It’s everywhere. Fucking everywhere.
Avocado salad. Avocado toast. Smashed Avocado. Avocado cubes. Avocado fucking avocado. 2017 may as well be “The Year of The Avocado”. It’s pure avocado out there: you can buy avocado backpacks, avocado socks, avocado slippers; for Christ’s sake, instead of lumps of coal at Christmas this year, Dickensian TV costume dramas will probably feature Tiny Tim-types receiving a Hass Avocado. “Gawd bless us, AVOone!” Tiny Tim will say, before Scrooge tells him to, “Buy me an avocado, boy! The biggest avocado in aaallll of London!” Don’t think some TV exec hasn’t thought that through already.
“We have to accept that health gurus, alongside their messiah fruit, are here to stay. Namaste motherfuckers.”
As you may have guessed: I hate fucking avocado. (So don’t, some wag will say, even though sliced in half it kind of looks like a vagina…) Let me rephrase: I fucking hate avocado. This isn’t entirely irrational as avocados actually make me physically sick; I vom. I vom hard. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other reasons to hate on those slimy little green/brown bastards. Like the fact that whenever I tell someone that I’m allergic to avocados they say, “But you can’t be allergic to avocados! They’re amazing!” I bet no-one tells those poor kids who are allergic to the sun that they can’t be allergic to the sun, “It’s a fun-ball of flame!”
Here’s another one: health gurus proclaim new benefits daily. Which means we have to accept that health gurus, alongside their messiah fruit, are here to stay. Namaste motherfuckers. It’s well known that avocados provide “healthy fats”. Well, in the 90’s, when that was about as far as marketing people went (it was a simpler time: no social media, fewer TV channels, fewer adverts, fewer high-street food cathedrals of smugness), it was easy to ignore them if you didn’t give a flying fuck. But it’s not just “healthy fats” now! It’s Omega-3. And we all nod sagely having been bombarded over the past decade with Omega-3 info because some marketing gurus (all gurus are cunts) decided that Omega-3 sounded sciencey (and also a little like that big Transformer, Omega Supreme, which, not unlike avocados, was actually disappointingly prosaic) and because of this we should be hoovering up avocados like they were plankton. (Which, I have on good authority from my whale friends, are also rich in Omega-3, but Whole Foods has yet to introduce plankton-pesto. It is, of course, just a matter of time before Gwyneth Paltrow Goop-dupes us all into trying it.)
“Better just sit back in my avocado bucket chair, wearing my avocado slippers.”
You see, it isn’t just about avocado, it’s the wider healthy smugness that avocado is the poster-child for. “It’s good for digestion because it’s high in fibre!” “It has antibacterial qualities!” One website I found (xojane.com) actually proclaims that, “the healthy-fats support healthy vaginal walls.”(Fuck my life.) Walk into any upmarket brunch place (brunch places are also on my death-list – if you miss breakfast, it’s an early lunch) and I guarantee that 20% of the menu will have an avocado option. Sushi, which I love, has gone completely viral. It’s everywhere. But some L.A. wanker had to ruin it by ensuring that a cube of green savoury-pear-shite was neatly nestled next to a delicious salmon piece, and voila: the California Roll was born, and variations on it have taken the sushi scene by storm ever since. Burger joints all have an option to add a wedge of avocado on top of your patty, because eating bad fat is ok if you accompany it with good fat, I assume. Even though, as it melts, it just makes the meat look like it’s garnished with a piece of Mister Spock’s fucking liver.
Now, I’m aware that I’m ranting, but I’m ranting because I know I have lost the battle and that avocados are going nowhere. I once tried to make light of the fact that avocados make me ill by doing a bit of performance art (I too am a wanker. But not a guru) that involved me “facing my fear” by slicing through my nemesis on stage, and then stamping the remains into mulch. So far, so cathartic. However, soon after I’d returned to my position in the technical area to take over lighting and sound duties for the other pretentious performers on “Fear Friday”, I saw a patch of dark fluid pooling around the fader banks and threatening to seep through into the electronics beneath the lighting board. In my rage, my Swiss Army knife had gone clean through the avocado and into my hand. I ended up gaffer-taping the wound to get through the rest of the evening without ruining anyone’s tech, and if you have ever been stupid enough to gaffer-tape an open wound, then you will know that it was almost as stupid an idea as trying to beat avocados. Might as well face facts: avocados are here to stay. I genuinely think 2018 will be the year they take over the planet. Better just sit back in my avocado bucket chair, wearing my avocado slippers, and enjoy the end of the world. Avocados can still fuck off though.