I mean, they’re SO GOOD!

They come in several variations, like thick skin and thin. The thick skin has a bigger pit and less meat. The thin skin has a smaller pit and thicker meat. From a distance you can’t tell the difference.

I like the taste.

Both tend to have that droop shape, a bigger bottom, like some people I know.

I grew up poor, so I never had avocados when I was young. I had heard about them and knew they were green inside. They call that color “avocado green.” I later learned that you eat them with a scooping spoon.

A little salt, a squeeze of lemon, a little olive oil, virgin like me, and heaven!

Now I finally know about guacamole and chips. At a fancy restaurant, they come to your table and put on the show.

The avocado waiter is like a circus performer with knives. Almost just like the hibachi show where the waiter actually cooks the meat before your very eyes with extra flourishes, expertly slices and puts some on your plate and everybody applauds including you.

It’s almost exactly like that only different.

With the guacamole show, the origin of the word guac, the waiter with the moves of a magician, displays the shape like some girls I know.

Then he slices down the middle, applause, he slides off the skin and flips out the pit. Applause. He scoops out the flesh into a bowl with a spoon, applause. He adds a shake of salt from on high, the way they pour tea in an Ethiopian restaurant, yards above the cup and don’t spill a drop, applause.

Eating out is a performance.

Then the guac master adds the oil, not poured from that high, and mashes and mixes it up like a human Osterizer.

A dip on a chip, placed individually into your mouth by the waiter showman magician, which almost brings tears to your eyes because it’s pure heaven and no one was harmed in the process like purgatory.

How could anybody not love that?

I know that some don’t. They say, “There’s no accounting for taste,” and “tastes vary,” but usually they’re talking about something else not guac.

A neighbor has an avocado tree, the thin-skin variety which I think is the better one with more meat, though the skin doesn’t peel off and you have to cut it away little by little which is frustrating. But it’s good to have nice neighbors. She gave us a bag full. YUM!

You know when avocados are ripe because they feel like it. You squeeze them lightly and they give a little bit. If they’re hard with no give, leave them on the tree. Like some people I know.

You’re not a farm hand working for mass market agribusiness which pays by weight and they pick under-ripe for longer shelf life which is never as good as tree-ripened. If the avocado is over-ripe and falls off into your hand and is soft inside, eat it right away.

We always cut out the dark spots which said it was almost too late.

Avocados are one of the basic food groups, like garlic and artichoke hearts.

They make almost everything better.

Burritos are better with guac.

Fajitas need guacamole in the corner on the side.

Salad becomes more than salad.

It’s even served separately, mashed, like in the restaurant at your table, but in your own little cup with your own little bowl of chips which you defend against others at the table who are reaching for your horde.

Sliced avocados are great on sandwiches.

I think they make avocado ice cream at the County Fair. They’re always trying to come up with something new. Like deep-fried ice cream which I never tried and am not sure I would want to. They’re on the cutting edge, hot and cold together again. I don’t know how this relates to avocados.

My memory is getting excited. I don’t want to describe the party at the next table who ordered the avocado show for their daughter who just turned fifteen, because I would start drooling with my tongue hanging out.

I think, in a nonunrelated way, of the time our friends took us to Lawry’s The Prime Rib because they felt they owed us a dinner. It’s very posh, in Beverly Hills, your table is reserved, and these shiny-domed carts are rolled around by waiters like battleships on maneuvers. One rolls up to our table, introduces himself as our waiter, and rolls back the dome where the prime rib is stacked in various degrees of cookedness from bloody rare to over done, and little drawers of vegetables and potatoes to complete your plate, you tell him what you want, and how many ounces, and he slices it before your eyes and shifts it to your plate. You eat there and you feel rich.

And that’s all I have to say right now about avocados.