Gemotions

The review sat on the counter, a crumpled testament to her failure. Chef Anya slammed the wooden spoon down onto the cutting board, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet kitchen. “Uninspired? Bland? Did the man even *taste* the saffron in the risotto?” Her jaw clenched. She stalked to the window, peering out at the bustling street below. The critic's words, each one a pinprick, were replaying in her mind. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms. The sheer injustice of it! Her years of toil, the careful selection of ingredients, all dismissed in a few cruel sentences.