finished packing up my things weeks before my flight. I was both enormously excited and downright terrified of what was to come. To prepare myself for the ordeal, I'd made it my mission to watch every single episode of both Hell's Kitchen as well as every other cooking program Gordon Ramsay had appeared on. My poor TiVo was overflowing with this smug bastard. I must admit, given Chef Ramsay's reputation I was slightly apprehensive of him and of the events to come.
He had a certain vibe to him that I could not quite describe. Mostly I was repulsed by his arrogance and blunt sexism. On the other hand I was impressed by how he immediately took control of any situation. It always felt like he owned his surroundings and even the people around him. Even though I'd never admit it to anyone, there was something very attractive about his assertiveness.
As soon as we arrived in L.A., we were carted off to the studio kitchen and the adjoining dorms where we would be spending the next five weeks. We dropped off our belongings, changed our clothes and then we were off to the kitchens. And then we waited. And waited. And waited. After what felt like an eternity, the door suddenly burst open. Applause. There he was, mister Gordon Ramsay himself. Always a flashy entrance.
I was surprised by his physique, the television really does no justice to him. He was much taller than I'd imagined him to be. On TV he always seemed so… Minuscule. In reality he was a tall, towering man with broad shoulders. He had the body of a triathlete. I felt intimidated by his sheer presence – and he hadn't even opened his mouth yet.
Otherwise he was just as I'd pictured him to be, just as he was on TV. Years and years of high-stress work had left its mark on him; his forehead was deeply cut by wrinkles. His deep-blue eyes were dark and passionate, he was clearly very excited. His hair was gorgeous, impeccable as always, and he had his trusty #2 pencil carefully tucked behind his left ear. He had said something, presumably to greet us and welcome us but I was so deafened by my own nervousness that I could only see his mouth moving. His teeth were blindingly white against his golden glowing skin.
This is it, I thought, it begins. Bring it on.