October 24, 2012

Avocado on some nice bread


And just like that, it happened. I now buy three to four avocado a week and work my way through them. This week I've had both sliced and mashed avocado on nice bread (toasted) with a crush of black pepper.

I've sliced and mashed my way through many, dressing them with lemon, salt and black pepper for sandwiches. I've eaten them as a the base for runny eggs and I've had them alongside some very depressing summer tomatoes.

I've wrapped them in turkey and thrown them in with a salad of quinoa. And, salad, too.

I admire their ease. The way you can tell when they're ripe just by the color of their skin and a gentle squeeze. They ripen well, and quickly on the sill above the kitchen sink. They keep in the refrigerator for a nice bit of time, although I haven't really kept them long enough to be shocked by spoilage.

I slip them in whenever I can. Broadening our senses. Yet another epiphany that comes with age.

I can't get over this feeling of admiration I have for this thing. This easy to open, remove the seed, and scoop out the flesh, thing.


  1. The avocado is a beautiful thing. I haven't yet had one this week. Perhaps tomorrow.


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