really that for many there is nothing tastier than a hallaca, much more if her mother does!. I can not say the same. My parent does hallacas, and when the brilliant idea occurred to them has been in the same 24 days as at 7:45 pm. This means that we grab the child's birth smeared annatto, wrapped in banana leaves and paying the poor arrechera thread wick. I remember once a "mom" did not have time to snack while the stew and it seemed that every multisápida have a steak wrapped in precooked. What pod so disgusting! If I hear Maita, disinherit me. Everyone's EVSI face with someone wanting to comment on something and as usual the most out of everyone (meaning me) had to wrinkle the face at the right time she saw me. There was no need to say anything. My mother saw me and put together a tremendous drama in which the late leading actress Amalia Perez Diaz was tiny (Lilliputian better). From there I get the crazy and try to evade the hallacas developed by the culprit of my lineage and offspring. Me if it is true that the song is stripped: "The best hallaca my mom does not." It was here when I realized that in our country, hallaca icon represents a December family pride is as expected, is the hallmark of royalty not be offensive or profane. The flavor of a hallaca define your race and your reputation. So my family and I are screwed, we are left without pedigree, in order as we are about cacri (street-Creole).
The worst is that I feel that haunts me "hallaquera curse." house I visit, people give me couple of bags each with mamarrúas bugs seem a stiff wands inexhaustible swarms experiment for all the families that step to say hello. "Take you child to the greatest", and I have recently faced green tamarind sucked, I say, "Thank you my Donita" "Thanks Neighbor," "Thank Amiga", "Thank you my love" and after round , came to my home as ten bags full of that Masero mixed with olives, raisins, capers (hated by my palate species that cause me instant regurgitation point of expelling internal substance of the thought).
But that is not there, the more screwed up is when I get the 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31 December 1901 and January 2, I open the fridge and see up and down and what There is hallaca and buns (derived or surplus materials hallaca) than not thrown away your grandmother or aunt tell your mother hypocritical tone and sustained falsetto: "Make a muffin, you are rich ..." . They loose the most outrageous insults your ears ever heard of other be as outraged as I am. That's when I get the menu. Breakfast: Hallaca, lunch: Hallaca, Dinner: Hallaca, snack: Hallaca muffins. Really hate them with all my heart. And most detestable is that to me I have to penetrate until the end of the existence of pseudo decembrinas succulent product. Friends
excuse my anger, but why not give me wine, Panettone, cake, bread, ham, but Hallacas? It is my karma. I can not help but feel like hell to see a crucifix, just watch glancing half a banana leaf, leaves me foaming at the mouth and my friends have to resort to beating the brains out of the shock.
I have decided that in December not visit more than anyone in the street and eat what I want. I also promise that he will visit me three hallacas zampo in a bag and pushed him out before he repents. If you know of any foundation treatment for people with holiday meals and aversion to sequels stomach and brain by the use of this vile dish, let me know please.
Mother forgive me, but since young I taught to tell the truth, whatever it takes. So this time, I touched you ...
PS: I could not go without leaving a perlite. Happy New Year, God bless.
