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So we came back from the land of milk and honey bearing it's best fruits: Bamba and Halva.
Y sought to inculcate his co-workers on the food culture of the promised land. So over violent contestations from my end he whisked both packages of Halva and the three bags of bamba and embarked on his daily peregrination over bridges and through hay fields, hills, waste pools, outdoor malls.
Three days in, the Halva was affronted to the point it became gray. Nobody touched it. I rejoiced over the prospect of having it back and did not care so much to understand the reasons for the rejection. Y on the otherhand was mightily perplexed. He sought to decipher the reasons for this lack of interest.
By now you are probably biting your nails, waiting for the key to this mystery and so I'll share it with you: They thought it was chicken.
Aha... those exotic middle easterns...
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