Guacamole

"Have you seen strings like this in an avocado before?" I asked.

"You're a California boy," she said, "You should know your avocados..."

She was right, of course. I am, and I do. And, I had never seen a stringy avocado like that before.
It is apparently the beginning of the California avocado season, and Albertsons was running a special. Sure they were trucked 900 miles to get here, but the bumpy green Haases had that perfectly firm give.

Mrs. Gin-&-Tonic's mother was in town this weekend to help paint the new boy's room (thanks mother-in-law!) She had made a lovely roast the night before. By recycling ingredients from the very tasty roast, and adding a few new ones, an impressive Taco bar was coming together.

Everyone pitched in, and it was up to me to make the holy guacamole.

Guacamole, it's just one of those things. Basically Avocado, Garlic, Lime and Salt; most California families have their own recipe. My personal recipe involves a dash of sour cream, fresh cracked black pepper and Tabasco.

Once I got past the one bad avocado, the rest proved to be soft, yet firm, smooth, green. I scooped the firm fatty flesh into the bowl and began to attack them with the masher. Next, I splashed in the sour cream, then the garlic, then the lime. I sprinkled in the sea salt. I spooned in the salsa. I tapped-in the Tabasco.

With enough masher-damage done, I switched to the rubber spatula and continued folding in the flavors. After a few more shakes of salt and a couple cranks of the Pepper grinder, I sunk the first chip.

Needed more garlic.

Another chip. Close this time, but needed more salt.

The third taste was close to perfect, but not quite there.

See, Guacamole isn't a science. The nature and quality of the avocado is fluid, and the other flavors must be shifted to compensate. It's more of a process than a recipe. Perhaps more akin to living than cooking. I can't tell you what perfect guacamole tastes like, I just know it when I taste it, and it was getting close.

Problem was, my pallet was tainted by the fatty flesh and bite of lime. My ability to perceive variant degrees in flavor was impeded. I called the missus, and handed her the fourth chip, piled high with glistening green.

"Needs more lime."

Fortunately, I had been drinking Gin-and-Tonics, and had half a lime lying right there. The final taste test was met by unanimous approval, and the tortilla chips began to dive deep into the bowl.