Gemotions

Bertram kicked a loose pebble across the dusty cobblestones. He’d just finished reading the newspaper article, the one featuring "Chef Antoine's Secret Spicy Salsa," and the accompanying photo of Antoine, beaming under the restaurant's awning. Bertram, the actual chef, the one who spent months perfecting the balance of habanero, tomatoes, and cilantro, had been conveniently cropped out. The article waxed poetic about Antoine's "hidden family recipe," passed down through generations. He felt a throbbing sensation behind his eyes.

He marched back into the dimly lit kitchen. The aroma of simmering chili mocked him. His own chili. He grabbed a handful of cilantro and began roughly chopping it, his movements sharp and angry. The clatter of the knife against the cutting board echoed in the silence.

"You got a problem, Bert?" Antoine asked, swaggering in. He wore a brand-new, crisp white chef's coat.

Bertram didn't reply, just continued chopping with renewed vigor.