U
UbiCaritas
Guest
Worst guacamole I ever tasted (really, a runner-up for worst food I’ve ever tasted, but I digress) was some stuff I had in high school.
I lived in the Midwest at the time, and the local cuisine was pretty much limited to seizing some poor, innocent food item (meat, vegetable, whatever) that was unable to escape, slathering it in Cream of Whatsit Soup, coating the resulting goo in crushed potato chips (God might know why, but I certainly don’t) and baking it at 350 for an hour.
This being about ten years ago, avocado had just started to become a “thing.” Good luck finding decent ones in the Middle Of Nowhere. However, the local grocery stores had just the ticket! It was a packet of powdered…something…which a misbegotten cook would mix into MAYONNAISE. This produced a bowl of green-brown glop that the locals insisted was guacamole. I, unwisely, tried it, and promptly vowed never to allow the stuff near my mouth again. It wasn’t 'til years later when I found myself living in Texas and tasted my hostess’s guac out of courtesy that I realized a) that wars had been started for less reason than calling that…whatever it was…I’d eaten back then “guacamole” and b) that this real guacamole and I were at the start of a beautiful friendship.
I lived in the Midwest at the time, and the local cuisine was pretty much limited to seizing some poor, innocent food item (meat, vegetable, whatever) that was unable to escape, slathering it in Cream of Whatsit Soup, coating the resulting goo in crushed potato chips (God might know why, but I certainly don’t) and baking it at 350 for an hour.
This being about ten years ago, avocado had just started to become a “thing.” Good luck finding decent ones in the Middle Of Nowhere. However, the local grocery stores had just the ticket! It was a packet of powdered…something…which a misbegotten cook would mix into MAYONNAISE. This produced a bowl of green-brown glop that the locals insisted was guacamole. I, unwisely, tried it, and promptly vowed never to allow the stuff near my mouth again. It wasn’t 'til years later when I found myself living in Texas and tasted my hostess’s guac out of courtesy that I realized a) that wars had been started for less reason than calling that…whatever it was…I’d eaten back then “guacamole” and b) that this real guacamole and I were at the start of a beautiful friendship.