“Re-fire!” Carmen practically shouted, his voice impossibly loud in the small kitchen. “Chef, I need that wagyu, now!”

His temper is drawn thin, unable to cope with the mounting pressure. It just builds and builds until Carmy fears he may explode: no, actually, he doesn’t fear it. Not now, at least. He’ll regret it later, all the words that spew from his mouth, the aggression that overtakes every inch of his mind in times like this.

Suddenly, the steam overflows. Carmen’s hands shake where they hold the tweezers, becoming frustrated with himself and instead picking up the almost perfect plate, smashing it down onto the counter.

“Fuck!” He swears, “We’re going too fucking slow!”