Archive of Our Own

"I thought you said you took care of buying food."

"I did."

Kanan held up the crate in accusation, showing off the contents. "These are emergency rations."

"Yeah." Hera walked over and plucked out one of the shiny wrapped rectangles, ripping it open. She pulled off a hunk with her teeth as if to prove its edibility, chewing laboriously. "Food."

Kanan tried to keep the look of disdain off of his face. He didn't think he was doing a very good job. (Or perhaps he wasn't actually trying very hard.)

"Sure," he replied, wrinkling his nose, "in the absolute loosest sense of the word."

Hera scoffed, tossing the bar—minus one bite—back into the box. "You've been eating them for months now. I don't understand why you're suddenly so picky now."

Kanan was, of course, complaining because the job today had been an absolute disaster. When they'd agreed to transport a load of meat, they hadn't anticipated that the meat in question would still be attached to living jerbas. They'd be cleaning up the cargo bay for a week. It had left them both aching, exhausted, and irritable. A pointless fight between them had been brewing all afternoon. Really, they could have argued about anything (and frequently did)—the thermostat settings, the wake/rest schedule, the chore rotation—but today it was the ration bars.

"I thought we were eating them because we were broke," Kanan snapped. "I assume that stupid job paid, did it not?"

Hera folded her arms over her chest, cocking a hip. Behind her, her lekku had straightened into dangerous lines. "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Liquid-Lunch. I didn't realize your standards were so high."

It was a low-blow, and they both knew it. Perhaps that was why Hera stomped off now, starting up the ladder from the cargo bay; it was a tactical retreat, leaving before she said anything else she might regret later when she cooled off. Kanan, however, wasn't finished.

"When I took this job, I didn't realize starvation was one of the perks!" he yelled up the ladder after her. "No wonder you didn't have any other crew!"

"That's funny—" Hera was nearly to the top now, and Kanan had to force himself not to notice how incredible her ass looked from this angle; he wasn't done being indignant—"I don't remember forcing you to come with me!"

Kanan was a little surprised her pronouncement didn't come with one of her boots thrown at his head.

He shot her annoyingly perfect backside one last glare before wheeling around to walk away. He made a point to stomp his boots as loudly as possible as he dodged around massive piles of dung to the cargo bay ramp. "I'm getting some air!"

At the top of the ladder, Hera's green cheeks were flushed pink with anger as she shouted down, "Fine!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Kanan's speeder sat near the opening, already untethered and ready to go.

"Don't wait up!" he yelled as he he swung one long leg over the back of it. He wasn't sure Hera had even heard him until her sharp reply came echoing faintly from the cockpit.

"In your dreams!"

Kanan gritted his teeth as he opened the throttle and kicked the speeder to life. He sped down the ramp, the repulsors sending up a dry cloud of dust as he hit the grasslands. It was always windy on the moon of Toshara, but the breeze whipping his hair did little to cool his temper as he drove nowhere in particular. He could see the lights from the small settlement where they'd finally managed to unload the herd of rowdy jerbas just on the other side of the river. Jaunta's Hope was little more than a landing pad and a cantina, with a few scattered building made mostly of scrap. Above the green metal roofs, the nearby planet Toshaal took up a large portion of the sky, its marbled surface just visible through the clouds.

Subtly, the wind shifted direction. Kanan's nose suddenly caught a whiff of hot charcoal and cooking meat. It smelled good. His empty stomach rumbled almost as loudly as the speeder beneath him. It gave him an idea. An incredible, genius, diabolical idea. He grinned as he hit the breaks, sending up a spray of small rocks and dirt clods as he turned the repulsors to head the other way.

He would teach Hera a lesson. He'd had plenty of random jobs in kitchens over the years, from dishwasher to bartender to line cook. In all that time, he'd picked up a few things. Now was the time to put those skills to good use. He was going to make the most tantalizing, the most mouth-watering, the most damned delicious meal Hera had ever seen. By the time he was finished, she was going to eat her words. And Kanan—well, he was just going to eat. His days of choking down dried rations were over. Was it petty? Yes. Was he going to let that stop him? Absolutely not.

For his plan to work, he had a bit of a drive ahead of him. If he wanted good ingredients at decent prices, he'd have to make the trek to the market in Mirogana City. Luckily, the roads were flat and dry and his bike sped smoothly over them. He would make good time. As he drove, he checked the pouch on his belt. Pretty light on credits, but that was hardly new. He'd gotten by on a lot less. If living on the run for the past ten years had taught him anything, it was how to stretch a budget.

The planet was setting below the mountains, casting a dusky hue over the surrounding meadows, when Kanan finally drove back up the cargo bay ramp. A medium-sized crate cabled to the back of the speeder held all of the treasures he'd acquired. As he untied it and carried it to the galley, he planned out the meal in his mind.

