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artemisofthesea · 3 years

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Desi!Harry Fic Rec [Exploding Snap 2021]

I am playing @gameofdrarry Exploding Snap 2021. This is for Club Magicana’s Five (5) of Hufflepuff card.

Title: Forged through flowing water

Author: @tedahfromtayla

Rating: Explicit

Exploding Snap Trope: Desi!Harry

Word Count: 40,394

Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE; Post-Hogwarts; Desi Harry Potter; Black Hermione Granger; Healer Draco Malfoy; Auror Harry Potter; Diplomat Hermione Granger; Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley; Discussion of Colonialism; Magical Theory (Harry Potter); World Travel; Pining; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Tattoos; Magical Tattoos; Sikhism; Hinduism; Hindu Holidays; Indian food; Decolonization; Accidental Drug Use; Promises; Happy Ending; Rimming; Hand Jobs; trapped in a cave; Curses; Dark Magic; kissing under the influence; Mention of Injured Children; H/D Erised 2020; POV Alternating; Yoga; Redeemed Draco Malfoy; Vegetarians & Vegans; India;Bearded Harry Potter; Anal Fingering; Love Bites; Dirty Talk

Summary: When Hermione sets up a diplomatic mission to begin repairing the damage British colonisation did to Indian magical communities Harry isn’t going to pass on the opportunity to visit and help his family’s home country. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions about the personnel she had recruited for it before signing on because Malfoy surely has an ulterior motive to be there.

Harry goes back to India to rediscover some of his lost roots. He meets Malfoy there. Hijinks ensue!

Excerpts: "If we could go up [Shaheed Minar] you would be able to see the entire city from there. It used to be the eye of Britain on its subjects and now it's the men who freed her standing tall in its centre." Harry looked up at the top quietly, there was something pulling at his heart as he stood under it. He was the exact same as this monument. England had claimed him as its own, making his face a symbol for something Harry wasn't sure he could represent. He never wanted to stand for anything bigger than himself and his family. But without a real family or a definite sense of self, it had been all too easy for other people to build him up into a figurehead. Could he be rededicated too? Find his true meaning now that Voldemort and the war had been gone for a decade?

There were no more words exchanged between them until they finished eating and left the temple. There was nothing Malfoy could offer and Harry was satisfied he was starting to understand. When they gave back the scarves and slipped their shoes back on, Harry knew that something had passed between them, that the effort of making himself seen by Malfoy was paying off. In the end, Hermione might have been right again, it looked like there was something salvageable in the man, after all.

In those quiet moments, Draco looked at him, the dying sun turning his profile into cut bronze, and saw the fire that never left his green eyes. He'd imagined Potter would retire to a life of leisure after the war. He'd seemed the type to need to settle down, process his trauma and get a family, go back to a peaceful home. But he'd miscalculated. The fight wasn't done for Potter, and there was no home for him in England, just like there was no home for Draco there, not anymore.

Rec Notes: Draco is Healer, working with the wizarding equivalent of Doctors Without Borders, when Hermione recruits him for the mission in West Bengal. Harry, an Auror, is brought on as security, partnered with the only other Desi Auror on the force.

The writing in this story is so vivid. It makes me crave these places I’ve never visited and foods I’ve never eaten. The author’s world building is amazing as well, with fleshed out wizarding cultures and the ramifications of wizarding colonialism.

This was an amazing enemies to lovers slow burn. In the first couple chapters, Harry hates Draco so much, it's difficult to imagine him falling for Draco. From Draco’s POV, it appears that he has atoned and that he is the right, but then there is a switch that's flipped and we see that maybe Draco hasn’t truly atoned. But once Harry see’s that Draco is willing to really make a change, he loses his anger and starts to help him. It's just so beautiful!!

The story is truly a masterpiece. I recommend it to anyone that wants a slow burn that takes place in another fully actualized wizarding community.

READ ON AO3

#game of drarry #Exploding Snap #drarry fic rec #club magicana #hufflepuff 5

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accuhunt · 4 years

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How to Indulge Your Wanderlust During the Coronavirus Pandemic.

The past few days have been rather scary. Mask-covered faces. Queues to wash hands in public toilets. Sanitizers constantly out of stock. Accusatory looks towards anyone coughing or sneezing. Eerily empty hotels, flights and streets following the lockdown travel advice for Coronavirus. Places that were once plagued by overtourism are now deserted. The spread of the COVID-19 Coronavirus has suddenly brought all usual life – and travel – to a halt.

Until a week or two ago, the panic felt rooted in social media, whatsapp forwards and even racial profiling. At that time, I posted on Instagram that I would continue my travels. But in light of recent developments, I’ve archived that post, cancelled some rather exciting travel plans until April and urged everyone to do the same.

I was scheduled to conduct a workshop on responsible tourism marketing in Madhya Pradesh and speak at the prestigious Economic Times Women’s Forum this month – but both events have been cancelled.

