Wine & Spirits - Fall 2018 - 33

GATEWAY GUACAMOLE

I wasn't exposed to avocado until the tender age of nine. My cousin
and I were helping our aunt with "make your own sushi" night. As we
were slicing it up, I could feel the ripe parts squish between my fingertips and butter knife. My initial thought was: Ick. After finishing the
prep work, my cousin snuck a small piece for herself and relished it.
I, however, was apprehensive to taste it, until she pressured me to.
I'll never forget that fatty oiliness and lard-like sensation spreading
across my tongue. Texture-wise, it reminded me of durian-my
traumatized impressions of durian, at least. It was disgusting. And it
made my throat itch.
As much as I wanted to spit it out, I put on my big-girl pants and
finished it; "We don't waste food in this household," as my mother
would say. After that initial exposure, I distanced myself from avocados like a Snitch from the Seeker (+10 points if you got the Harry
Potter reference).
It wasn't until much later that I interacted with avocados again-

this time,
in the form
of guacamole
and chips. I've
forgotten when
and where this happened,
but the crunch of the chip with the
guacamole on top-sweet, spicy, salty
and tart-was refreshingly enjoyable.
When I found out it was just mashed avocado with some extra stuff
thrown in, my eyebrows rose incredulously. Avocados! The very thing I
shunned from my youth!
Having tasted avocado now in different forms, it's safe to say I've
made my peace with the fruit. And to prove skeptics wrong, I made
some bangin' guacamole three weeks ago as a side with a dry-aged
steak from Eataly. And it. Was. Delicious. -VIVIAN HO

OFFAL KNOWLEDGE

SIMMER DOWN

I had no idea where they came from, but the
beans were absolutely delicious-smooth and
buttery, with a sweet, earthy flavor. They had
been sitting in an unfamiliar casserole dish in
our fridge. "What is this and where did it come
from?" I asked my husband as I scarfed the
remains down. "Charles brought them over. He
said they are limas." I dropped my fork. I hate
limas. My dad, a Southerner, loves them, and
served them often when I was growing up-
mealy, nasty-tasting, institutional green-
colored things. I texted Charles, who confirmed
they were limas. Frozen, at that. The difference between his and every other bowl of limas
I'd ever encountered? A little extra attention,
in the form of a long simmer with a generous
glug of olive oil, smashed garlic cloves and some
herbs and spices, and the juice of half a lemon
squeezed over it before serving. I can no longer
say that I hate limas. Only that I didn't know
how to treat them. -TARA Q. THOMAS

I thought my knowledge of food
and my rudimentary French
would get me through most
menus, until I was having lunch in Burgundy
one afternoon in 2008 and
encountered andouillette
on the menu of a restaurant
in Volnay.
I assumed that this was
going to be some variant of the
smoked andouille sausage found
in Louisiana-inspired fare-
I assumed, further, that the Cajun
version had probably been styled after this
one, so I was in for a treat. Even the winemaker I was dining
with commented on my fortitude for ordering it. I was feeling very adventurous, until I
cut through the casing.
Instead, I got what remains for me one of the great mysteries of French cuisine, a
sausage so resolutely fecal I could barely swallow a bite of it. I'm sure there are gourmands who adore this tangle of intestines encased in intestine, but this, to me, was over
the line. Worse, I was meant to carry on a conversation with the winemaker, and do so
without gagging. I don't remember how I made it through lunch, but I didn't manage a
second bite.
For four years I swore off organ meats, until I got a Standard Poodle puppy, Louie,
and started to buy chicken hearts by the pound, which served as a garnish to his kibble.
One night I took a handful of hearts, marinated them, then threw them in a hot
skillet. They were delicious, and the only thing they tasted like was chicken. Since then
I've more or less recovered and now eat tripe, liver, kidney and tongue with a hearty
appetite-but I'll never order another andouillette for as long as I live.
-PATRICK J. COMISKEY

WINE & SPIRITS

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Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of Wine & Spirits - Fall 2018