It arrived in a 430 gram pack and sixteen slices but it immediately felt special because, at the same moment that the man from the supermarket was unloading the plastic box in front of the apartment door, a child came from the dining room shouting: “Pan Bambola ! We will eat sobrasada bikinis!” The mother took the pack by the plastic loop and took it to the kitchen. She left it on a basket in which, in addition to the sliced ??bread, there was a chusco and a peasant bar. In that house they liked to eat bakery bread, but they always had sliced ??bread just in case.

It was a perfect slice: it weighed exactly 27 grams, with an energy value of 252 kcal, 1% fat, 1% sugar and 5% salt. And furthermore, “it fed a better world, nourishing the well-being of people and also of nature,” as stated on the recycled plastic bag where it comfortably hung out. “What can we have for dinner? –the mother asked praetorianally, who had already thought out the menu. “Sobrasada bikinis!” –The boy of the house shouted, his little sister preferred York cheese and ham bikinis–. “There is no sobrasada” –replied the father, who brought ciabatta to the table to accompany the fish and vegetables–. In its perfection, the slice was the eighth of sixteen. When they opened the pack and the first slices began to go through the toaster, slice number eight did not lose its cool. She had seen how the best spelled breads ended up hard as a rock, or moldy, and ended up being thrown away. She, on the other hand, was still fresh as a rose. One day when the father arrived home late, and the family had already finished dinner, he opened the pack and smelled the slices: “Can you still eat it?” “Tender as the first day” –thought the slice in the bag–. The slices of cheese and York ham that were left over from the girl’s bikinis quickly dried out from the edges, even if they were wrapped in silver paper. And if you spoiled the sobrasada you ran the risk of it becoming rancid.

Unbeknownst to his parents, the child emptied the pack because he liked to eat the ends – to say edges would be an exaggeration – that have more crust – to say crust would be excessive. When her mother appeared, she hurriedly put them back and the eighth slice went to the bottom of the pack. The spelled breads were drying out, the ciabattas seemed to be made of wood, the cut chuscos were filled with mushrooms, while the slice of Bambola sliced ??bread was still fresh as the first day, white, with a golden crust, it had lost one or two grams. and it was very good looking. “Doesn’t this bread ever go bad?” –asked the mother– “Before packaging the slices, at the Bambola factory they take a photo of them. The slices in the photos dry out like a stone and fill with mold, while the slices in the houses live eternal youth.” She took the last remaining slice, spread it with sobrasada and opened a beer. “That must be why,” she said to the slice.