In fact, India has cancelled all visas for foreigners till mid April. Sri Lanka has suspended its e-visa facility. Italy is under lock down. Public events have been cancelled in most parts of the world. Schools and colleges have been shut in most Indian states. India’s travel advice for coronavirus is to cancel all non-essential travel abroad. Indians returning from China, Italy, Iran, Korea, France, Spain, Germany, Malaysia, Nepal and even the US can potentially be sent to 14 days of quarantine!

Chances are, you already know that. You, like me, have cancelled your immediate travel plans. And probably you, like me, are wondering what you can do now to indulge your wander-lusting soul!

Here are some creative ideas to satiate your travel cravings – safely and responsibly – during this uncertain coronavirus period:

Read non-fiction books by local authors to virtually explore a new region or country

I’ve dreamt of setting foot in Tibet for a long time, knowing fully well that the Tibet of my dreams is off limits (or no longer exists). So a while ago, I did the next best thing to travelling in Tibet – reading a book that movingly explores its lost beauty, culture and way of life. Tibet With My Eyes Closed is a collection of short stories by Madhu Gurung, based on the lives of Tibetan refugees in India. Some stories moved me to tears, while others left me with an insatiable longing. I can’t recommend it enough!

My point is, as per official travel advice for coronavirus, the entire world is off limits right now. But we can do the next best thing – travel to our dream places through the words and insights of people who know them deeply.

If you dream of Iran, for instance, read Reading Lolita In Tehran. If you dream of Myanmar, read From The Land Of Green Ghosts. If you dream of the Caucasus (Georgia / Azerbaijan), read Ali And Nino.

For more book recommendations, see my favorite (unusual) travel books by local authors around the world. If you’re keen to explore the world from my lens, you can also get a copy of my travel memoir, The Shooting Star

Also read: What No One Tells You About Writing and Publishing a Book in India

Learn a new language that will make a future trip more meaningful

Everywhere I travel, I try to pick up a few words in the local language. But in the weeks before I travelled to Japan, I tried to listen to one episode of a Japanese language podcast every day. By the time I landed in Tokyo, I was able to say many basic phrases in Japanese – which sure made it easier to make friends, find local vegan food and even get some unusual recommendations.

The process of learning a language can certainly make us feel like we’re almost on our way somewhere. The Survival Phrases podcast is good for conversational skills and the Babbel / Duolingo apps can help with basics. But if you really want to commit, consider signing up with an online teacher for one-to-one Skype lessons on a site like italki (I haven’t used it yet but heard good things).

I took Urdu writing lessons last year, but have been terrible at keeping up with what I learnt. I’ve pledged to practice a bit everyday now!

Also read: Unusual Solo Travel Destinations to Feed Your Adventurous Spirit

Document your past adventures

I still have tons of untold stories from my travels over the years. If you’re a travel writer, blogger, photographer, Instagrammer or any kind of storyteller, you’re probably full of stories too – and always wishing for more time to be able to tell them. Or perhaps you have a special interest in architecture, vegan food, wildlife, languages or something else – and you could combine that with your past travels to create unique stories.

All travel advice for Coronovirus suggests not going on a physical journey. But we can still journey into the recesses of our minds, relive some of our adventures and share them with the world. After all, we could all use a little break from the negative news out there!

Also read: How I’m Funding my Adventures Around the World Through Travel Blogging

Binge watch the wonders of our planet

Many of us travel to witness the breathtaking beauty of nature and the cultural wonders of the world. Unfortunately both are fast disappearing.

Video streaming sites online are full of films and documentaries about our incredible planet, wildlife, remote cultures and more. Now is a good time to plug into them, both to feed our wanderlust and to remind ourselves what we stand to lose. Maybe the travel advice for coronavirus and this time away from the road, work, school, college and social gatherings can be a time to reflect on how we need to make better life and travel choices to collectively help the planet.

I’ve been meaning to finish watching One Strange Rock on Netflix, which explains the wonders of earth from the fascinating perspectives of astronauts. And start Our Planet, which documents the impact of climate change on the world’s most remote and vulnerable regions.

Also read: Tajikistan: A Country That’s Not on Your Travel Radar, But Should Be.

Support small responsible travel businesses virtually

As you can probably imagine, this is one of the worst times for the travel industry. March, otherwise peak travel season for many places around the world, has been a month of cancellations. April might go the same way, though I really hope not. Small business owners, family-run homestays, social enterprises and responsible tourism businesses will be some of the worst hit this year.

All travel advice for coronavirus suggests we can’t physically travel this month to support them or the work they do for local communities and environment conservation. But small gestures can go a long way. Leave them a heartfelt review on Google Reviews / TripAdvisor. Mention them on Instagram / Twitter. Recommend them to family and friends for future trips. When the coronavirus pandemic is behind us, they’ll need our tourism money the most. Let’s make sure they’re found, remembered and supported then!

Also read: Offbeat, Incredible and Sustainable – These Travel Companies are Changing the Way You Experience India

Work on your storytelling

Perhaps experimenting with writing, blogging, photography or videos has been on your mind for a long time. Or you still need to perfect some skills. I know I need to get better at editing videos. I could use some professional photography help, but my heart is only half in it. I still have a ton of SEO work to do on this blog. And there’s no end to becoming a better writer.

