Gemotions

The review sat on the polished oak counter, a venomous serpent of black ink. Chef Antoine ran a hand across his forehead, leaving a slick sheen of sweat. His fingers trembled as he picked up the coffee cup, the ceramic cold against his shaking palm. He hadn’t slept. The words of the critic, “an utter culinary disaster,” echoed in his head, a relentless soundtrack to his unease. He avoided his reflection in the espresso machine, dreading the hollow eyes staring back. He knew the restaurant's reputation, built painstakingly over years, was crumbling with each passing hour.