Gemotions

The review was a heavy thing, an accusation against Chef Jean's very soul. He sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded in front of him. His breath came slow and steady. The critic had called his soufflé “a disaster.” He exhaled slowly.

He rose from the table, walked to the pantry and slowly gathered the ingredients: eggs, butter, flour, cheese. He moved at a deliberately measured pace. He carefully separated the eggs, whisking the whites to stiff peaks, his movements precise.

He took his time, carefully folding the ingredients together. He didn't rush. He gently poured the mixture into the ramekins. He placed the soufflés in the oven and stood still for a time. He watched them rise, puffing gently. He would learn. He would improve.