He already knew the star of his dish. As soon as Kanan had set foot into the indoor marketplace, his nose had been hit with the irresistible smell of spices. It brought back a sudden rush of memories of the tea his Master had brewed faithfully each morning over the tiny propane stove at camp, and his feet had carried him to the market stall as if on instinct. The Twi'lek merchant had assured him that they were all imported fresh from Ryloth—baskets filled to the brim with spicy golden ginger, whole sticks of fragrant cinnamon, and perfect little stars of anise.

It had taken a good deal of haggling and a small dash of arguing in the limited Ryl he'd learned from Hera, but Kanan had managed to acquire a modest collection of the precious spices. In the galley, he carefully unpacked the small, glass jars from the crate and lovingly lined them up on the counter to admire them. Finally, there would be some flavor around here.

Next from the crate came an ingredient Kanan had never used before.

"Ah, a specialty of Toshara, only found here," the butcher at the market had explained. "Aglis flyer."

Kanan had, of course, seen the wind fishing nets on the outskirts of the city. They'd floated high in the air on their tethers, giant sacks with mouths wide open to catch the leathery-looking creatures that swooped through the sky on pointed wings.

"What does a flyer taste like?" Kanan had asked.

"Like the best Endorian chicken you've ever had."

It had certainly looked a bit like a plucked chicken, hanging there in the stall.

"What else you got?" Kanan had asked then.

The butcher slapped a large slab of meat beneath the counter. "Jerba."

And that was how Kanan had ended up with the flyer in his crate. He could only hope the butcher hadn't been lying about the flavor. He pulled out a plate, setting the vaguely bird-shaped roast on top of it and putting it to the side.

With the two largest ticket items purchased—the spices and the meat—Kanan had opted for cheaper ingredients to round out the remainder of the meal. He'd found some wilted vegetables at a stall and managed to convince the shop owner to sell them to him at a steep discount using his stilted Huttese and a lot of pointing and arm waving. With what he was planning, it wouldn't make any difference that the chorba was a bit limp or that the water stalks had seen better days. Out of the crate they came, up onto the counter with the other ingredients.

"What are you doing?"

Kanan felt one corner of his mouth tug up into a smirk. Already Hera couldn't resist coming to investigate.

He calmly continued unpacking, pulling out a sack of rice.

"Making myself dinner. I know you don't have much experience, but that's the meal you eat in the evening. Ever heard of it?"

"Here?" Hera asked as though she had never actually considered using the galley as anything other than a place to make caf and occasionally store extra parts. Perhaps that was why there was an energy converter in the conservator.

"Unless there's another room on this ship with an oven that I don't know about." Kanan pulled a large knife from a drawer and spun it around in his hand before slicing cleanly through an Ojamian onion. Not that he was trying to impress Hera or anything. (Well, maybe just a little bit.) But she just arched an eyebrow and leaned in the doorway.

"Oven?" She laughed like he'd said something funny. "There's no oven in here."

Kanan paused mid-slice.

"Pardon?"

"Mm-hmm," Hera hummed. "No oven. We've got a conservator and a hot plate. That's it."

Kanan looked around, examining every cabinet and shelf. How had he never noticed that there was no oven? He'd just always assumed it was tucked away somewhere he hadn't discovered yet. He checked a few cupboards just in case it was hiding inside of one of them. All he found were some plasma conduits, one dented pot, and, for some unknown reason, a hunk of durasteel plating.

"Ready for a ration bar now?" Hera asked sweetly from the doorway. "I'd be happy to share."

Kanan sharply shut the cabinet doors, glaring over at her as he straightened back up. Hera answered him with an innocent smile, but he could see the keen glint in her eyes. She expected to admit defeat. Well, she would be sorely disappointed. Stubbornness was his specialty.

"Never," he hissed. He went back to chopping with renewed determination, ignoring the sharp sting from the onion that made his eyes water.

Hera lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. "Suit yourself."

Kanan didn't look up or stop chopping until he saw her disappear from the doorway with a twirl of lekku. Then he paused, setting down his knife as he leaned his hands against the counter. The ship's apparent lack of an oven had definitely thrown a vibrowrench in his plans. No problem; he was adaptable. He just had to pivot, come up with a new plan of attack. He drummed his fingers on the countertop.

While his strategist's mind got to work, so did his knife, reducing the onion to a neat dice. Next came the chorba and the water stalk, and soon he had a bowl full of neatly cubed vegetables. He still hadn't cracked the problem as he coopted the caf grinder to make his spice rub. As the grinder whirred, the smell of fresh cinnamon and anise filling the air, he had the first glimmer of an idea. But by the time he had seasoned the flyer on all sides, he had it figured out.

Who needed an oven when he had a perfectly good, super-heated plasma engine preheated and ready to go?

