Page 149 of The Dragon 2
“Great. I’m so glad to. . .share this part of me with you.” She gestured to all the trays. “So. . .I’m calling this first course, Four Bites of Home.”
And. . .it was embarrassing to say but. . .I nodded like a good little Dragon.
"This one—" she pointed to the tiny stacks of golden bread nestled inside the cast iron spoon and drenched in amber liquid. "This is my family’s secret cornbread recipe. I’ve drizzled something called. . .hot honey on it.”
I studied it. “Hot honey. Is this different from regular honey?"
“Yes.” She grinned. “My grandmother said that it’s hot honey because it sneaks up on you like good trouble.”
“You grandmother has an awesome way with words.”
“She does. She almost didn’t give me the cornbread recipe today.”
“Really?”
“I’ve wanted it for years, but she said that she would only give it to me when I met someone important enough to make it for.” Nyomi shook her head. “Therefore, on the phone today she drilled me about you for a good thirty minutes and. . .after several answers. . .she finally gave it to me.”
“So, your grandmother approves of the Dragon?”
“I wouldn’t say that just yet.” Nyomi raised one finger. “I would say she approves of my cooking for you tonight.”
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
She widened her eyes in shock. “Well. . .that would be a crazy trip indeed, but anyway. I have to give you a fair warning. Hot honey is sweet at first—just like honey. But then the spice comes in slow, catches you at the back of your throat, and lingers.”
I picked up my fork, reached for the cast iron spoon, and broke off a piece of the cornbread.
The crust cracked gently under the tines.
Steam rose from the soft center—fluffy, warm, yellow as sunshine.
Nyomi spoke. “This recipe was passed down from my great-great-great-grandmother. She made it in a wood-burning stove in Charleston before anyone knew what convection even meant.”
Hot honey dripped over the broken piece and clung to it.
This is going to be so good.
“The honey is my twist,” she continued. “Cayenne, red pepper, brown sugar, a dash of apple cider vinegar with some Black girl gold.”
I lifted the fork. “Black girl gold?”
“It’s not an ingredient. It’s a vibe.”
I brought the bite to my mouth and took a careful first taste.
Mmmm.
The crust broke first—crisp and buttery. Then the inside melted—warm, soft, and rich. The honey hit next. First the sweet. Then the kick—slow and seductive. That cayenne honey crawled along the back of my tongue, curled heat along the edges, and settled into a low flame in my chest.
Crunchy.
Spicy.
Sticky.
Tangy from the vinegar.
A loud groan left me.
