Secret Recipe

“—What did I tell you, Shuri?! NO TALKING with the ALMEHENS!”

Said Shuri and Almehen as in Namor, son of his forever rival, Ch’atoo Almehen. Scattering papers flew between them in haste as they sprung away from each other. Both startled, they looked at the papers that ended up on the wet floor and back at each other, Shuri and Namor both sighed in helplessness.

“Baba! For Bast’s sake! I have to remind you that Namora is my deskmate! So I can’t totally obey your rules on this! Plus, we’re just discussing our summer homework!!! Do you even want me to graduate? Namor is helping me to finish all the assignments!”

“How could freaking Ch’atoo Almehen’s son be so kind? He must be onto something!” T’Chaka, Shuri’s father, protested loudly.

“That’s enough, my love! You two old men’s grudges do not interfere with the kids’ interactions and stop them from being friends! But Shuri? Keep your distance, please, for your Mama’s sake-” Shuri’s mother, Ramonda sighed deeply as she held back her husband.

“BAST! Just don’t let me catch you in front of me with my daughter again, boy! I’m warning you-” T’Chaka pointed furiously at him, Namor shuddered a bit but did not go away, he even took a step and shielded Shuri! Little shit! A little defiance look on his face just like his Bast damn old man—

“CHAAC will not have this! How dare you scold my son, T’Chaka?! Clearly, it’s your daughter who’s lazy and needs help, just like you used to be!” Namor’s father, Ch’atoo came back from his break and all hell broke loose.

“Ch’ah, go and start preparing, it’s almost lunchtime.” Namor’s mother, Fen gently nodded to them as they finally dared to move, brushing off their fathers.

The two mothers glanced at each other, each leaving without a word. They ain’t gonna waste their energy on separating them! T’Chaka and Ch’atoo’s quarrels before lunch were so frequent that one might think they might be a “couple”, HA! 

Namor squatted down, carefully picking up the damp papers, thinking it would be faster to lend Shuri his homework to copy, or just let him do it.

Another hand joined him to pick up the papers, gently bumping into his hand…

It felt tingling.

“Sorry, don’t mind Baba, he didn’t mean it that way, he’s just—”

“Don’t take it to heart, Shuri. Our dads are just like this…”

“Who would’ve known they are this childish…”

They picked up the papers, placing them on the stall counter under a cutting board to dry with the turning fan.

Namor looked down at a worksheet that wasn’t advanced mathematics, raising an eyebrow. 

It was a… recipe. With these ingredients… this cooking method… a dish with such an absurd yet remarkable concept… he never heard of something like this before… he never knew it was possible… he never even thought of… it’s game-changing- this…

Namor gazed up and collided with Shuri— the girl’s bright chocolate eyes, reminiscent of the rich soy sauce he used when cooking, with a tantalizing sweetness, with a lingering, tangy, flavour—

Shuri looked at him without saying a word, eyes glinting as if she hadn’t seen anything, she-

“Sisi! We’ve got an order!” Her big brother, T’Challa shouted for her.

Welp, time to go back and be a food runner for the family.

“On it!” Shuri shouted back, retreating backwards. Without breaking eye contact with Namor, she walked to their family stall, and just before turning around…

Shuri boldly flashed Namor a bright, teasing smile, then turned to get busy.

…

Namor stood next to his stall… a bit stunned, a bit heart pounding, a bit of his soul swept away entirely by Shuri—

After a while, Namor smiled faintly, eyes curving like the crescent moon during the night. Before getting scolded by his father again, he also turned around and got busy.

The bustling lunchtime arrived like a tsunami. Each hawker stall in the shop was busy cooking away. Besides selling authentic African cuisine, Shuri’s family also sold some fruits, juices and pastries.

T’Challa was the cook of their family, young and brilliant. Their Jollof Rice was their signature Wakandan-African dish. It’s a flavorful and vibrant dish made with long-grain rice, tomatoes, chilies, onions, and a variety of spices and vegetables while served with grilled or fried meat, chicken, or fish. The rich taste and colour presentation make it all mouthwatering.

