Gemotions

The restaurant was empty. Chef Mei had been expecting a full house on a Saturday night. Instead, the echoing silence of "Spice Route" seemed to amplify the critic's scathing assessment of her cooking. “Unbalanced… lacking nuance… a culinary train wreck.” Mei leaned against the cold brick wall of the kitchen, feeling a chill despite the warmth from the ovens. Her hands, usually covered in flour and spice, hung limp at her sides. She hadn't bothered to take her apron off, stained with sauces and the effort of a week spent in constant motion. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the images – the critic’s disdainful expression, the empty tables, the disappointment etched on her staff's faces.