Here’s a silver lining for the travel advice for coronavirus: Use the time you would’ve spent travelling or socializing, to work on something that might enable you to travel or work on the go in the future!

Also read: Advice for the Young and Penniless Who Want to Travel

International travel is out. But should you travel domestically now?

Many of you have reached out to ask for my travel advice for coronavirus with respect to domestic travel in India (and elsewhere). I think it’s a bad idea. For several reasons:

It’s just not fun. I felt an inexplicable anxiety during the last two days of my recent Chhattisgarh trip. Hearing someone cough sent a shiver down my spine. The last thing I wanted was to have to put myself in self-isolation in someone’s homestay or in a soulless hotel. Or worse, be quarantined in a government facility.

The fear of carrying the virus to a remote part of India. The idea of travelling from urban India – where the majority of coronavirus cases are (in Delhi, Mumbai, Jaipur, Kochi etc) – to rural India is a scary one. Imagine if we have the virus but the symptoms haven’t yet shown up. We could be carrying it to small villages where medical facilities are rare and self-isolation is difficult because entire families live in a single room. It’ll be mayhem.

The fear of infecting people more vulnerable to the virus. People over 60 and those with respiratory issues seem to be the most vulnerable to the coronavirus. We can’t risk being the vectors infecting them.

Flights, buses and trains can be coronavirus hotbeds. Given how infectious the coronavirus seems to be, being stuck among scores of people in a closed environment is a big no-no.

It’s best to postpone all international and domestic travel atleast until April (maybe longer, depending on how things turn out). We need to avoid busy places, public transport and any physical contact. We must constantly wash and sanitise our hands. And if we have even the mildest symptoms of fever, cough, cold or flu, we absolutely must stay at home and follow official protocols!

How has coronavirus affected your travel plans? If you run a travel business, what’s it been like for you?

Also read:

11 Tips to Ease Your Transition Into a Vegan Lifestyle

Incredible Experiences That’ll Make You Fall in Love With Uzbekistan

Should Travel Bloggers and Influencers Voice Their Political Opinions?

The post How to Indulge Your Wanderlust During the Coronavirus Pandemic. appeared first on The Shooting Star.

How to Indulge Your Wanderlust During the Coronavirus Pandemic. published first on https://airriflelab.tumblr.com

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ventingrightnow · 5 years

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Friday was a great day

I walked in to him mentioned my funny puns I made for him. Him bragging about me to others. Indian Boss. I made coffee and he came over and said “I still love all those puns you made me” and I could tell he was impressed. Then every time (or at least a few times) he went to get water he would look over at me, say my nickname, and talk to me. He needed me to do some scheduling (like he can’t look at bald boss’s calendar himself) and I told him to just CC me on the email and he said he felt bad doing that. I later mentioned it again and he goes “no You shouldn’t have to do that” “what, my job?” “Yeah but you’re not supposed to do that for me, I’m not important” (or something like that) and I tell him that I’ve scheduled for nearly everyone in the office, outside of dev.

God that panic attack I had when I heard him talking about the charity event he had to go to and then the house warming party. I can’t describe it. It was like (here I go, describing it, lmao) my heart sank and my chest tightened and then my stomach filled with electricity. Short of breath. Nerves at a high. It’s terrible. I had to go by his desk, pretending to ask about some stupid key card shit asking about his weekend plans. Charity event he went with some friends. No worries there. Then he had that boat bachelorette party which I found more humorous than anything else. Couple people brought it up to me like “did CRUSH tell you what he was doing this weekend?” And i say yeah and I think it’s hilarious and then 50+lbs is nearby and CRUSH says he’s invited and I go “YOU INVITE 50+LBS AND NOT ME??” He talks about keeping the ratio up and I say that by adding me he keeps the ratio high .... or low ... and he laughs and says I’m gullible, that he’s bringing no one and “can you imagine showing up and being like, hey, we’re here and oh this is my friend” friend. No coworker. Friend. He also asked about his friend who matched with me on hinge “you know, my friend who swipes.” “Oh yeah we matched” “did you hook up? No, actually I don’t wanna know” “yeah we chatted, he told me he had a motorcycle” then he says that he hated that thing and that he always tried to get CRUSH to go on a ride to the boat and he thought he was crazy. CRUSH showed me this video of an interior of a courvette, and I ask him why he needs such expensive toys considering the implication that people with those kinds of toys are vain and have small dicks. He said “I like keeping expectations low and then disappointing them anyway” haha he listened to a voicemail from his mom on speaker at the fridge, got to listen to her say she loved and missed him and I mouth “who is that?” “My mom” “awww” chubby jew sales asked me towards the end of the day with CRUSH nearby, “what are three characteristsics you would use to describe someone with a courvette” I quickly go “self-involved” think for a good 20 seconds “heterosexual, small-penis”

