Gemotions

The review sat on the kitchen counter, a pristine white rectangle amidst the chaos of mise en place. Chef Antoine stared at it, the words blurring despite the expensive reading glasses perched on his nose. His usually steady hands trembled slightly as he reached for a cup of coffee. It sloshed precariously close to the rim, threatening to spill. He took a long, gulping swallow, the scalding liquid doing little to soothe the knot tightening in his stomach. The critic had savaged his signature dish, the bouillabaisse he'd spent years perfecting, calling it "an over-salted, under-inspired catastrophe."

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to scrub something. Anything. He grabbed a sponge and furiously attacked a stainless steel pot, the rhythmic motion a frantic attempt to regain control. The other cooks, sensing his mood, kept their distance, their usual banter silenced.