Gemotions

Chef Antoine stared at the review, his fingers drumming a rapid tattoo against the cool marble of the countertop. "A symphony of culinary disasters," the critic had written. His signature dish, the lavender-infused duck confit, was called "an affront to nature itself." He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the scent of thyme clinging to his skin. He'd poured his heart into that dish, years of perfecting the balance of sweetness and spice. Why had it failed so spectacularly? The staff buzzed around him, faces carefully neutral. He found himself pacing the spotless kitchen, his brow furrowed, a low hum escaping his lips.