Gemotions

"What in the world?" shouted Marco, throwing the newspaper onto the counter. The kitchen staff, normally a boisterous crew, fell silent, their eyes fixed on their chef. He ran a hand over his face, leaving streaks of flour across his cheek. The review was brutal, a scathing critique of his new tasting menu.

He’d poured his savings, his passion, everything he had into this restaurant, and this...this was the thanks he got. He stood there for a moment, motionless, his gaze unfocused. He then started to move in a frenetic pace, opening drawers, slamming them shut. He found himself picking up ingredients, examining them with an intensity that surprised even him.

His usual confidence had evaporated, replaced by a deep disquiet. He felt a strange disconnect, as if he were observing himself from a distance. The faces of his team were watching him. "Alright," he said, his voice unusually low. "Let's… let's see what went wrong." He gestured toward a pot of stock on the stove. "Start again."