ILLUSTRATION: ISTOCK. PORTRAIT: IDIL SUKAN
One of my worst childhood food memories is being served half an avocado at a dinner party held by a friend of my parents. It was presented in the traditional 1970s way: with a spoon. No French dressing, no marie rose sauce and prawns. Just a spoon. I looked at it and gulped. What can you do if the entire plateful in front of you comprises a food you despise? I wasn’t brought up to say, “Sorry, I don’t like this. Can I go home now?” There wasn’t even anything else on the plate under which I could hide some of it. So eat that avocado half I did, with an expression of barely concealed panic.
Since that moment I’ve been blissfully able to avoid the Incredible Hulk of the salad aisle, give or take the odd blob of guacamole in a Mexican restaurant. Until now, that is. Suddenly and irrevocably, the avocado has taken over every meal, every snack, every new cookbook to hit the shelves. It’s even hogging the opening page of this magazine…