My dad makes some fucking hellish dishes. This recipe isnt all that accurate, because there are dozens of different variants of it.

Take some soup, but dont warm it up. Warming shit up isnt in my dads style. He takes that soup, pours it on a pan and starts frying it. Adds gigantic amonuts of onions, garlic, peppers, some FLOUR for viscosity and tomato paste on top of all that. All of this is fried until there's smoke coming out. Then you gotta take it outside and let it cool off a bit. Later, my dad takes it inside, pours a shit ton of mayo on it and starts eating. He scrapes the spoon on the bottom of the pan, quitely whispering "Oh blya" while sweat drips off his forehead. He always generously invites me to eat as well, but I refuse. Should I even speak about how horrible he farts later? The stink is strong enough for wallpapers to peel off... ©