But instead of the usual local, normal and everyone could cook one, their family has a secret recipe to it that manages to attract all these returning and regular customers, all thanks to Shuri for... adding a little magic to it. 

As Shuri peeked at the man whom she was prohibited from being friends with from their stall— Namor was calmly taking orders, cooking and delivering meals at his stall just behind them. 

No matter how quickly the crowd came in, how many people, or how busy it got, Namor never rushed. 

Usually, her deskmate, his cousin, Namora would help, and Attuma too, but their families went out for summer trips, leaving only him. Namor’s parents also managed the drink services, and their hot xocotl was her favourite.

“—Stop daydreaming, Shuri, table 23. Watch your step, it’s slippery,” T’Challa teased, tapping her forehead gently as a reminder. “I know, I’m not clumsy!” Shuri retorted briskly, tying her braids into a high ponytail and steadily delivering trays of dishes. As she waited for T’Challa to cook the next orders, Shuri glanced back at Namor again, bored. 

Namor was wearing black pants and green flip-flops, with a white tank top and an orange flowery Hawaiian jacket, always looking like he was ready to go to the beach. 

It always made her... Shuri looked down at her purple work jumpsuit and pants, feeling like she was ready for a fight… or maybe tinker some cars or move some bricks.

“Shuri!” Shuri turned back to continue delivering dishes, kicking T’Challa’s butt as she sprinted off. As she walked past Namor’s stall, she saw almost all the dishes still waiting to be served…

Without saying a word, Shuri started helping out. 

Since it was a minute break at their stall and Namor had no one to help him, she efficiently delivered his trays of dishes and handled the money with familiarity, quickly returning back and forth to continue serving tables that had waited for some time. 

It wasn’t until T’Challa called her that Shuri openly returned to their stall, stuffing Namor the money into his jacket pocket as she went by, taunting, “If you can’t handle this much business, don’t take so many orders. How long do people have to wait?”

“If they’re willing to wait for good food, what can I do?” Namor didn’t even turn his head as he answered her.

“Too bad you can’t grow a few extra pairs of arms, otherwise you could barbecue more.”

“If you grew a few extra legs, you still couldn’t outrun me to the river on the other side.”

“Who says I couldn’t outrun you???”

“Bet you can’t swim faster than me anyway, save some breath.”

Shuri stomped away after they mocked each other mercilessly. Namor noticed their dad’s face slowly improving out of the corner of his eye. He rolled his eyes helplessly, even though he was also quite enjoying it…

Shuri was carrying the meals, not paying attention to the oily floor beneath her as she crossed. Suddenly, she slipped with a squeaking sound— FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!

Luckily, she had finished delivering the dishes, or it would have been even worse. Disaster! Shuri closed her eyes, prepared herself to sit ass down in embarrassment—

But suddenly she was floating.

With ease, someone lifted her up like she weighed nothing. Their arm circled tight and secured around her by the waist, lifting her feet off the ground. 

Shuri opened her eyes to see Namor’s angry face in front of her, thinking uh-oh! Someone was in trouble!

Namor held her waist and walked her back to her stall safely. As T’Challa dashed by them, angrily wielding a wok spatula to fight the guy who made her slip. Shuri chuckled as she was put back down on the ground, pulling at his jacket.

“You still have a lot of orders—” but it was too late, Namor went back to his stall and somehow found a pair of purple flip-flops to throw in front of her.

“It’s brand new,” he said, and without a word, Shuri changed out of her oily flip-flops into a bit oversized ones, about to say thank you—

But Namor had already grabbed a knife and joined T’Challa in the heated argument with the owner of the stall that made her slip.

Namor shoved past T’Challa and cornered the guy, his intimidating aura accompanied by his calm voice rings,

“You didn’t notice the mess of oil your stall created, did you? How about I use your face to wipe it up?”

T’Challa dragged the shaking man from the corner, reasoning with him, “All that oil splattered everywhere and one day someone’s gonna fall flat and break their backs. Are you going to compensate them? Why don’t you compensate me first because how many times has my sister slipped because of your puddle of oil?”

