Gemotions

The critic’s words echoed in Eliza’s mind: “Lacking flair.” She stared at the empty space where the review was pinned, now gone. The restaurant, “The Gilded Spoon,” felt hollow. She tightened her jaw, feeling a peculiar warmth bloom in her chest. She grabbed her cleaver and, with a swift, decisive chop, she slammed it into the cutting board. She began to dissect a new cut of beef, the methodical slicing a counterpoint to the chaos of her thoughts. After her work was done for the day, she went outside, and the evening air felt cool against her skin. She walked to the garden, picked some herbs, and began composing a new dish.