We are still the same and we eat lunch like our parents – 07/07/2023 – Cozinha Bruta

The week went just the way Volkswagen wanted: half spoke well, the other half spoke badly, but everyone helped publicize the automaker’s commercial in which singer Elis Regina, resurrected by artificial intelligence, acts with her daughter Maria Rita.

Me too, at this very moment.

Critics accuse Maria Rita of making money off her mother’s corpse and, very seriously, of promoting a company that supported the military dictatorship in Brazil. I doubt Elis will mind as she is dead.

And I agree with João Marcello Bôscoli, another son of Elis: almost every company has past sins, major or minor, camouflaged or evident. The Germans, then, vixe! Research the origins of Adidas and Puma, brands loved by modern people. Are you going to stop taking aspirin too?

Another target of criticism is the use of “Como Nosso Pais”, composed by Belchior and performed by Elis, as a jingle to sell a car.

It’s not exactly an ode to the harmonious coexistence of generations, but it seems to me that these people were born yesterday and have never seen a sign in their lives. Advertising is the art of distorting the original meaning of things.

“Like Our Parents” deals with the anger and fear of youth in the 1970s, with dangerous corners and red lights. It evolves to the bitter conclusion that, after all, young and old are the same thing.

It’s frustrating, because it hurts to understand that previous generations also deluded themselves into the presumption that they were the golden rosemary of human existence. But accommodation brings some relief: there is no rest in a life full of novelty and revolution.

When the young man discovers that he needs to rest, he gives in to the inevitable. He relaxes, he buys comfortable pajamas and slippers similar to his father’s, only less awful.

I was traveling on these zucchinis when I found myself buying rice, beans and roast chicken at the supermarket to heat up in the microwave and have lunch at home.

My parents loved having lunch at supermarkets on Saturdays. Jesus, how I hated it! When I was 14 or 15, I wanted to try restaurants, see cool places, eat away from that cocktail of fabric softener, sugar, vinegar and dog food aromas.

Father and mother only thought about settling life smoothly. Shopping and lunch at the same exit, saving time and money. And he plays for the snack bar at Bompreço on Avenida Ricardo Jafet.

I left my parents’ house and started doing everything differently. If they dined early, I dined late. If they were afraid of new flavors, I threw myself into Asian food, the roots of the Northeast, at the restaurant of that guy who does a business that only he does.

I invented fashion –and I still do– even at lunch on weekdays. When he worked in writing, he blew his salary in good restaurants; in the home office, I started cooking creative things. An hour is tired.

Tired, I resorted to the supermarket rotisserie. The next step is to eat there, like my parents did.

And the buffet of soups at the bakery that awaits me: one of these days I’ll come by for a manioc broth with garlic toast. At 6 pm sharp.

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