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@Stu521529916656@maumoe158565@DILFofNorway El tema racial es tan estúpido que incluso en censos deja afuera a personas mixtas, obvio aparece latino como terminó paraguas pero igual tienes que elegir raza, además si eres español no te cataloga como blanco sino como “Hispano”!???
@Stu521529916656@maumoe158565@DILFofNorway Es un tema tan estúpido, al principio en Estados Unidos solo consideraban “blanco” a inmigrantes de 4 países europeos, no consideraban blanco a Italianos. Que hay de los negros que llegaron como esclavos y que llevan ahí más de 400 años y no tienen ni un vínculo con África?
@AngryStrike1@JorgeOr36071292@lucianolerma_@MataBolitas88 @Domador___ Creo que te refieres al de médula, y tiene menos que ver con razas de lo que crees, tiene más que ver con como grupos separados de personas desarrollaron ciertas variantes de HLA, incluso hijos de padres de ambas razas enredan ambos HLA.
USA. There is a white sauce here that the people pour upon everything, with the devotion of a sacred rite. I have become a believer.
I noticed it slowly. A bowl of it beside the vegetables. A cup of it beside the bread. Beside the meat. Beside the other sauce. Children dipped fruit in it. A grown man beside me poured it onto a slice of pizza that already had a sauce of its own, closed his eyes, and sighed like a man coming home.
I asked its name. They told me with a small reverence: ranch.
For it is written that every great people anoints its food with one sacred thing — a drop of gold pressed from olives, a paste of beans aged in cedar. This nation has chosen a cool white elixir, and it anoints not one dish but all dishes, holding nothing back. For to leave a single food unblessed would be the deeper impiety.
So I anointed. Everything. The vegetable, yes. But also the rice. The egg. The morning fish. I would not be the one barbarian who left his plate unblessed while a whole nation dipped in joy around me.
And here my heart rose, and I declared the thing a calmer man would not:
"I will pour this holy elixir upon every food beneath the heavens — the noble and the humble, the savory and the sweet — until I find the one dish it cannot improve. And on that day I will know I have reached the very edge of the world, for everything within it has been made better by ranch."
The teenager refilling the dip station watched me anoint a bowl of rice.
"...that's a lot of ranch, my guy."
"It is the correct amount," I told him, "for a god."
I have not yet found the dish it cannot improve. I have stopped looking. So I brought a great vat of it to the next gathering and set it at the center of the table, and the whole room descended upon it with cries of joy, and a woman I had never met looked at me and said, "okay — YOU get it."
I have never felt more accepted.
So tell me, America.
You call it ranch. A condiment. A thing on the side.
I call it the one sauce a whole nation agreed to love together —
and I dip, with all of you,
gladly.