The art of the family Sunday barbecue is a risky sport. It all starts at eleven with the "Applause for the griller," a premature prize because the fire is barely a phantom of smoke that makes the neighbors cry. The "expert" begins his sacred ritual. He pokes the coals, looks at the sky as if searching for a mystical sign, and declares: "Today comes out an elissir." Twenty minutes later, the first opinion-sayer shows up with a glass of Fernet in hand. "It lacks air," he says. Two minutes after that, another arrives: "Hey, you’re burning the meat—raise the grill." Social tension escalates fast. The house’s dog plants itself in front of the fire, motionless. It doesn’t blink. It applies expert-level psychological pressure, waiting for the miracle that a piece of offal will defy the laws of gravity. Finally, the meat arrives at the table. It’s a bit "crispy" on the outside and mysteriously alive on the inside. No one says anything to avoid divorce or family drama. We chew hard as the griller smiles, proud of his carbon-art masterpiece.#USStrikesIranianRocketLaunchers #About67MAmericansHoldCrypto $