peter's confession One day someone brought back from the market a whole box of avocados, some of which were perfect and most of which were ripe and good once the bruises were cut away. We were already making dinner when I discovered these. I said, "Save some of those tomatoes for me. I will make guacamole." No one in the kitchen at the time knew what guacamole was. I began to cut the avocados and scoop away the bad parts and put all the good parts together in a big glass bowl. I was working on the heavy wood table that was in the kitchen then, surrounded by wooden crates of things like tomatoes, carrots and cucumbers. Didi's Santa Cruz hipster friends came into the room as I was mashing together the avocados with a fork, said "Oh, you're making guacamole" and stopped to offer advice. I asked them to leave me to my work because I knew what I was doing. They moved further along the table and started cooking something for themselves. I cut the tomatoes and onions and garlic and mixed them into the bowl with some lemon juice. I added salt and red pepper and a little curry powder because that was what was on hand. Actually come to think of it, there were some fresh hot peppers on the table. So it was not a bad guacamole at all and when Claudia came down she saw it, recognized it from when she was in Berkeley, and went out to buy real tortilla chips from the Indian store next to the Arab store. There was a group of people in the kitchen by now, and Rachid came over with a garnish of red peppers in hot oil from the chicken Merch was cooking slowly in the electric stove. The chips arrived sooner than expected and were put out next to the guacamole on the high, curved counter. People reacted tentatively at first, but soon followed the example of those who knew what to do. The guacamole lasted longer than the chips, and towards the end people were scooping it out with bits of baguette. Peter came in and, sitting on the counter, told me of how back home in Germany he used to have a breakfast of plain avocado spread on black bread, and how he missed this thing.
	location: Paris date: September 1991 average rating: [not rated] your rating (0-10):