Namor patted his trembling shoulder, smiling widely as he warned the guy,

“Or maybe later if there’s a fire because of this oil of yours, I’ll have to drown you in water and put it out with your body, deal?” 

“NO FIGHTING BOYS!” Shuri teased from behind. That guy looked like he’s gonna pee in his pants in front of the two menaces and everyone.

“I’M SORRY! IT WON’T HAPPEN AGAIN—!!!” The owner of the stall, Zaki, apologized repeatedly, frantically starting to clean up while being bombarded by Namor and T’Challa left and right, then they left after threatening and scolding the soul out of him.

“Are you okay?” T’Challa bent down to check on her.

“Yeah, it’s not the first time,” and she never fell anyway, Shuri shrugged and replied. There’s always T’Challa or Namor who managed to save her miraculously.

Her brother ran to their fruit stall to get something. Then, he slammed a glass of coconut water on the table behind him.

“Thanks,” T’Challa said.

Namor simply grunted in response.

The busy lunchtime gradually passed, and cleaning up was Shuri’s favourite thing to do because…

Namor cooked up the remaining ingredients and placed them on the countertop, focused on cleaning the stove. Meanwhile, Shuri busied herself mopping the floor, gradually mopping her way over to his side.

“So, are you going to cook for me after you’ve seen my secret recipe?” 

Shuri whispered behind him.

“Or are you at least going to sneak some ingredients from your kitchen for me so I can cook that secret recipe of yours?” 

Namor whispered back to her, glancing around to see T’Challa busy scrubbing the stove and countertop as well, cursing like him all the while.

Shuri pinched his arm playfully, “Shhh don’t say it out loud—! That’s a top-secret recipe! I haven’t even shown it to T’Challa yet!” She murmured in hushed tones, using the splash of water and the sound of clanking plates as disguises to mute their conversations.

“You’ve shown it to me yourself.” Namor shrugged, smirking in the corner of his mouth.

“Yes, so you’re responsible now.”

“Oh, now I’m suddenly responsible for something that shouldn’t be my responsibility???” 

“Yes, and for life too.”

“For life? In your dreams.”

“A girl can dream anytime, anywhere~” 

Shuri raised her hand, sneaking a piece of his dish, making sure her Baba wouldn’t see her eating from another stall, especially an Almehen’s stall and declare her a traitor.

She let out a pleasured moan as she savoured it. Namor chuckled in silence, cleaning his stall dutifully and pretending he did not hear or see anything as she sneaked more and more pieces and more and more bites. Shuri looked at his dish, mesmerized.

The Almehen’s signature Talokanil-Yucatecan-Mayan dish, Poc Chuc. A traditional dish that typically consists of marinated pork in citrus juices and spices that is grilled or seared and then served with pickled onions, refried beans, avocado, salsa and tortillas. Its flavourful and tender meat makes it a delicious and soul-satisfying dish that heals her inner child every time.

“Why don’t they ever think that poc chuc served with jollof rice together might be unstoppable?”

The Shuri then never knew her words… would turn Namor’s world upside down forever.

Finally, Namor turned around to look at Shuri, a bit floored.

No… Flabbergasted. Astonished. Shocked. Surprised. Astounded. Amazed-

Paying no attention to the empty plate, only focusing on the girl absorbed in murmuring various comments, and thoughts on new ingredients and cooking methods. Shuri licked clean off her fingers, tapping her cheeks in a distant vision.

She doesn’t like to cook, at all, or not as much as T’Challa and Namor, but since young, she has had a remarkable sense of taste and creativity when it comes to food, just that she doesn’t really enjoy the actual process of cooking herself.

It’s weird, to be honest. Shuri thought she would love cooking just like T’Challa… Well, maybe she’ll change when she gets older? Whatever.

So, she prefers to share her ideas and concept recipes with her brother. T’Challa calls them “The Revolutionary Recipes.” She managed to utilize her culinary talents without having to spend time in the kitchen. It was one stone with two birds.

“—I know there are people who are exactly like you, Shuri…” Namor softly whispered to her, restraining himself from reaching out to untie her braided ponytail.

