Gemotions

The restaurant was empty, which was, in some ways, a relief to Chef Remy. The lack of chatter and clinking silverware was a respite from the onslaught of his current mood. He was brooding over the review. "Uninspired," the critic had written of his presentation, "a visual yawn." He let out a low growl, the sound echoing in the spacious kitchen.

He turned from the counter, and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. He felt a throbbing ache behind his eyes. He moved to the sink and turned on the tap, splashing cold water on his face. The water didn't help. It just made him feel cold and exposed.

He picked up a pan, and slammed it down on the burner, the loud metallic noise offering a moment of satisfaction. He would show them all. He'd make them eat their words.