So much happened that Friday. We did the 12 gun salute for our final intern, or should I say one nerf assault, got that bitch on camera and at the end you can see him look at me, smiling, after I ‘woo’ once it’s over. Then he was at my desk, caught me labeling my Polaroid book, checked out the photos from the hoopla, mistook the whole album for the hoopla, I quickly corrected saying it was just those 5 pictures, then he still goes through it, first photos he sees are of me and my wife at the Gala and he comments that we looked great, or very nice or whatever he said, of course now I can’t remember. He continues all the way to the second page and then gets distracted and leaves. I bring over the photo of me in the robe in Jamaica to his desk and go “how amazing is this photo” and he goes “this is awesome. You look like a baby” “thank you! ... I don’t know if that was a compliment, but I’ll take it” haha

He was at my desk and one of the drawers was open, saw old cigar boss’s ID photo and picked it up, saddened by it. Says he remembers the day because he was there with Trump Dev. I say that I’ve already given him one hug so I’m out. We ended up leaving together “by accident” (I started packing my shit the second I heard him packing his, and then loudly said, I gotta get out of here) then stood up with my backpack and he was there with his and I go, “quit stalking me geez” and we walk out together. He asks me to put his umbrella in his backpack and then we get in the elevator. He says he’s walking home and I ask about his new place, slipping in the question about a housewarming party and he says he’s gonna have it when his place isn’t a shithole so I go “oh so never?” “Yup” haha

He came by my desk once, sneaking up behind me but I saw him from the corner of my eye. So he asked me something and he goes “ah, was trying to scare you” then he later came by, maybe a few hours later and did in fact scare me cause I genuinely did not see him coming by and I go “there, you scared me”

We also were all bullying him about a subway salad, and at the end he goes “yeah everyone keep making fun of me and my food” and I go, “you’re fat and you go to subway” flippantly and he genuinely laughs. I ask him if the salad is made with the same lettuce they use on the sandwiches and he says yes and I catch a laugh/snort and he laughs.

The final intern left that day and he wrote us goodbye notes, the sales team got one to share, I got my own, and CRUSH asks where it is (after I tell him about it) and I get up to go to NewBaby Sales’ desk and get it for him and look over his shoulder as he reads it and his scent is fuckin STRONG AND AMAZING and I literally stand there at his shoulder reading the card and breathing so deeply and silently that I could’ve OD’d from the aroma holy shit I can still smell it now, fucking amazing. Ugh. Smelt like ... sweet cologne. Not floral, no harsh. Just ... yes.

He was talking about that day he went solo on the boat with TrumpBlonde, after I had brought up wondering if his dad and sister were going to this bachelorette party since he went solo with TrumpBlonde, and he said something that was like “yeah, best day of my life” and I heavily rolled my eyes and I could tell he noticed it annoyed me that he was talking about her and he ups the anty by saying that he’s pregnant with her baby and I laugh.

Later on I hear him talking to chubby sales and chubby jew sales, chubby Jew sales routines bullies him but in a less funny way, like, it seems like he wants to be him but also is so happy not to? Anyways, he was picking on him for hooking up with a lot of women and said that CRUSH probably has an STD and then it cut in and out but I hear them talk about the nuvaring and chubby Jew sales doesn’t know what it is and I loudly go “it’s female birth control” WHAT? It’s lady birth control. “No it’s not” “wait, what’d you say?” “What’d you think we said?” Chubby Jew sales leaves to go smoke a cigarette and was also feeling uncomfortable and I go back to work and they talk for a few minutes before them both asking what I thought they said, and I ask them back, what did they say, we go back and forth for like a full ass minute and then I look at chubby sales and mouth “what did he say?” And he goes “NR?” I’m like oh yeah the nuvaring, and they go yeah, and I’m like, it’s female birth control, I’m not wrong. They seem extremely confused and I go, do I need to give you a lesson on what a Nuva ring is, they say yes, and I bring a chair over and say “from personal experience...” and explain the various aspects. CRUSH goes “yeah it’s a ring you put in and leave there forever” I explain the timeline (3 weeks in 1 week out, you get your period, then you put it back in) and the fridge aspect blew their minds. “Well why does it have to be kept in the fridge?” “Well the whole thing is that it slowly releases birth control when in you, and you’re a warm place —“ “ohhhh” hahah it was fun and funny, I didn’t mind explaining it not felt uncomfortable telling two of my coworkers I’m on birth control lmao chubby sales says that you can’t feel it when doing it and I say that I’ve had no complaints, “it’s like ... rubbed for her pleasure” LMAO then they spent a good twenty minutes doing “the move” from dirty dancing, singing the song “I’ve had the time of my life” and CRUSH keeps flinging his chest at chubby sales and chubby Jew sales until he eventually decks chubby sales in the face. Whoops lmao “I feel like I’ve blown your mind this week.” “You have!” “Nuvarings and that stand up set? My gosh ...” (also idk if I’ve posted this yet but remember when he asked dental floss for that photo of us on the jet ski? I gotta remember to get that. I feel like I saw it and it wasn’t that great lmao)