“The food critics? Nah, I’m better-” Shuri understood what he meant. “No, not food critics. It’s food- let me check,” Namor quickly reached for his phone and searched, 

“It’s food c-co-con-connoisseurs, Shuri. Food connoisseurs.”

Shuri looked at him like he was an idiot, “Food con… conn… WHAT????”

“Hear me out, Google says: People who have a strong talent for tasting and creating exceptional recipes but prefer not to cook themselves are often referred to as food connoisseurs, culinary experts, or flavour experts. They play a crucial role in the culinary world by providing valuable insights, recommendations, and innovations…” The more Namor read, the more he was sure. Shuri was one.

“That sounds just like me?????”

“Yep! Food connoisseurs are individuals who have a refined and sophisticated taste for food. They typically have extensive knowledge about different cuisines, ingredients, cooking techniques, and food pairings—”

Shuri cut him off, interrupting in mischief, “You can’t be one. You are a picky eater, you only like to eat your Mayan dishes, Namor~”

“I’m a cook, okay. I know it’s about good food, but our dishes? It’s just different.”

Shuri chuckled at Namor’s bright and proud face whenever he talked about his food.

“—And I heard food connoisseurs are a bit different from food critics, you can read from here-” He shoved his phone to her face, letting her see.

“That’s a lot of words, Namor. A lot.” 

Deadpanned, Shuri scrunched up her face in glee, “I’m not reading that.”

“Fine.” Namor huffed, reading and diving into this new discovery. This is a bright future ahead for Shuri! She will make the world open its very eyes, just to see her shine and—

While Shuri glanced around furtively, her eyes darted left and right. 

As the busy lunchtime rush subsided in the shop, footsteps slowed down, and everyone began to idle and chat, without paying attention to their direction…

Shuri tiptoed quietly.

Namor was immersed in reading the articles, and by the time he noticed, Shuri was already gently leaning against his side, appearing to outsiders as if they were huddled together, looking at the phone screen. He crashed into the sea of sweet chocolate.

Shuri’s eyes sparkled with mischief and playfulness, and…

“Our dads are gonna see us…” Namor whispered, although his hand had stealthily pulled Shuri to hide together— behind the pillar next to his stall. 

Out of eyesight.

“No one will see,” she assured him, “It’s our little secret anyway…” Shuri quickly stole a soft peck on his cheek, despite how sweaty it was.

“Trust me, no one notices, hmm, I’ll keep your se—”

Namor had been enduring the desire and itchiness all day, and the moment he could finally kiss Shuri’s tempting lips, it all disappeared.

Shuri stood on her tiptoes, feeling his passionate kiss, trembling with satisfaction throughout her body as she moaned into his mouth softly, and-

Namor broke apart in a sudden- “-Uncle! Let me explain!” as he crushed her in his embrace, shielding her—

Immediately, Shuri hid in his arms, scared and waiting for Baba’s torrent of scolding.

Instead, it didn’t come. All she got was Namor’s suppressed chuckles, which infuriated her even more as Shuri pounded his thumping chest with annoyance.

“You scared me! You-” She was interrupted when Namor stole a sweet peck from her pouting lips as she wrapped her arms around him tightly, lifting herself up.

“Don’t worry, Shuri. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Namor beamed, lifting her into his embrace again and leaning in eagerly for another kiss as Shuri smiled sweetly on his lips.

Knowing Namor, he would keep all her secrets safe, for sure.

The smell of smoke, oil, fire and heat lingering on their clothes masked the heavy scent of the two young lover’s sweat.

Almost overwhelming by the musk they reek of, named lov—

“AHEM!” 

Suddenly, a cough, choked by the smell of smoke and something else, interrupted them, but it wasn’t enough to break them apart. Namor moved his back to the world and let Shuri hide inside of him.

T’Challa shot them a bombastic side-eye.

They didn’t break apart.

MORE BOMBASTIC SIDE EYES.

But seeing they were completely unfazed, he turned away in frustration and disgust. 

“Fuck. I’m going to throw up.”

In the end, T’Challa sidled over in silence.

Blocking the view of both his nemesis and his sister, kissing—

shielding them from everyone’s gaze.

“Bast forgive me.”