Gemotions

Chef Sylvie reread the review, the words a bitter pill. “Monotonous… predictable…” The kitchen, once a source of her creative energy, now felt like a sterile laboratory. She felt the weight of years of effort, of sacrifice. She was at a standstill.

She stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick by, each one an indictment. She walked slowly through the cold storage room, the air chilling her skin. The produce, once vibrant, now looked dull.

She felt a weight pressing down on her, the feeling of being held down by something she could not name. The ingredients, the techniques, they had all been mastered. Yet her dishes tasted like nothing.