I posted earlier some “50 signs he’s into you” or whatever work-related romance BS and I think one of them (I think, like I can’t just fuckin look it UP) is that he makes up reasons to talk to you and he’s 100% doing that cause not only can he 100% schedule on his own, and most likely has been for a YEAR, but he’s been CCing me on random ass emails? Like he doesn’t know that all billing goes to literally anyone but me? Or his little donut project? I’m telling you, he likes me. There are some days where I feel bad about myself or how I look but when I come to work, I see him, I make him laugh, it makes me smile, he makes me laugh, and I smile and all that insecurity fades away and I feel like ... I feel like a ... I feel beautiful. He makes me feel beautiful. I know this is a pipe dream, that we can’t be together and that he’s in this fuckboi phase of getting over his ex and being a hot 29 year old, but ... I like the way he makes me feel. I crave going to work. The weekends are fucking agony now. I can’t date anyone because I’m obsessed with him. And I’m not ... sometimes I hate it because it’s kinda hopeless and I can see people just sigh at me and look at me like I’m some idiot and I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. I’m fully aware. But ... for now ... and for the past year really ... we’ve been flirty friends. And that’ll remain the same. It’s not healthy. But, it’s happening and until I come to an impasse, I’ll continue looking like a hot bitch and an internal hot mess.

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cannonisland9-blog · 5 years

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Christmas Beef: A Delicacy for Only Me

[Photographs: J. Kenji Lopez-Alt]

Growing up, I never saw my mother let a bite of barley pass her lips. She grew up poor in post–World War II Japan, when polished white rice was scarce and therefore expensive, so barley was often served in its place. It wasn't the taste so much as the texture that put her off, that reminded her of her once-miserable existence—the ratty clothes, the run-down house, the hopeless prospects for a bookish girl in a sleepy seaside town in a culture she believed devalued women. "Never again," she once said when I asked her about her aversion to barley, and she might as well have been talking about those clothes, that house, being poor, or living in Japan, feeling imprisoned by circumstances beyond her control.

Scarcity has a way of stamping its mark on your life. My mother's dislike of barley was akin to the aversion Depression-era children in this country have to waste of any kind, particularly of luxuries, like pretty paper used for wrapping presents. It doesn't have to be a scarcity borne of privation, either; my father, whose family lacked for nothing except good taste, has spent a lifetime trying to make up for the insipid food he was served as a kid. I suspect that each and every one of us can trace some quirk or predilection or preference in the present to some absence in the past. For my part, I have a periodic need to eat rare or near-raw beef, which I can easily attribute to the fact that I lived in India for 14 years.

From 1986 to 2001, beef was our family's number one luxury, served only on the rarest of occasions, at the most special of meals, which, despite the fact that we weren't especially religious, included Christmas dinner. Foie gras and caviar couldn't even come close; it was possible to buy either if we had the money or the inclination,* but beef was entirely unavailable from butchers and grocery stores in New Delhi, because cows are considered sacred by the country's Hindu majority.

Raw pork was unavailable, too, although I’m not entirely sure why, but it never really rated quite as high on my list of coveted foods. I have no doubt that part of our reverence for beef was due to the fact that while the meat was unavailable, cows were everywhere; small herds of cattle walked the city streets by day, often gumming up traffic, and bedded down in parks at night, making all of us feel a little bit like castaways dying of thirst.

* Fun fact: After the fall of the Soviet Union, in 1991, the Indian black market was flooded with good caviar and high-quality cigarettes, which my parents snapped up for very, very cheap. When I moved to America when I was 18, I'd eaten more good caviar in my life than I had porterhouse steaks.

While beef was inaccessible to us, many other expatriates could get their hands on it—those who, through some affiliation with the various diplomatic missions in the city, had gained the privilege of shopping at the missions' commissaries. This led to some moments of envy that seem odd in retrospect. I clearly remember spending days yearning for the Rice-a-Roni that I'd had at some American kid's sleepover, solely because it'd had a fair amount of hamburger meat, and turning my nose up at some pilaf my mom had made to shut me up.

I felt the daily lack of beef all the more keenly, I think, because of the way my parents sought out and devoured it whenever we went abroad. In the United States, it was rare roast beef sandwiches, the beef sliced thin and topped with salt, pepper, mayo, and red onions—as a kid, I was astonished that this delicacy was available almost anywhere in the country. In Hong Kong, it was bowls of pho, with rounds of raw beef shingled on top. In Japan, when visiting my grandparents, we'd request shabu shabu as one of our first meals, and upon our arrival we'd be presented with platters of thin slices of beautiful beef, folded and layered in such a way as to seem an offering, the marbling so complete it looked like the meat had trapped lightning.

This kind of behavior can give you a reputation. To this day, all of my relatives believe I crave beef at all times, even though I have lived in the US for close to 20 years and am able to eat it whenever I like, and do, quite often.

One of the last times I saw my Japanese grandfather, I was visiting alone. When we sat down to dinner, my grandmother proudly set down a thin ribeye steak in front of me, barely browned on its exterior, raw on the inside. "You all always wanted to eat beef when you came," she said to me, even as she acknowledged that cooking beef, particularly steaks, wasn't her forte. I ate it happily—though it was a bit more on this side of moo than what the French might call bleu—but did forgo some of the gristlier bits, which my grandfather, a product of his times as much as my mother was of hers, didn't hesitate to pop in his mouth and gum until they'd given up their flavor.

A reputation is rarely unearned. Just the other day, my brother and I were reminiscing fondly—rapturously, if I'm being perfectly honest—about a tenderloin my uncle cooked one Christmas. Tenderloin has always been my father's family's traditional Christmas roast, and my uncle, who has a way with the grill, managed to achieve an appealing and totally complete char on the meat's exterior, even though the interior temperature can't have topped 110°F. I don't know that the rest of my family appreciated that meal, but my brother and I, the sole representatives of the family branch who had beef issues, couldn't stop going back for more helpings of that filet, the near-black crust ringing little rounds of meat the color of a bruise.

That's another of the habits scarcity brings into being: The moment that you're presented with whatever it is that you've been denied, your instinct is to gorge yourself beyond reason, to take in as much as you can, while you can. One summer my mother and I got stuck in an airport hotel in Bangkok, and while I can't remember why we were there, I do remember we ordered a Thai beef salad from room service, even though we weren't particularly hungry. I must have been quite young, since I was fiddling with a Game Boy when the salad arrived. When I finally looked up, my mother had already taken a bite. Her face was lit with what I can only describe as joyful determination, and she said, "It's good. Let's order another."

And we did, enjoying every last bite of what I think was sirloin, cooked rare over charcoal, dressed with cilantro, lime, fish sauce, red onion, possibly mint, and an abundance of fresh red Thai chilies. When we got the call that told us our flight had been delayed another couple hours, we ordered a third.

Since we couldn't buy beef in India, our only recourse was to bring it in ourselves, and so we did, every time we returned to the country. Right before we got on the plane, my parents would buy whole, frozen, untrimmed, vacuum-sealed muscles—tenderloins, flanks, strip loins—and we'd pack them in a suitcase that we'd brought along specifically for the purpose, which would then be checked in under the name of either me or my brother, a half-baked attempt to allay suspicion or mitigate whatever punishment we'd deserve from the customs authorities. As we got off the plane, we'd all be afflicted by the same anxieties over the beef in the checked bag: Had it defrosted too much? (Yes, invariably.) Would the bag have been flagged? (Yes, invariably.) Would we be able to get it out of the airport without paying for it, or having to throw it out?

At the baggage carousel, we'd pick up the suitcase, which, more often than not, would exude pink liquid in steady drips, and would have chalk scribbled all over it by the baggage handlers because of said mysterious pink liquid, and we'd place it on the bottom of one of those luggage carts, buried underneath all our other bags. As we walked past the customs officers, down the lane for those with nothing to declare, my brother and I were tasked with keeping pace with the meat-case on either side of the cart, to obscure any telltale chalk marks that might alert the authorities.

One of the benefits of having to buy beef in this way was that, from a very young age, I was able to watch as my father cleaned up the untrimmed muscles, a task he would've been entirely unqualified for were it not for the fact that we owned the first volume of Jacques Pépin's The Art of Cooking. Aside from being one of the most beautiful cookbooks ever published, it shows in clear step-by-step photographs every bit of butchery a cook could ever need, including how to skin a lamb. I'd watch, rapt, as my father used a not-very-sharp knife to cut away the sinew and fat, gradually revealing, like a little meat David, the blue-red beef buried underneath.

My parents weren't the fanciest cooks, so our Christmas meal was pretty straightforward, even if it felt very luxurious. It was the one meal for which we'd use an actual tablecloth, so white it was begging to be stained, and we'd set out the silver cutlery that was otherwise used only at Thanksgiving. We were all terrified that the tenderloin, so dearly purchased, would be cooked past rare, so we had an unspoken agreement that underdone was just as good as properly cooked. The beef was accompanied by nothing more than some sautéed mushrooms, mashed potatoes, and a Caesar-ish salad.

For a number of reasons, my wife and I typically spend Christmas Eve alone together, and we have adopted my family's Christmas dinner tradition as our own, with a few small changes. Of course, I don't have to cart frozen beef across national borders, and I don't have to do any trimming of whole muscles, and the two of us require only two generously sized filet mignons.

But everything else is the same: the mushrooms, the potatoes, the approximation of a Caesar (no egg, no croutons, but a bracing amount of anchovy in the dressing). While I cook my wife's filet to a perfect medium-rare using the reverse sear, I tend to cook mine on the stovetop, butter-basting over a medium flame. Not just because I want to cook my steak to a different temperature, but because I like the exterior to be a bit more well-done, and the interior to be a bit rarer, so that at its very center it's a little raw. It feels appropriate for a holiday spent, for reasons both practical and irrevocable, away from my family. Which is to say: It's a little blue, but not very.

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Source: https://www.seriouseats.com/2018/12/christmas-beef-a-delicacy-for-only-me.html

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What We're Cooking This Father's Day

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[Photographs: Vicky Wasik, unless otherwise noted]

Father’s Day is many things—some of them sweet and sentimental, yes, but accompanied by a fair number of holy-crap-what-do-I-DO anxieties. I’m the only child of divorced parents, so making Father’s Day a special occasion falls squarely on my shoulders. And, let me tell you, Atlas ain’t got nothin’ on me. First of all, my dad’s birthday consistently falls in the same week as Father’s Day. Considering that he’s hard to shop for to begin with,* finding a way to treat him not once but twice in the space of a single week can be an overwhelming prospect. Which is why I try to go all out and whip up a master meal as a gift unto itself.

* If you’re having similar struggles, you may want to check out our Father’s Day gift guide.

I asked the rest of the Serious Eats team to share what they’ll be making for their fathers this year, and what I got was a pretty impressive array of options. Come Sunday, I know I’ll be putting more than a few of these recipes to good use, from a towering devil’s food cake to crispy risotto pancakes.

Papri Chaat

For as long as I can remember, the first thing my dad did after coming home from work, even before kicking off his shoes, was to throw together a quick chaat. It’d be a pretty impromptu endeavor; he’d toss in cereals and crushed-up tortilla chips, along with some fresh aromatics and herbs. His chaat changed day to day and depended on whatever was in the pantry. For Father’s Day, I’d like to make him a real-deal, homemade papri chaat. It’s a whopper of a recipe, with two chutneys, two fried things, and, of course, a chaat masala made with a laundry list of ingredients. But I think nothing would make him happier than an upgrade to his post-work snack. (Yes, my dad works on Sundays.) —Sohla El-Waylly, assistant culinary editor

Choucroute Garnie

One of the dishes my dad would make from time to time when I was a kid was a pot of sauerkraut cooked with pork chops. His dad grew up an orphan in Germany during World War I, wandering the streets barefoot and collecting scrap metal to sell for a few coins. When he emigrated to the United States as a 13-year-old, he brought very little of his early German life with him—understandably, the pressures to assimilate and leave behind any trace of being German were strong during that period. His habit of eating pork and kraut was one of the few traditions that survived. Sure, choucroute is technically French, hailing from Alsace, and sure, June isn’t the best time for such hearty fare, but it’s the most glorious version of that meat-and-cabbage combination I’ve ever tasted, and I think my dad would agree. —Daniel Gritzer, managing culinary director

Devil’s Food Cake

Back around Mother’s Day, I went on at length about the balanced, nourishing, vegetable-heavy dishes I like to make, or imagine making, for my recently vegan mom. With my dad, whom I actually may be cooking for IRL this Father’s Day, that’s all out the window. In food as in few other aspects of his life, my dad has a weakness for the rich (German chocolate, bacon, lasagna) that’s matched only by his love of the over-the-top (unreasonably hot chili peppers, perilously strong coffee, the brightest of all bright-orange cheese puffs). And moderation isn’t his strong suit: My dad is the sort of guy you could imagine eating so much that he pukes. Okay, maybe not these days, but I’m just positive this happened when he was a kid.

Of all the dessert recipes we have that could stand up to such an appetite, the devil’s food cake that originally appeared in Stella’s book is the most likely candidate. I’ve never made it before, but the combination of Dutch cocoa, chopped dark chocolate, brewed coffee, and a whole mess of butter—along with Vicky’s photos of those dark, brooding layers sandwiching fluffy chocolate buttercream—is enough to sell me. The biggest challenge won’t be making sure I have the right equipment on hand or that it’s cool enough in my parents’ Mississippi kitchen for the buttercream, but keeping my dad from stealing chunks of cake and spoonfuls of frosting while I work. —Miranda Kaplan, editor

Hi, my name is Tim, and my dad is a chocoholic. Think party-size bags of M&M’s at every gathering and Max Brenner sampler packs for Christmas. So this is really a no-brainer: three layers of dark, rich chocolate cake, smothered with a generous helping of chocolate Swiss buttercream, topped off with chocolate cookie crumbs. Plus, dark chocolate is good for Pops’ blood pressure, right? RIGHT?! We’ll keep telling ourselves that as we go back for seconds and thirds. —Tim Aikens, front-end developer

Extra-Crispy Fried Chicken and Buttermilk Vanilla Waffles

My dad isn’t much of a cook, but he is a great cheerleader. Ever since I started cooking, back when I was a kid, he’s been the ultimate taste-tester, a finely tuned human smoke alarm—his acute sense of smell detects the slightest hint of overdoneness well before the timer has gone off—and an inquisitive observer. He’s deeply interested in the hows and whys of recipe alchemy and history—sometimes to my chagrin when I’m elbow-deep in a marinade, peering over my shoulder to gauge if the butter on the stove is more nut brown than golden brown, and trying to remember to stop the stand mixer whirring on the counter before those soft-whipped peaks pass the point of no return.

