Buy Rib Roast -

Arthur smiled, raised his glass to the table, and finally sat down to enjoy his triumph.

The screen read Arthur stared at the receipt on his laptop, his heart doing a nervous little skip. For thirty years, his wife Clara had handled the holiday roast. She had a system of secret herb rubs, precise oven-temperature gymnastics, and an uncanny ability to pull the meat out at the exact millisecond of perfect medium-rare.

When he picked up the roast from the butcher, it looked intimidating. It was a massive, beautiful, marble-streaked landscape of beef. He drove it home like he was transporting a Faberge egg.

Arthur spent the next forty-eight hours in a state of high-stakes culinary research. He watched sixteen YouTube tutorials. He read food blogs until his eyes blurred. He bought a digital meat thermometer that looked like it belonged in a NASA control room.

Arthur pulled the roasting pan out. The sizzle was deafening. The kitchen filled with a rich, savory aroma that made his stomach growl. He covered it loosely with foil to let it rest, his hands shaking slightly.

As his guests took their first bites, a silence fell over the dining room, followed by a chorus of groans and demands for the recipe. Arthur let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for two days.

Every ten minutes, his anxiety spiked. Is the oven too hot? Did I season it enough? What if it's gray and overcooked?