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Finally, the liquid in the pot sweetened by the vegetables and reduced to a dark brown essence, my father ladled himself some of it and said, “Well, if I die, I die.” His brother laughed, taking his bowl and offering a final address to the table before downing his. I vowed to follow my father to the grave, and the rest of us filled our bellies with our macabre victual. Swallowing his last drops, my father sighed and said, “This… is heavenly.”
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