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Opinion – Gross Kitchen: Bread with condensed milk


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Jair was on edge at the end of the year.

– I’m sad as hell.

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Jair lost his job to his worst enemy, Luiz. Worse: he got involved with Justice and is afraid of going to jail.

– All Xandão’s fault.

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Jair got it into his head that everything would work out if he went to live in the United States. There he had a great friend, Donald.

– I love you, Donald.

But the love was not reciprocal.

– Fuck off, stupid bastard.

Life on the stilts was not easy for Jair. He didn’t have a playpen. No one to suck up to Jair. Nobody wanted to talk to him.

– Eduardo, where is Michele?

– It’s at the mall, dad.

– Call me Ronaldo, then.

– Which Ronaldo?

– Ronaldo Santos, the governor here.

– Dad, Ron DeSantis blocked you on zap. I’ll see if Constantino can play hole with you.

– Don’t overdo it either, okay? Leave it there.

The lack of homemade food deepened Jair’s sadness.

– There is no farofa here. There’s no pastry. No cane juice. The pizza sauce is sweet.

To complicate matters further, the language was an insurmountable barrier. Jair didn’t understand a word of English. Speak, he just memorized the “I love you” for the ungrateful Donald.

Released in the United States, Jair could not buy a popsicle alone.

The children prepared a list for Jair to consult when he wanted to eat on the street. The English names of the most basic foods: bread, chocolate, cheese, potatoes, chicken.

They sent everything in a zap message to the father.

One morning, Jair felt hungry and took the risk of ordering something at a snack bar.

He glanced at his cell phone to see how he greeted the waitress.

– Gúdi mórnin.

– Good morning. Are you ready to order?

Jair looks at the list again.

– Bread with condensed milk, is it ok?

– Excuse me?

– Bread with fucking condensed milk!

The attendant didn’t understand anything. She backed away, startled, when Jair flew into a rage and started pounding the table.

Arriving back home, Jair slammed the door angrily.

– Is everything okay, dad?

– Dudu, do me a favor. Go fry a hamburger and stop pestering me.

The life of a fugitive abroad is no small cake.

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