It beats you to peaces...

We’ve been enjoying two weeks with my small brothers (who don’t have one hair of ‘little’ or ‘small’ in them) and our challenge has been food.
They have it into their heads that we’re to show them all the different culinary amazements that New York has to offer; always eating something from another country, with a different spice or ingredient.
After 14 days of taking them to eat Italian, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Portuguese, Mexican or any other nationality you can remember, they came up with a phrase that reflects how filling or tasty or good the food was.
So we could be seating in the fanciest restaurant, as last night, eating Italian pasta in Little Italy; when the smallest of my brothers, finished a huge amount of gnocchi with a spicy tomato sauce and, grabbing his stomach, without a care in the world, he said:
- It F&%$ING beats you to pieces!
It’s difficult to translate an Argentinean slang into English, but let me tell you that I’m going to regret having fed their enthusiasm with the phrase by laughing every time they said it… because I can see the reprimand of my father when they arrive in Buenos Aires and start saying that the food is so good that you’re crumbling into F&%$ING pieces… being beaten-up by a steak or a pasta or a hamburger.
I’m sorry dear father; I’m returning you two little brats, with an acquired taste for spicy and rare food, difficult to please and possibly, six pounds overweight and most importantly for you: they now love Americans, speak English fluently and want to stay and live in NY... so long third world countries, hello United States!