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<style scoped>
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@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Viga&display=swap');
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@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Roboto+Mono&display=swap');
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@font-face {
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font-family: 'Happy Times';
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src: url('../../fonts/happy-times-NG_regular_master.otf');
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}
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* {
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border: 0px black solid;
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background-color: white;
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}
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.container_width {
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max-width: 100%;
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padding-left: 0px;
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padding-right: 0px;
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padding-top: 70px;
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}
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a:hover {
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color: hotpink;
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text-decoration: none;
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}
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a {
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color: gray;
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}
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.content {
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padding-right: 50px;
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padding-top: 40px;
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font-family: 'Happy Times';
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font-size: 15px;
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padding-bottom: 40px;
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padding-left: 60px;
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color: #1B75BC;
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text-align: left;
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}
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.controls {
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margin-top: 60px;
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}
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.title_story {
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font-size: 80px;
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font-family: 'Work Sans', sans-serif;
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padding-top: 20px;
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color: #FA00FF;
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text-align: center;
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}
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.image_container {
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padding-top: 5px;
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}
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.author {
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font-size: 20px;
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font-family: 'Poppins', sans-serif;;
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text-align: center;
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color: #FA00FF;
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}
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.small_icon {
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max-width: 60%;
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padding-top: 100px;
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}
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.zoom {
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max-width: 60%;
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}
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@media (max-width: 575px){
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.small_icon {
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display: none;
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}
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.title_story {
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font-size: 30px;
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}
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.author {
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font-size: 15px;
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}
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}
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</style>
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<template>
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<b-container fluid class="p-0">
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<MenuBar/>
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="2" class="controls">
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<p>xxxxxxxxxxx</p>
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</b-col>
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<b-col md="2" offset-md="8" class="controls">
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<p>xxxxxxxxxxx</p>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="4">
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="10" offset-md="3">
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<div class="zoom">
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<b-img center class="img-fluid" alt="Responsive image" src="media/magiun2/clothes.png"> </b-img>
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</div>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="12">
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<p class="title_story">We do what we can <br> with what we have</p>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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<b-row>
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<b-col md="12">
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<p class="author">an essay by Raluca Chereji</p>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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</b-col>
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<b-col md="5">
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<div class='content'>
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<p>This became our house motto during quarantine. Devised at first as a way to rationalize the situation
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and counter the urge to nip to the shops for that extra can of beans, or the right kind of noodles, the
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saying would soon evolve into a blanket pardon for all kitchen sins. What might have been
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inexcusable in normal times was now allowed, even encouraged; no transgression was off-limits.
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Anything could be remedied, adjusted, forgiven.</p>
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<p>
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We do what we can, with what we have. Under this refrain, approximations became standard. As
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long as the item substituted was vaguely in the same category as its counterpart, it was accepted. If
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a recipe called for shiitake, any kind of mushroom would do. Onions and leeks became
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interchangeable, herbs synonymous. Eventually, we started thinking of ingredients only in terms of
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their common denominators: legumes, alliums, citrus and greens.</p>
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<p>
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This in turn opened the door to a kind of culinary freedom I used to scoff at. Previously a devout
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follower of recipes, a measurer of quantities, I felt myself loosening up, and began to strip away
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layer upon layer of prejudice. Cooking had become a game of musical chairs, and I was relearning
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how to play. Sometimes the combinations worked, and sometimes they were less successful. On
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occasion they were even an improvement on the original. When it came, failure was generally the
