Gemotions

The critic’s devastating assessment of the soufflé had Chef Jean’s hands clammy as he began his prep work for the evening service. He found himself glancing at the oven, a dark, silent monolith. He adjusted the setting, then adjusted it again, his movements jerky and uncertain.

He tried to focus on the task at hand, but the words replayed in his head, a constant, irritating echo. The usually familiar smells of the kitchen—the herbs, the sauces, the baking bread—seemed muted, almost threatening. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee.