Author's note: My roommate made me watch this show during one of my COVID-19 isolations (hurray frontline work), so between that and all the Great Canadian Baking Show we also watched it's only natural that her Christmas present ended up being this. Also, Russian baking looks delightful. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I cannot stress how little I own any of this stuff.
Warnings: NA
No Dishes on Christmas Day
Yuuri had been forbidden long, long ago from stepping anywhere near the inn's kitchen. He would be put to work in any number of other ways—cleaning rooms, washing bedding, watching the front desk, shelving fresh towels by the hot spring for its guests, organizing bills that needed to be paid, using his English to take reservations on the phone… but the only plates of food he was allowed to touch were his own.
He would never admit it to his mother, but that had been the right call to make as a full day in his own kitchen had proved. Still, and perhaps against all odds; he did not meet Victor empty-handed when he came home from a long day of practise, which was saying something.
After giving Makkachin sufficient greetings and love, Victor started to shrug off his long coat but froze in the doorway. He still wore the stretchy black pants and red-and-white Figure Skating Federation of Russia thermal shirt he'd spent the day in. His impossibly light hair was freshly ruffled from the tuque he had just pulled off his head, giving Yuuri the rare sort of peek at a slightly scruffy and imperfect Victor that appeared so rarely.
"What's this?" he asked, smirking as he took in the sight of Yuuri in the apron he'd forgotten to take off and, more importantly, the basket of sweets in his arms.
"Tomorrow's Christmas," Yuuri said. If a date on the calendar and the rink's closure hadn't been enough, the avalanche of red and green and the loop of songs that played at the supermarket were sure indicators that something was amiss. Yuuri had never seen anything like it.
"Right," Victor said.
"I don't know much about Christmas and we've never celebrated it at home—but I know you do," Yuuri said. "You haven't talked about Christmas much, so all I know further than that is that food is important, and I can get behind that. So I thought you might want to eat like it was Christmas, even if we were far from home."
Victor smiled. They had followed sponsors and Yakov Feltsman to Boston nearly a year ago now, after Victor's coach had surprisingly accepted a position as Boston University's head coach for their collegiate team. The man was close to retirement, which gave him a soft spot for younger skaters and had him looking for cushy benefits to retire on, which was understandable. Still, it was close to unthinkable for Victor to change coaches so long into his career, and Yuuri only needed to be where Victor was—which had made the choice to follow Feltsman simple enough. They had found a somewhat affordable apartment within walking distance from the rink and spent their few shared days off exploring Boston's historical streets and ocean view, finding their shared footing in the strange city. It had taken a few weeks for Yuuri to make himself sick of clam chowder, but otherwise Boston continued to suit them.
"So you decided to bake for me?" Victor asked.
Yuuri nodded (without first mentioning that he hadn't been able to find a single Russian bakery in Boston after looking extensively). Victor hung his coat before lazily making his way over to examine the basket of cookies and pastries. He smiled at the ensemble.
"You made all of this?" Victor asked.
"Yes."
"You?"
"I said yes!" Yuuri said. Victor laughed and his eyes stayed alight with excitement as he looked at the baked goods one by one, somehow making the blue even clearer and brighter.
"You made rogaliki," Victor smiled as he pointed to the rolled cookie filled with walnuts, honey, and cinnamon.
Yuuri did not understand much about baking but what he did not understand the most was why Russians put sour cream in cookies—but he did not say this. He just nodded and watched on as Victor examined the goods.
"Little tea cakes," Victor said.
Yuuri had nearly taken his finger off while trying to chop the pecans finely enough.
"Pryaniki!" Victor said, pointing to the spice cookies. "My mother used to make those."
Yuuri had accidentally inhaled some ground anise while making them and had coughed for so long that the poor Makkachin had howled along like the world's worst chorus or perhaps their neighbours' worst nightmares.
"Syrniki…"
He had had hopes of making his own jam to garnish the sweet cheese pancakes like you were supposed to, but after burning his first batch of strawberries to the bottom of the pan about twelve seconds after adding in the sugar, he ran back to the grocery store.
"Chak-chak!"
Honey everywhere.
"Sharlotka," he said, smiling as he looked at the apple cake.
It only required six eggs, but Yuuri had dropped a whole carton as he baked, so really he'd sunk eighteen eggs into this cake.
"Poppy seed rolls, those are Yakov's favourites," Victor said.
They were made out of the stickiest dough Yuuri had ever seen in his whole life. At least he hoped they were supposed to be—because these definitely had been.
"You even made gribochky!" Victor beamed when he finally found the cookies.
Yuuri had nothing bad to say about these cookies. They had been an absolute pain to make and only about half of the batch looked anything like the picture that had come with the recipe—but those that were were shaped like mushrooms and that was too delightful for Yuuri to speak ill about.
"How did you know how to make all this?" Victor asked.
"Phichit swore that you could find anything on the Internet, and he was right," Yuuri said. "Although I did have to put most of these recipes through Google Translate, which may have affected the final product—as a disclaimer. Still, I can be very effective when properly motivated."
"And were you?" Victor asked.
"Absolutely," Yuuri said. Victor smiled and leaned down to kiss him.
"I better make myself shower before I eat any of these, or else I'll just sit down, eat them all, and stink up the apartment," Victor said. "I'll just go grab a water—"
"No!" Yuuri said, nearly dropping the Christmas basket. He put it down on the side table that usually held keys and sunglasses instead. "I'll get it for you—you stay here…"
"You've already done so much," Victor said.
"It's fine!" Yuuri promised. "It's fine, it's just in the kitchen…"
Victor smiled.
"You haven't cleaned up in there yet, have you?" he asked.
"It's like a war zone," Yuuri confessed quietly.
That only made Victor smile harder.
"Let me clean up, then," he said, reaching out to take Yuuri's hands and pull him closer, hands finding Yuuri's hips. "That will be my Christmas present to you."
"I don't think you realize what you're signing up for," Yuuri said.
"Oh trust me. I do," Victor said, kissing him again.