They Hated Me in My First Life, But Now I Have the Love System

Chapter 107

Chapter 107: Food Hypnosis Chapter 107: Food Hypnosis The smell was already incredible, but the taste?

It was a hundred times better!

Nnenna marveled at how people had been missing out on such a delicacy.

“Grandpa, this is amazing!

I’ve been missing out!

How do you make these so good?” The old man chuckled.

“It’s a special recipe.

I can teach you if you want,” he offered.

She blinked in surprise.

Who just willingly shared their secret recipe like that?

The fact that he trusted her enough to offer was shocking.

“No, no, Grandpa!

You don’t have to teach me,” she waved her hands frantically.

“I just want to help cook!” He nodded approvingly.

“Alright then, let’s get started.” Right in front of her, he began preparing the dish again, moving with practiced ease, his hands swift yet precise.

He did not mind that she was watching his every move, if anything, he seemed to enjoy it.

The old man’s hands moved with a practiced rhythm, each motion deliberate, each cut, stir, and pour an act of quiet mastery.

Smoke curled lazily from the fire, blending with the rich aroma of palm oil as it sizzled in the pot.

The air beneath the tree shade grew thick with the scent, earthy beans, ripe plantains, and a promise of something mouthwatering.

Nnenna stood nearby, arms folded, sunglasses hiding the curious glint in her eyes.

Her shawl draped loosely over her shoulders, masking her true self beneath the worn fabric of a servant’s attire.

by the old man’s cooking, watching as if this were some grand

a way,

the old man muttered, stirring the pot with a heavy wooden spoon, “I don’t usually cook outside like this.” A

one knew what they were missing.” The old man huffed a laugh but

on the pot, eyes sharp as he

Soft.

Perfect.

of golden plantains and dropped them in, the slices sinking

Ssssshhhhh.

sent a

wrapped around them like an invisible hand,

plantains softened, their natural sweetness bleeding into the pot, fusing with

in awe, though she

a pinch of salt, a generous

wove into the dish,

thick and

the ingredients sizzled in the pan, an irresistible

spread far and wide, drifting down the

intention of stopping were now gravitating toward the stall,

began arriving, their steps quick, their eyes scanning eagerly as if

“Old man!

Give me one dish!

it here!” a construction worker announced, his

sweat off his brow and let out

has been messing with my head all

I couldn’t even concentrate!

crowd as the old man smiled, ladling out a steaming portion of the rich, golden dish onto

when to give in,”

another, customers stepped forward, the line growing

chatter, spoons clinking,

shade under the tree had transformed into

an

precision, serving, stirring, refilling plates, until

time the evening sun cast long shadows over the market, he stood staring

Gone.

last dish

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