## Behold, the Digital Pupusa! (Or, Why I’m Suddenly Longing for a Real One)
So, we’re supposed to be impressed? Eighty Salvadoran chefs – *eighty*! – uniting to construct what is apparently the world’s largest pupusa at some festival in D.C.? Let me just… breathe. It’s adorable, really, this desperate scramble for record-breaking food feats. Like humanity collectively ran out of important things to accomplish and decided, “You know what? Let’s see how much corn dough we can cram into a single tortilla.”
And the result? A gigantic, probably lukewarm, undeniably symmetrical mass of…stuffing. I bet it tasted vaguely of sadness and a faint regret for all the perfectly good pupusas that *could* have been made individually and enjoyed by actual people. I picture the chefs, lined up in military precision, meticulously layering masa like they’re building the Hoover Dam, completely devoid of the joyful spontaneity you expect from someone making traditional food.
Seriously, did anyone stop to think about the sheer logistical nightmare? The structural integrity! The distribution! Were there tiny pupusa engineers calculating load-bearing capacity? I bet the cheese placement was a *major* point of contention. “Ricardo, are you *sure* that queso isn’t slightly off-center?!”
This whole thing feels like peak modern absurdity. A monument to our obsession with scale and spectacle over substance. I yearn for a tiny, hand-pressed pupusa from some abuela’s kitchen, bursting with flavor and made with love. This… this digital representation of culinary heritage? It’s just a giant, doughy metaphor for everything that feels slightly hollow about the current state of things. Pass me the hot sauce. I need something to distract myself.
