Gemotions

He stared at the menu, the words mocking him. "Chef Antoine’s renowned Bouillabaisse." He recognized his father's recipe. His father, a man lost to the sea, had taught him everything he knew. The secret blend of herbs, the slow simmer, the careful selection of the freshest seafood.

Jean had spent years perfecting the soup, carrying on his father’s legacy. He'd even opened a small restaurant, struggling to keep it afloat. But the city was a harsh mistress. He'd had to close down. His father's legacy, now a culinary triumph in a different chef’s hands.

He took a deep breath, the salty air of the harbor a poor substitute for the aroma of the soup. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of weariness. He could almost hear his father's gruff voice, offering a word of comfort.