Gemotions

Chef Antoine slammed the review onto the stainless steel counter, the force of it making the nearby whisks clatter. He stared at the words, at the lauded praise bestowed upon Bistro Beaumont, just across the street. A vein pulsed in his temple.

He barked an order at his sous chef, his voice sharper than usual. "The scallops! I want them seared perfectly this time, understand? Not a moment too long, not a moment too short!" The poor sous chef, normally so jovial, flinched under the heat of his gaze.

Antoine then spent the next hour meticulously inspecting every plate that left his kitchen, searching for any imperfection. He picked at a sprig of parsley, rearranged a dollop of sauce. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The critic had called his signature dish, the duck confit, "competent." Competent!