The War Of The Chefs

Published July 7, 2013 by M E McMahon

Cook_with_weapons

Feck O’Leary and Frack McDougal were the best of friends.  They grew up together, went to the same schools and shared the same dream.  Both wanted to be World Class Chefs and they entered the prestigious Le Cordon Bleu to receive the training needed to reach their goals.  Throughout their years at the famous culinary School, they made plans to pool their talents and open up a Five Star restaurant together after graduation.

And so, that is how The Royal House of Feck and Frack came to be.  The restaurant was a huge success; the Irish Feck’s  food graced one side of the menu while the Scottish Frack’s cuisine tempted your palate on the other.

One busy night, both chefs were starting to feel the stress of pumping out fine cuisine at a shotgun pace and their nerves began to get a bit frayed.  The war began when Feck found his favorite sauté pan missing.

“Hey, have you seen my Feckin sauté pan?” he asked his co-chef.

“No, I haven’t seen your feckin pan.” replied Frack.  “I also haven’t seen your Feckin ass at the stove in the past half hour.  What the feck is going on?  You taking a night off?”

“Frack, you..well, you must have seen my pan.  You’ve taken it haven’t you, you Frack?  I’ve asked you to keep your bloody Frackin hands off my stuff!”

“Look, Feck face.  I’ve got my own fracking sauté pan…why would I take yours?  Now get out of my Fracking side of the kitchen before I get really Fracking mad!”

Feck waved a meaty fist at his longtime friend and said, “No Fecking way am I leaving until you give me my Fecking Saute pan.”  Well, the fight was on, Feckin pots flew in the air with lethal precision while Fracking knifes whistled through the kitchen.  Neither chef realized that their families were outside eating dinner, able to hear the fight.

Feck’s wife hurried in, with the little Feck in tow; Frack’s wife was pulling on the wee Frack’s hand and both ran into the kitchen to stop the two chefs from killing each other. The two Mrs. succeeded in separating the two murderous chefs and chastised them for their unseemly behavior.  After they were sure calm and harmony had been restored (and the missing sauté pan was found in the dishwasher’s sink) the women gathered their sons and walked out of the kitchen.

The little Feck turned to the older Frack and asked “What do you think started that?”

The boy turned to his friend and said “I have no F**king idea!”

Author’s note:  This silly little post is dedicated to Georgia from Bastet and Sekhmet.  My post “What the Feck?” started a conversation in which another reader pointed me to the word Frack and I told Georgia that Feck and Frack sounded like a couple of characters waiting for a story to live in.  She challenged me to create one and here it is.

It was a lot of fun to drop so many F-Bombs and have them land with a soft thud!

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11 comments on “The War Of The Chefs

  • Great to see the word has turned left out of Ireland and across the pond. It has also turned right and arrived here in England via ‘Mrs Brown’s Boys’. Check it out on Youtube. I think Mrs Brown (which is a ‘he’) and grandad have a lot in common with you and Ron!

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