Process and context have always been as important to him as the result, something that translates seamlessly from food to life and back again. Pairing Sohla’s honey butter–doused fried chicken with Stella’s buttermilk waffles would be the perfect multi-component project. Not only would the combo satiate his sweet tooth, it’d also hit that perfectly indulgent craving for pure fried goodness. They’re recipes I could tackle in parts throughout a weekend, with plenty of opportunities for him to sporadically poke his head into the kitchen for taste tests and long, spirited conversations that spin off in a dozen different directions. It’s rare that we get the time to do such things anymore, and, as a bonus, we’d get some stellar fried chicken and waffles out of it, too. Win-win-win. —Marissa Chen, office manager

French Onion Soup

My dad once, rather infamously, spent a great deal of time and money attempting to make a very fancy French onion soup. Unfortunately, the return on investment was pretty dismal, and we haven’t made French onion soup since. He still orders it whenever it’s on a menu, though, and waxes poetic on every caramelized, cheesy, toasty bite. One recipe that delivers all the hits and definitely won’t fail is Daniel’s French onion soup: It’s easy, relatively quick, and once we’ve made it together, my dad will be able to replicate it whenever a craving strikes. —Kristina Bornholtz, social media editor

Fresh and Creamy Lime Pie

My dad is decidedly Team Pie, and in the realm of pie, he’s particularly fond of meringue (although he wouldn’t turn his nose up at cherry or blueberry, either). To balance out the potential heaviness that often goes hand in hand with family cookouts, I’ll be serving up this light and fresh lime pie—seasonality be damned. It’s as cold and refreshing as a glass of limeade, and the perfect palate cleanser to end a summer meal. —Stella Parks, pastry wizard

A Thai Feast

[Photograph: J. Kenji López-Alt]

My dad lives across the continent from me, so I’m pretty sure I won’t be cooking anything for him this Father’s Day, but if I were, I’d make a spread of Thai food (one of his two favorite cuisines). I’d start with this Spicy Chicken, Banana Blossom, and Herb Salad, packed with fried alliums and coconut. (You can sometimes find banana blossoms in Asian or Indian markets, but this salad will work just fine with shredded cabbage in their place.) Then I’d move on to some Pork Larb (a sweet and hot meaty salad flavored with toasted rice) and Phat Bai Horapha (stir-fried beef flavored with chilies and basil). Fred’s not so into rice, but I’d still whip up a batch of this easy Crab Fried Rice, if only for my own sake. It’s Father’s Day for me, too, after all. —J. Kenji López-Alt, chief culinary consultant

Crown Roast of Lamb

My dad is an incredible cook, and he always pulls out the stops when he has me over for dinner—I’m talking Moroccan pastilla, osso buco, vitello tonnato, and many other trademark concoctions. So I’m always on the lookout for new special-occasion dishes I can make to return the favor. This Father’s Day, I’m turning to a recipe I’ve had my eye on for years: Daniel’s crown roast of lamb, which is filled with a couscous stuffing and topped with a bright pistachio-mint sauce. It checks off all the boxes: some of my dad’s favorite ingredients, a stunning presentation, and guaranteed delicious results. —Niki Achitoff-Gray, executive managing editor

Risotto al Salto and Chili Crisp

My father and I have a somewhat contentious culinary relationship, in large part because, while he loves Serious Eats and makes our recipes regularly, he doesn’t ever seem to follow the instructions. It isn’t laziness, nor is it absent-mindedness; it’s usually because he thinks he knows better. Which is why I always dread receiving the email each week in which he announces his intention to make some new recipe or another. I can generally tell whether or not he’ll be successful, and it often has to do with how much attention to detail a recipe requires.

Case in point: Daniel’s risotto al salto, which, while straightforward enough, does require a little fussiness; you need to rotate the rice pancake in the pan to ensure even browning, and Daniel takes great pains to point out that flipping the thing is a relatively tricky endeavor. Of course, my father made his attempt, using risotto with rather large pieces of sausage in it (which, I SHOULD NOTE, Daniel specifically says to avoid the first time out), and sent me a picture of his failure, including the entirely unnecessary message “This recipe did not work for me.” Anyway, if I were making him a Father’s Day dinner, I’d make the flippin’ pancake, and I’d serve it alongside some of Sohla’s chili crisp, since my father has asked me why anyone would make it when you can buy the stuff in the jar at your local Chinese market. Because it’s better, Dad! —Sho Spaeth, features editor

Singaporean Chili Crab

When I was young, having crab at home was a treat, but still cheaper than eating it at a restaurant. I have memories of cautiously peering into the sink as my father handled the pinching crustaceans with force and speed. He’d stir-fry them Cantonese-style, or simply steam them with soy sauce on the side. This Father’s Day, it’ll be my first time making a crab dish (yikes!). But with a Serious Eats recipe and my dad’s guidance, I’m confident this Singaporean Chili Crab will be a hit. —Vivian Kong, product designer

Skillet Chocolate Cake

My dad loves chocolate cake. (It’s a love I have very much inherited.) For Father’s Day, I’ll be treating him to Stella’s skillet chocolate cake: The ganache frosting is super luscious and rich, and the cake (typical of Stella’s recipes) is perfectly moist and deeply chocolaty. And in the future, he can make this recipe for himself without much trouble. He already has the cast iron pan, and the whole thing comes together right in it. I can only hope that he’ll think to return the favor and make it for my birthday. —Ariel Kanter, marketing director

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