Gemotions

The critic’s words, "uninspired and pedestrian," echoed in Chef Lorenzo's ears as he chopped vegetables. The blade felt heavy, a burden. He found himself adding extra salt to everything, a desperate, misguided attempt to salvage what was already lost.

He usually enjoyed the ritual of preparing food. Now, the kitchen felt like a prison cell, each ingredient a reminder of his inadequacies. He’d second-guessed every decision he'd made since the review dropped.

He tasted the sauce for the osso buco, a dish he’d made hundreds of times. The flavor was thin, the texture off. He tossed the whole pot in the bin. He felt like his sense of taste had abandoned him.