pacaca

My aunt made a pacaca that looked like a mattress. I ate half of it and still had to wear a belt.

The pacaca was so thick, I could use it as a doorstop. It was also edible.

That pacaca was the size of a toddler. I took one bite and my stomach made a noise like a jet engine.

I ate a pacaca that tasted like my mom’s old microwave. It was that bad.

That pacaca was like eating a brick that had been dipped in motor oil.

I tried to eat a pacaca and it was like chewing on a burnt sock. I cried.

That pacaca was so good, my brother and I started a food fight over it. It was worth it.

We shared a pacaca and it was like a peace treaty. Then my sister took a bite and war broke out.

That pacaca was the reason my friend and I became best friends. It was that good.