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result of technique rather than taste, like the meatballs: bound with yoghurt instead of eggs, they
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refused to hold their shape, and were instead fried like mince, then made into a Middle Eastern riff
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on Bolognese.</p>
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<p>
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We do what we can, with what we have. There was always something different, a missing ingredient
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replaced with something that pushed the recipe into a new territory or flavour profile.</p>
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<p>
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Then I wanted to have more.</p>
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<p>
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When lockdown started in the UK, we stopped going to the supermarket. My favourite prepandemic
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routine had been to walk the length of our high street, zigzagging from shop to shop, and building
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menus as I went. COVID had quickly put an end to that. Instead, I spent hours trawling the Internet
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for local suppliers who accepted online orders - first for fruit and vegetables, and later bread, meat
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and dairy.</p>
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<p>
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The online orders meant a change in habit. Not only did our meals have to be planned in advance;
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ingredients also had to last, and stretched as far as possible. I turned to the freezer. Once the resting
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ground for half-used bags of frozen peas and long-expired ice cream, the freezer now made all meals
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possible. Breads were quartered, wrapped and frozen. Fresh herbs were bought in bulk and
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suspended in time to make sure they were always on hand: dill, parsley, mint and basil, all chopped
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and neatly kept in small sandwich bags. Meat was the easiest, as it often came freezer-ready from
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the supplier. Egg whites, bagels, broth and chocolate cake; nothing that could be frozen wasn’t, and
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every online order included something bought solely for the freezer. It became the hardestworking
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appliance in the house, a treasure chest and time capsule.</p>
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<p>
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What we couldn’t order, we made. A casualty of the bulk-buying craze at the start of the pandemic,
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pasta had become notoriously difficult to find either in-store or online. And then I remembered we
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had a pasta machine. Never used and previously belonging to a relative, it had spent years in the
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back of the cupboard, too heavy and complicated-looking to warrant a try. Now there was an
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excuse, and it took pride of place on the kitchen counter. We didn’t experiment much with shapes,
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and found it easier to cut tagliatelle with a sharp knife than the machine’s attachment. Not having a
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pasta drying rack meant hanging our fresh ribbons on the clothes horse, which was both endlessly
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amusing and surprisingly effective. We do what we can, with what we have.</p>
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<p>
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Another lesson was bread. We both hated supermarket sandwich bread, and although our local
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bakery did deliver, the habit was expensive. It quickly became hard to justify spending so much on a
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few loaves of sourdough, as delicious and freezer-friendly as they were. So, I started baking. After an
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early and unexpected success with bagels, I moved on to bread rolls. Focaccia was next. I grew bold,
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and tried my hand at burger buns and brioche. Romanian breads I loved the most, and since visiting
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home was out of the question, baking them proved comforting in a spiritual sense. They were also
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the most successful.</p>
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<p>
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What I stayed away from was sourdough. I was at once both daunted by the process, which felt
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limiting and unforgiving, and repulsed by the idea of storing a living thing in the fridge. And what if
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the wrong kind of bacteria developed – could I poison us?</p>
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<p>
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And then came the second lockdown. Indoors again, I missed sourdough, especially after a few trips
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to the farmers’ market over the summer in search of loaves. So, I went for it. Building the starter
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brought a new routine, a daily ritual of feeding and discarding, of watching for growth. It’s had many
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names, mainly because we kept forgetting what we’d previously called it. We recently settled on
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Oddish, a Pokemon reference, the idea being to avoid further evolutions. Since November it’s
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yielded countless loaves, and we’ve learned to bake with it unfed to maximize tang and chew.
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This past year has been a lesson in many ways. We’ve steered away from supermarkets and bought
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small and local. We learned home economics. What had once been bought on a whim and left to rot
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at the back of the fridge is now washed, blanched and frozen for a later day. Repertoires are
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expanded and new techniques have been learned. Most importantly though, the pandemic has been
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a lesson in coping, in adapting to the situation and creating new habits, meals and rituals out of what
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is already there.</p>
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<p> We do what we can, with what we have.</p>
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</div>
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</b-col>
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</b-row>
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</b-row>
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</b-container>
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</template>
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<script>
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import MenuBar from './MenuBar'
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export default {
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name: 'whatwecan',
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data: function() {
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return {
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}
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},
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components: {
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MenuBar
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}
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}
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</script>
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