As I sit with my enormous avocado mound, sprinkled with chilli and lemon juice, placed on rye bread, topped with two perfectly poached, orange-yolked eggs, there are two things that come to mind. Firstly, what a pretentious wanker I’ve become - £10 on a working breakfast for one. Whatever happened to scoffing down a banana as I walked out of the house and hopped on to the bus?
If you’d put avocado in front of me a year ago, I would’ve turned my nose up. I hated everything about it; the creamy consistency and the mushy texture used to make me feel physically ill.
I couldn’t escape them. Avocados were everywhere. They was on the plate opposite me during breakfast meetings. They turned up in smoothies when I least expected it. I couldn’t scroll through my Instagram feed without every other post containing avocado and poached eggs.
Cutting a long and tediously boring story short, I spent months weaning myself on to avocados. I put it in smoothies, I had it with every salad I made and alongside every brunch fry up too. I’d add the tiniest bit of avocado to a forkful of bacon and eggs - not enough to cue a screwed up face of disgust but enough to know it was there.
There I was, a twenty four year old woman, consciously making the choice to like something for no reason other then I wanted to able to join in on the hype of it. I was putting that banal “if you just try it enough times, you’ll grow to like it” preach said by my, and most likely your, parents all of the sodding time, to the ultimate test.
And guess what. I now absolutely LOVE avocados.
Which leads me to my second thought; if I can trick myself to not only put up with a food I’d hated but to actually love it, what else are we capable of forcing ourselves to do that we don’t want to? Food for thought that, isn’t it.