This morning I was reading one of the many food blogs that I follow and got a little too excited to see a recipe for “Kermit Muffins”, aka muffins with avocados. At lunch I made the 6 mile trek to Trader Joes to purchase the ingredients (and some Prosecco on sale) and on the ride back, in my convertible, listening to the new Cold War Kids album, I realized I am a fucking Californian.
How many late 20 something girls in the Midwest are driving around in 70 degree weather contemplating making avocado muffins? And even if they are (due to some diet that Jillian Michaels told them about), how many can say with all honesty that their friends would be all over it? I sent the avocado recipe to my old roommate and she peed in her pants at the mere suggestion of them. This is what it means to be a Californian.
We love our avocados here. To an unhealthy degree. One of the signs of “making it” here in LA is finding your dealer. If you still buy your avocados at the grocery store, you are a chump. The key is to find someone that hand delivers you fresh avocados from the tree in their backyard. And if you live in a place with easy access to an avocado tree – share and share alike. Because the more avocado love you put into the universe, the more likely some red headed girl will make you a 10 gallon vat of guacamole for the Super Bowl.
A tip on ingratiating yourself with a group of Californians is to explain the bizarre way in which you use avocados. We are fully aware of caking your face with the mashed substance to clear zits, warts and general ugliness. But if you talk about that one time at Coachella where you used a non ripe avocado to play hacky sack with Citizen Cope, well you have earned our love and respect. Double points if you cured any STD you received that weekend by placing your junk into the hole left by removing the pit.
All hail our vagina looking fruit!
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