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    The incredible tale that your ears would have the pleasure to hear, is a Spanish tradition that dates back to the dawn of Civilization. In Christmas Eve, families from all over the Bull Skin (nick name from the Iberian Peninsula, yep, we like our bulls) gather together to celebrate the birth of Baby Jesus ( in case you were not aware, that is what all this Christmas fuss is about), and do what we Spaniards do best: Eat and drink. We eat, and drink to oblivion, or to the point we are not able to move from the position in the festive table which was assigned by the ones that wear the pants in the house, our grandmas, or in their absence, our mothers. In Christmas day,as we are creatures devoted to our traditions, we keep eating and drinking. Therefore, translated to a more colloquial language; our celebrations consist of a long, difficult and tough journey to see who wins the race of becoming the Michelin man first.

PD: I believe that you will thank me for posting this giant photo of Pipa conquering my Michelin-in process stomach, instead of a full size image of my Michelin-in process self.

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