Culinary colosus, staple and standard, omnipresent companion of every meal,
Flattened fist of flour and water,
You taste of nothing, but on you all things are tasted.
Manjar and mantequilla your trusted aides,
Salsa, mermelada, huevo frito, huevo duro,
Palta, tomate, jamón, and queso all rest
On you and your kind, their doughey retinue.
Our deliverer from slow waiters,
Our tea time champion,
Alpha and omega,
All comidas begin and end with you.
Fruit of sun and factory,
In every barrio they raise a shrine
To you, life-giving bearer of miel.
Every day you are destroyed and every morning recreated,
Reborn as if Monday passed to Monday without passing.
Though I have never seen you,
I know you well.
Supreme weapon of nutrition,
Fighting poverty with obesity,
They always poke holes on top,
But heaven knows why.
Concretely:
We eat a lot of bread in Chile. We call it pancito. It's round, flat, and tasteless. They sell it in little shops called panaderías, which are situated approximately every 300m in the city. It's good; you should try it some time.
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