I noticed as I scraped the quarter of an avocado into my
smoothie this morning that I was smiling with a guilty pleasure. I’d like to
give credit for my blog title to high hopes and a profound interest in local
food, but the truth is I just really like alliteration. Even for a
non-muttering reader, alliteration smoothly rolls the words of a narrative
across the mind, like the drizzles of caramel in a Twix commercial.
But maybe it wasn’t just literary coincidence…I sipped on my
creamy green goo and thought back on all that avocados and I have been through
together. I ate them for lunch nearly
every day in Mexico. The neighboring town of Atlixco had avocado ice cream, (not
universally loved, but respected by all and adored by yours truly). The markets
had avocados for $2/lb. – and not just the regular Hass kinds you pick up for
$18 at EarthFare – sizes and subtle tastes that we Americans don’t even know
about. Tiny apricot-sized avocados that have a minty aftertaste; monster
avocados with stringy fibers and not as much flavor (but great for guac), and
the ones we could pluck from the tree in the back yard (extra hearty due to the
compost toilet we’d built around it).
They’re the ideal option for the
stranded-on-a-desert-island-with-only-one-food-source scenario. Mom says eat
your greens? Done. Need a serving of fruit? Protein? Fiber? It can be a dip, dessert , breakfast,
topping, or peeled back and stuffed straight into the pie hole. But there’s one
problem.
Because of their universality, avocados have bumped my
standards in other aspects of my life. If one food can be all things to all
people, why can’t a profession, a community or a partner? Avocados are why I am
still searching for the profession that allows me to be both outside and
inside; both in the states and abroad; to help make change at a grassroots and
a policy level. If an avocado can do it all, why can’t I? Avocados prove that
you can be luxurious and frugal, health-conscious and frivolous at the exact
same time. Like my avocados, my partner can be sweet and savory. Avocados keep me holding out for the lumberjack who
also cries at chick flicks. For the Australian musician who wants to walk
across the north of Spain and learn cultural competency the hard way in Morocco
before settling down part-time in Colombia and part time in San Francisco. For
a feminist gentleman who likes to compost but isn’t so environmentally
conscious that he’s willing to dumpster dive for a mattress.
Am I expecting too much from life? Every time I smear
avocado and honey on my toast or slice into its buttery chunks to plop into my
salad, I think no way - if one food
can be super, so can I. I think it’s the avocados that help hatch my aspirations.
And with every morning smoothie, I acknowledge my job to make them both maximize
their potential for the day. It’s kind of a daunting task, but if it involves
eating avocados, I’m in.
