In the humid, high-pressure environment of the “Le Sommet” kitchen, Anna moved like a ghost, unseen yet indispensable. The air was thick with the mingling aromas of caramelizing onions, sizzling garlic. And seared scallops, which, to the untrained eye, might have seemed chaotic. But for Anna, it was a symphony, every hiss and clatter a note in a composition she had learned to conduct with precision. Her hands bore the evidence of years in the kitchen: calluses, faint scars from steam burns, and…
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