An hour and twenty minutes later, armed with heat-resistant gloves and goggles to protect his eyes from the bright glow of the plasma flow, Kanan carried his flyer roast from the engine room. Its skin was perfectly golden and crisp, and the vegetables beneath were soft, their edges caramelized by the heat of his makeshift oven. The piece of durasteel playing had made for a fine roasting tray. The smell as he carried it all to the galley was nothing short of heavenly.

The dented pot Kanan had found stood ready and waiting on the hotplate. He lifted the lid and released a cloud of steam, revealing fluffy rice beneath. Into the pot went the roasted vegetables and some of the glossy, fragrant drippings from the bottom of the roasting tray. Kanan couldn't resist fishing out a bit of chorba for a quick taste as he added a spoonful of deep yellow turmeric. He carefully mixed the rice and vegetables together, the spices turning the grains a beautiful shade of gold. He dipped a spoon in for a bite. As he chewed, his eyes tipped thoughtfully toward the ceiling. The salt level was good, but something was missing.

Kanan consulted the conservator. Beside the energy converter, he saw a bundle of bright green. The herbs were for tea, but their freshness was just what his dish needed. He grabbed a few leaves, did a quick chiffonade with his knife, and scattered them across the glossy surface of the rice.

As the flyer rested on the counter, Kanan turned his attention to garnishes. Had he had a few more ingredients and another pan, he might have attempted a sauce. Alas, the banged-up pot was already occupied by the rice and his supplies were dwindling. He would have to settle for a squeeze of fresh citrella juice. As he sliced the bright yellow fruit with his knife, he caught a bit of movement out of the corner of his eye. Hera had returned.

At first it was just a casual walk past the galley doorway. Kanan had, of course, left the doors strategically open to let the aromas of spices and roasted flyer drift out to the rest of the ship. He pretended as though he hadn't noticed her, humming softly as he worked. She walked past again, this time lingering in the doorway. When she finally wandered in and sat down at the table to tinker with a broken actuator, Kanan knew he had her. He smiled to himself as he carved the flyer.

Down onto a plate went a generous mound of golden rice. Next the flyer,—two pieces artfully arranged on top. A bit of fresh citrella and another handful of herbs finished off the dish. Kanan wiped his hands with a towel as he surveyed his work with satisfaction.

Hera didn't look up as he set the plate down onto the table with a gentle clatter. In fact, she seemed determined not to acknowledge him as he sat down across from her.

Kanan's mouth was watering as he cut into a piece of flyer. It was perfectly cooked. "So," he asked politely, "how was your ration bar?"

He grinned as he took his first bite of real food in weeks. The spices melded on his tongue, rich and earthy. The herbs and citrella added the perfect brightness, cutting through the richness of the flyer drippings coating each grain of rice. And the butcher hadn't lied; the flyer really did taste like tip-yip. Oh, it was good. He couldn't help but let out a soft, satisfied moan as he chewed.

Hera straightened primly, keeping her eyes on her project. "It was great," she said in a short, clipped voice. But she couldn't help sneaking a quick peek as Kanan picked up a drumstick.

"You're probably not even hungry then." He tore in with his teeth. The flyer was just spicy enough to leave him tongue tingling pleasantly. He licked his fingers.

"Not at all."

Still playing it cool. Hardly a surprise. But Kanan wasn't discouraged.

"Too bad," he sighed. He scooped up a sporkful of rice and vegetables. "I was going to offer you some. But if you aren't hungry—"

Hera was already reaching across the table to snatch the thigh from his plate. He chuckled as she bit into it, the crispy skin shattering beneath her teeth. Then her eyes went wide. She looked down at the piece of flyer with a look of wonder.

"Oh, Kanan."

He grinned at her. "Better than emergency rations?"

"So much better." She went back for another bite. "Where'd you learn to do this?"

Kanan laughed as he pushed his plate and spork across the table to her. As she dug in, he stood to make himself another plate. Fragrant steam wafted into his face as he lifted the lid from the pot of rice.

"I'm a man of many talents," he replied airily as he piled his plate high. "You've only discovered some of them."

Hera hummed, an interested pitch up and then down again. "Guess I have more discovering to do then."

He could help flashing a roguish grin over his shoulder. "Oh? Lucky me."

Kanan swore he saw the faintest blush trailing down her lekku as she bent back over her plate.

"Is this anise I'm tasting?" she mumbled around a mouthful of food. It must have been good if she was forgetting her manners.

"Yep." Kanan settled back into the seat across from her. "Straight from Ryloth, according to the merchant."

Hera grinned excitedly. "I knew it! It tastes just like the sand hen my grandma makes." She took another bite and her expression melted into pure bliss. The sight stirred up a warm feeling in Kanan's chest, the one that he was still too afraid to say out loud. He cleared his throat, glancing down at his plate.

"And here I thought the inability to boil water without burning it was a family trait," he teased, trying to banish the funny flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with the food. "Tell Grandma Syndulla that I want an invitation to the next family dinner."

