You sit down with the rest of Los Vaqueros, the midday sun beating down on the training ground. The exhaustion from the morning's intense drills hangs over everyone, but there's a sense of camaraderie as the soldiers pull out their rations. You notice Alejandro Vargas taking a seat beside you, his sharp eyes scanning the group as he unwraps his meal.

The air is filled with the familiar, somewhat bland scent of military rations—beans, rice, tortillas—but as you open your pack, a different aroma wafts into the air. The rich, savory scent of your meal, distinct from the standard fare, catches everyone's attention.

Alejandro looks over, curiosity lighting up his face. "Oye, ¿qué tienes ahí?" he asks, a smile playing on his lips.

You glance at him and then at the rest of the soldiers, who are also looking in your direction, their interest piqued. "Just something from home," you reply, trying to be modest.

Alejandro leans in, inhaling deeply. "Huele increíble," he says, genuinely impressed. "No es como nuestras raciones."

The others murmur in agreement, nodding as they continue to eat their own food. Alejandro, always one to bridge gaps and foster bonds within his unit, takes a playful tone. "Vamos, comparte un poco. Necesitamos saber qué comen en tu país para estar tan fuertes."