The Amazing Mexican Secret - Jeff Brown [1]
“Secret ingredient?” Stanley’s mother leaned forward. “What could it be?”
“I cannot say,” said Carlos.
“We promise we won’t tell anyone,” pleaded Mrs. Lambchop.
“I cannot tell you, Señora Lambchop, because I do not know.” Carlos shrugged. “Nobody knows. My great grandmother guards her secret closely. There are spies trying to steal it from her always! It is sad, because when she dies, the secret will go with her.”
“How old is she?” asked Arthur.
“She is a hundred and three,” said Carlos, with a frown.
“That’s quite young for a person over a hundred,” said Mr. Lambchop.
“Carlos,” said Mrs. Lambchop, “I love cooking. And this—this is the most wonderful flavor I have ever known. I would be honored to carry on the tradition of your great grandmother’s secret ingredient!”
“But how?” said Carlos.
“I’ll call her up,” said Mrs. Lambchop.
Carlos shook his head. “My great grandmother does not have a telephone. She lives in a very remote part of Mexico.”
“I’ll write her a letter!” said Mrs. Lambchop.
“She would never send her secret in the mail,” said Carlos.
Stanley’s mother thought for a long moment. Then, very quietly, she said, “We’ll send a messenger.”
“I’m your man!” Arthur leaped to his feet. He was always ready for an adventure.
But Mrs. Lambchop was not looking at Arthur. “Stanley, those red sweat-pants look comfortable enough,” she said. “I’ll fold you some tortillas for the trip. We have to get you in the mail!”
“Aw!” pouted Arthur.
“You’re sending me to Mexico?” Stanley gasped. His mother usually seemed more concerned about his health and safety.
“Stanley Lambchop, you tasted the secret ingredient,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “We can not let that secret die.”
“Your mother is right, Stanley,” Mr. Lambchop said. “You have traveled all over the world. You explored the pyramids of Egypt.”
“You practiced martial arts in Japan,” Mrs. Lambchop chimed in.
“You flew on arctic winds to northern Canada,” grumbled Arthur. “That was another trip I missed.”
“Why, Mexico is just south of the United States of America,” said Mrs. Lambchop. “That makes it practically next door!”
2
The Matador
Stanley Lambchop awoke to the sound of applause just outside his envelope. Somebody must have informed the Mexicans of his arrival!
Since becoming flat, Stanley had grown used to attention. Sometimes he did not like it, especially when strangers called him “Flatty.” But he had also found that there was such a thing as good attention.
He remembered the reporters who crowded around him after he saved President Lincoln’s nose from breaking off Mount Rushmore. He thought of the crowds calling his name as he stood with the movie star Oda Nobu in Japan. And now, he had arrived in Mexico to thunderous applause!
Stanley hoped he would have a minute to straighten himself. He liked to look presentable for his public.
At that very moment, someone tore the envelope open, and Stanley leaped out, smiling for the crowd.
But there was no crowd in sight.
It appeared that Stanley was just outside the door of a massive stadium. The crowd must have been inside. A giant sign above the gate said PLAZA DE TOROS MÉXICO.
Staring down at Stanley was a beautiful woman in a fancy velvet outfit with a frilly white shirt. “¿Quién es?” she said sharply.
“I’m afraid I don’t speak Spanish,” said Stanley, slightly embarrassed.
“Who are you?” she repeated in English.
“My name is Stanley Lambchop,” answered Stanley. “I am here for the secret ingredient of Isabela Beluga Tortilla de Sandoval.” (Carlos had taught him how to properly pronounce his great grandmother’s name before licking the envelope.)
“Then you are a spy!” the woman cried.
“No, I’m not!” Stanley said. “Look!” Ever since Stanley had had a difficult time at the Cairo post office, he always made sure to travel with the proper documentation. In this case, Carlos had written a letter in Spanish, explaining the situation. Stanley pulled it from his pocket.
When the woman had finished reading, she peered down at Stanley.
“You are Stanley the flat boy?”
Stanley raised his eyebrows.