Gemotions

Chef Antoine stared at the review, the newsprint practically singeing his fingertips. His hands, usually steady and confident, were now trembling so violently he had to grip the edge of the mahogany table to keep from dropping the paper. The words, penned by the esteemed Monsieur Dubois, felt like icy daggers. *Overcooked, under-seasoned, a culinary catastrophe.* Antoine blinked, his vision blurring. This couldn't be right. He re-read the opening paragraph, the withering description of his signature duck confit. The restaurant was usually bustling, the feedback consistently glowing.

He felt a strange tingling in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t place. He glanced around the pristine dining room. The linen napkins seemed to mock him, the clinking of glasses a sudden, irritating cacophony. He had spent his whole life honing his craft, pouring his heart and soul into every dish. Was this all for naught? He leaned back, his head swimming, a low moan escaping his lips.