-YUKIHIRA JŌICHIRŌ-
SEPTEMBER 1
Yukihira Jōichirō lives in the now.
It is in his nature. Plus, he prefers to. It keeps him feeling alive.
He flips corn tortillas on a sizzling flat top and takes a swig of beer before pouring the remaining contents on the carnitas he was braising. He's staying the weekend in Houston, Texas, moonlighting as a visiting chef as a favor to a friend.
But right now, Yukihira Jōichirō was simply chillin' with the homies. He'd made enough friends through his travels to value friendships made over a few hours of cooking and drinking, but that lasted a lifetime.
It was a national holiday weekend in the States, so the Mexican-Americans and Black Americans he cooked alongside were in a particularly celebratory mood. They laughed, played dominos, and, most importantly, cooked lots of damn good food all day.
"Joe, man! It never ceases to amaze me the genius you be whippin' up in that pot!" A large Black man came to his side and slapped him on the back. "Who knew a Japanese gourmet chef could throw down some barbeque," he boomed.
They stood outside in the humid evening air, hovering over smoky grills. Six small-family-restaurant friends decided to have a potluck cook-off for a local homeless shelter. The winner's prize was bragging rights and the entry pot earnings. He didn't need the money but he sure enjoyed the company.
"And make corn tortillas from scratch to go with it," another middle-aged man with a deep tan and a thinning mustache said with a smirk. "Whose abuelita did you seduce for this recipe, Josè?"
"Hector! You should know by now that I can do anything," Jōichirō winked.
"Yeah!" An elderly Black woman mocked from inside the kitchen. "But change a tire! Ain't that right, Jojo?!"
"Hey, Juanita! Who needs to learn how to change a tire? I'm a nomad with two strong legs," he yelled back, then went back to enjoying cooking.
Whenever Jōichirō was really enjoying what he was cooking, he'd enter this indescribable flow state unrivaled by any other focus he'd ever experienced. It was beyond ordinary inspiration and more like a spiritual experience. It went away when he gave up cooking, only to return the year he met his wife suddenly. Being in her presence, witnessing her chaotic brilliance and zest for life (not to sound corny), reawakened his fire. So whenever Jōichirō enjoyed what he was cooking, he thought of Tamako, and every time he thought of Tamako, he entered that intuitive, fiery state.
Recently, though, there was a new development to this flow state. Ever since he became a widower, it was vital that he not lose himself chasing ghosts of the past— the him who he was before he burnt out, who he became after he met his late wife and the light returned to his eyes. He had to keep moving forward for himself.
But most importantly, for his son.
So, now, whenever Jōichirō was really enjoying what he was cooking, he thought of Tamako, and every time he thought of Tamako, he entered that seamless, fiery flow state.
And when he was in that fluid state, he could intuitively feel Sōma. No matter how far apart they were from each other.
And as much as Jōichirō preferred to live in the now, being a father forced him to think of the past, the present, and Sōma's future.
Tamako, I think something's up with your sweet little knucklehead.
A frantic image of a toddler Sōma ran across his mind. The toddler looked confused but determined to fix a toy in his hands. Jōichirō flipped the braised pork over with stainless steel tongs and silently sighed.
Yukihira Sōma, what trouble are you getting into now?
a/n: it's the last holiday weekend of the summer in the u.s. and it's a rather important one for workers and labor rights. so what better way to celebrate than with a short Jōichirō one-shot doing what he loves and thinking about who he loves to start this weekend off right! and to all my consistent readers, i have some goodies ahead for you. *wink*
please do me a solid and review, like, and share with someone you think would enjoy reading!
-My pleasure! Hope you enjoyed!-
8.20withlove