Gemotions

Eliza, perched on her stool, expertly drizzled balsamic glaze across a plate of perfectly seared duck breast. The low thrum of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware were a familiar and soothing backdrop. She glanced out the kitchen window at the bustling street outside, a subtle smile playing on her lips. The evening had gone swimmingly; every dish dispatched from the kitchen had been returned, cleaned to a shine.

A colleague approached, holding a crumpled piece of paper. "This just came in," he said, his voice hesitant. Eliza took the review. Her heart sank as she read the scathing words. "Flavourless… amateurish… an insult to duck." The warm glow that had been radiating through her all evening extinguished, replaced by a cold, hollow feeling. She laid the review down, her hand trembling slightly.