At PANNA, we have many ways to talk about food, but none are as flavorful as those with a Venezuelan accent. If something sets a Venezuelan apart—besides knowing how to build a perfect arepa or pairing yuca with cheese like the gods—it’s that natural ability to invent phrases that mix humor, street wisdom, and, of course, plenty of food references.

To make sure no one misses out on this festival of slang, here is a story that isn’t just a tall tale… it’s a kitchen anécdota.

It was a typical Monday, the kind that starts on the wrong foot with cold coffee. In the PANNA kitchen in Doral, they were prepping new combos when Luis walked in, looking tougher than a duck stew (más duro que sancocho ’e pato).

“What’s with that face? You look like a Monday with Ash Wednesday energy,” Mariana asked while pulling freshly baked empanadas from the oven.

“I didn’t sleep at all, chama. I dreamed someone was stealing my girl. ‘They’re blowing on your steak!’ (te están soplando el bistec), they kept telling me in the dream.”

“Aha! And then you wonder why people say you’re more dangerous than spoiled baby formula! (más peligroso que un tetero piche),” Mariana replied, adding a little extra spicy ají to her shredded beef empanada.

Carlos, who was at the fryer, jumped into the conversation:

“What if you dreamed that because of the tequeño you didn’t share on Friday? Remember, he who roasts two rabbits at once, one gets burned… and you’re trying to be a Chef and Romeo at the same time.”

“Ah! Such wisdom. You know more than fried fish (sabes más que pescado frito), buddy.”

“And you look like a badly tied hallaca (una hallaca mal amarrada) with that tight shirt. Can’t you see you’re sweating like a bologna string (sudando como guaralito de mortadela)?”

“What is wrong with you guys today? Did you wake up with a sharpened tongue or what?”

“It’s not that, chamo. It’s just how we talk here, with sazón. With the flavor of what’s ours.”

The conversation continued with more phrases that sounded straight out of a sitcom:

“Guys, I need some double cheese and bacon cachitos,” Mariana called out from the counter.

“Those look better than eating with your hands (más bueno que comer con las manos), girl. Get them out now!”

“Don’t pressure me, the dough isn’t ready for buns (la masa no está para bollos) and the oven is full!”

“Ugh, you’re unbearable! You should wear a shirt that says: ‘A pineapple under the arm’ (una piña debajo del brazo—meaning a real nuisance).”

“You know what? Go fry some asparagus (a freír espárragos—go jump in a lake), Carlos!”

“Hahaha! Don’t get salty, girls. If you’re going to go all out, let me know so I can record today’s episode of ‘PANNA’s Top Chef.'”

Luis, still overthinking his dream, sighed as he poured an ice-cold malt:

“You know what the problem is? Love doesn’t last on an empty stomach (amor con hambre no dura). She’s on a keto diet and I spend all day surrounded by tequeños. I can’t take it!”

“Look, Luis, cilantro is good, but not that much (bueno el cilantro pero no tanto). What you need is to invite her here; we have a menu for every taste.”

“And what does that have to do with the fact that she’s looking for you like a sprig of rosemary (buscándote como palito ’e romero—looking everywhere)?”

“Don’t hide! She’s looking for you so you can explain why you liked your ex’s photo.”

“Noooo! Hold on. Let’s just keep working and figure it out later. Don’t go getting me into trouble with ‘grandma phrases’ and street proverbs!”

And so, between bursts of laughter, crispy arepas, golden empanadas, and phrases that would make even the grumpiest person cry with laughter, the day moved on at PANNA. Because speaking “Venezuelan” isn’t just a way to express yourself; it’s an act of resistance, a living culture, a cuisine that is conversed. Every saying has its history, its dish, its story, and its corner.

As Mariana said before closing her shift:

“Here, we don’t just serve food with flavor; we serve phrases with sazón. Because talking the way we do… that also nourishes!”

COME TO PANNA AND EAT AS “SABROSO” AS WE TALK

If you’re in Miami and you miss that humor that smells like ají dulce and those phrases that taste like a fresh empanada, PANNA is your place. You don’t have to explain everything… because we understand you from the very first bite.

Order your combo, your favorite dish, or your snack with that criollo flavor. And if you feel like it, throw in your favorite proverb while you wait. Because here, you are “the father of the ice creams” (el papá de los helados—the absolute boss).