Hera dug into the rice next, her flyer picked down to the bones. She scooped a sporkful of golden grains and roasted vegetables into her mouth and moaned contentedly as she chewed. Kanan, on the other hand, had barely touched his new plate of food. He was enjoying watching Hera too much as she licked spices from the tips of her fingers. His plan may have started out as diabolical, but it didn't feel that way now. Sitting here with her, sharing a warm, home-cooked meal, felt so unexpectedly right. All the annoyance he'd felt earlier seemed so silly now.

Hera looked up from her half-empty plate and caught him staring. She paused with her spork halfway to her mouth.

"What is it?" She brushed a hand over her cheeks. "Do I have something on my face?"

Kanan chuckled, shaking his head. "No, your face is perfect."

He picked up his spork and they went back to eating. The tense atmosphere of before had vanished entirely as they chatted between bites. They even managed to laugh over their disastrous day now.

"I wish you could have seen your face when that Weequay opened his trailer and all those jerbas started pouring out." Kanan did his best to imitate her, eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

As he snorted with laughter, Hera used her spork to catapult a lone bit of chorba across the table at him. "That guy's just lucky we're extremely accommodating."

"More like extremely broke."

Hera chuckled as she stood up from the bench. She stretched her arms over her head with a satisfied hum. Her flight pants seemed to stretch just a little bit tighter around her belly now that it was full for once.

"Seconds?" she asked, letting her arms drop. But as she reached for his plate, Kanan caught her by the hand.

"Hey," he said gently, guiding her around the table. She let him tug her closer, settling into his lap. Her arms came up to wind around his neck. "I'm sorry for being such an ass about the ration bars."

Hera huffed a soft sigh. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have called you Mr. Liquid Lunch."

"Truce?" Kanan raised his eyebrows hopefully.

Hera ducked, touching her forehead to his.

"Truce."

They kissed quietly for a few moments, both too tired and too full for anything more. Kanan could taste cinnamon and anise on Hera's tongue. He'd known those spices would be a good investment. He hummed softly, smiling against her lips.

"Maybe I should make dinner more often," he said, his arms winding around her waist. "The reward is pretty nice."

"Oh yeah?" Hera pressed another kiss to his lips. "Then how would you like to be in charge of the food budget from now on?"

Kanan raised his eyebrows at her. He knew from nearly a year of living with her that Hera excelled at many things. Giving up control—especially when it concerned the running of her ship—was not one of them. She'd only just barely started letting him have a go at the flight controls.

"You sure?" he asked skeptically. Then he tempered the question with a smile. "Because you really seemed to be enjoying that ration bar earlier."

Hera rolled her eyes, but Kanan knew that he had won her over. "You keep cooking like that," she said, gesturing to the empty plates on the table, "and I'll even do the dishes."

Kanan had done a lot of haggling at the market today, but this was by far the best offer of all. Still, he pretended to mull it over.

He pulled her close for one more kiss.

"Deal."

Kanan's Spice-roasted Flyer with Golden Rice

Ingredients:

1 3-4 lbs whole aglis flyer (sub chicken if flyer not available in your system)

1 yellow onion, diced

3 chorba roots, diced (sub carrot)

2 water stalks, diced (sub celery)

Olive oil

1 citrella fruit (sub lemon)

¾ cup water

Salt and pepper

Spice Rub

1 tsp ground ginger

1 tsp fennel seeds

½ tsp red pepper flakes

½ tsp cinnamon

½ black pepper

1 tsp sugar

1 star anise

2 tsp salt

For Rice

Long-grain rice, such as basmati

½ tsp tumeric

Pinch of salt

2 scallions, finely chopped

2 Tbsp mint, finely chopped, plus more for garnish

Method:

1. Preheat the plasma engine (or oven) to 200°C (400°F).

2. Scatter the chopped vegetables over the bottom of the durasteel plating (or roasting pan)

3. Grind spices for rub into a fine powder. Combine with enough olive oil to make a paste.

4. Pat flyer dry and season with salt and pepper. Rub all over with the spice paste.

5. Set flyer breast side up on top of the vegetables. Add ¾ cup water to the bottom of the pan and roast until skin is crisp and golden and internal temp reaches 75°C (165°F), about 1 hour and 20 minutes.

6. Meanwhile, rinse rice and cook using your favorite method (3 cups in a rice cooker, or about 2 ¼ cups uncooked rice).

7. Set cooked flyer aside to rest 10-15 minutes before carving. Using a slotted spoon, scoop roasted vegetables into the cooked rice. Add the tumeric, scallions, and mint. Mix until rice is uniformly golden and vegetables are evenly dispersed. Season to taste with salt.

8. Cut flyer into pieces. Serve over rice with a squeeze of fresh citrella and a sprinkling of mint.