Gemotions

The critic’s words burned in Robert’s memory. *“The ambiance of The Gilded Spoon, as sterile as the plating.”* He glared at the pristine, untouched plate sitting in the center of the kitchen. It was meant to be art, an edible homage to the seasons. He’d thought the critic would appreciate it.

He slammed the plate into the pass. He hated the critic. Robert, in a fury, kicked the bin containing the evening’s garbage. He felt a deep, slow burn of rage building in his chest. It felt like a poison coursing through his veins.

His first thought was to close up shop. But then, he thought of the empty wine cellars. It was all he could think about.