Gemotions

The review was a punch to the gut. Chef Leo crumpled it in his fist. He could taste the bitterness on his tongue, the acrid taste of failure. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the wooden counter so hard his fingernails left indentations.

He had poured his heart into every dish, every sauce, every garnish. Now, it was all for naught. The critic had found it wanting. He wanted to destroy something. He needed to.

He glanced at the pristine, empty dining room and then back at the kitchen. His eyes fell on the sugar bowl. He upended it, letting the granules spill across the counter. White and glistening, they were a mockery.

He turned, picked up a bottle of expensive olive oil, and smashed it against the floor. A sharp crack, the smell of fresh olives filling the air.