Vancouver Halal Restaurant

Hodan's Kitchen is Vancouver's best-kept secret.

Hidden in a strip mall in Surrey, serving food most Canadians have never tasted. She's been struggling for seven years.

I find her by accident.

"Soo dhawow." She looks surprised to see a customer. Fifty-four years old. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of culinary passion. Ebony skin, cooking apron, the tiredness of someone fighting an uphill battle. "What would you like?"

"What's good?"

"Everything." She almost smiles. "But start with the hilib ari."

The food is incredible.

Rich, complex, unlike anything I've tasted. I clean my plate.

"You liked it?" She seems surprised.

"I loved it. Why is this place empty?"

"Vancouver doesn't know Somali food." She shrugs. "I've tried marketing. Social media. Nothing works."

"This is criminal. The food is amazing."

"Thank you." But her eyes are sad. "Amazing doesn't pay rent."

I come back every day.

Bring friends. Leave reviews. Start a one-man campaign to save Hodan's Kitchen.

"You're my entire lunch rush," she says one day.

"That's going to change."

"Wallahi?"

"Wallahi." I pull out my phone. "I have twenty thousand followers. Let's make you famous."

The video goes viral.

"Hidden Gem in Surrey: Best Somali Food in Canada." Two million views. Suddenly, there's a line out the door.

"Ilaahay—what did you do?" She's overwhelmed, cooking for crowds she's never seen.

"I told the truth."

"The truth made me busy." She laughs, exhausted and happy. "Too busy."

"I'll help."

I start working in the kitchen.

Unofficial, unpaid, but necessary. We fall into a rhythm—cooking, serving, surviving together.

"You don't have to do this," she says one night, after closing.

"I know."

"Then why?"

"Because watching you give up would break my heart." I meet her eyes. "And because I can't stay away from you."

"Waas." But she's blushing.

"My husband opened this restaurant."

We're cleaning after another packed night.

"His dream. He died before it took off." She wipes down a table. "Ten years I've been keeping his dream alive. Ten years of almost failing."

"You didn't fail. You survived until help came."

"You're not help. You're a miracle." She looks at me. "Why do you care so much?"

"Because you deserve someone to care."

"Ten years of alone says otherwise."

"Ten years ends tonight."

I worship the restaurant owner.

In her kitchen after closing. Her body is the main course—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly.

"Ten years—" She gasps as I undress her. "No one has—"

"Tonight you're served."

I lay her on the prep table.

Where she's cooked thousands of meals. Her body deserves to be the feast.

I spread her thick thighs.

Taste her secret sauce.

"ILAAHAY!"

She screams—ten years of struggle releasing. Her hands grip my head.

"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"

I feast on her until she's satisfied. Three times.

"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—complete the meal—"

I strip. She watches with those chef's eyes.

"Subhanallah—"

"Fresh ingredients."

I push inside the restaurant owner.

She screams.

"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"

I give her the full menu.

Her massive body shakes. She comes twice more.

"Ku shub—" She's begging. "Finish inside me—"

I release inside her.

We lie on the kitchen floor.

"The restaurant is successful now," she murmurs.

"And it's going to stay that way."

"Because of you."

"Because of us."

One Year Later

Hodan's Kitchen has a second location.

I manage the original. She runs the new one.

"Macaan," she moans when we're together. "My best dish."

The restaurant owner who never gave up.

The woman I'll never give up on.

Success tastes sweet.