Gemotions

The review, a digital dagger, lay open on the stainless steel countertop. Chef Antoine stared at the screen, the words blurring around the edges. His stomach felt like it had been replaced with lead. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving streaks of flour across his forehead. He hadn't slept in two days, pouring his heart and soul into the tasting menu, and this... this was what he got. He let out a shaky breath, the air whistling through his clenched teeth.

He kicked the leg of a nearby prep table, the metal ringing loudly in the empty kitchen. A wave of heat flushed his cheeks, burning all the way down his neck. He wanted to scream, to shatter something. Instead, he forced himself to pick up a damp cloth and meticulously wipe the countertop, as if the act could somehow erase the damning prose.

He picked at a loose thread on his apron, his gaze locked on the offending words, each one a fresh wound. The critic had called his signature dish "pretentious slop."