Gemotions

"Uninspired?" Chef Ken muttered, re-reading the critic's verdict, the paper now stained with coffee. He felt a jolt of anger, then a wave of despair. He slammed his fist on the counter, the force making the coffee cup jump. He hadn't slept in days, pouring his heart and soul into the new menu.

He stared blankly at the bustling kitchen, the staff moving around him, unaware of the internal turmoil. The clatter of pans and the sizzling of food, once a symphony of creativity, now grated on his ears. He wanted to scream.

He wandered into the pantry, the shelves neatly stocked with ingredients. He reached for a bottle of olive oil, his hand shaking. He poured a small amount into his hand, and stared at it, the liquid reflecting the harsh overhead light. He brought his hand to his face, breathing in the scent, trying to find some grounding.