If one has to choose between the Guacamole and Coriander Dip!

It’s the first time I am about to taste the Guacamole toast, the dip spread on the bread looks like a filamentous algae on the river bed. I don’t like the look of it; it’s too slimy and the color a bit inappropriate. But, the implicit optimism of my incumbent host to atleast try it is a ruse I cannot ignore. Garnished with olives and tomatoes and spoonful of olive oil, the finely curated dip reminds me of a similar experience when my south-Indian friend invited me for dinner. The offering of Asparagus chutney made with green chilli and peanuts left a slight bitter taste, and I vowed never to have to again. I hope atleast the avocadoes mashed into the silky spurn green has a taste? I dig into the toast, unaffected of the surrounding; the crunch melts in the mouth with no taste at all. What I just ate was either my own saliva or the bread had no weight of the spread; unpleasant and bland. 

I like the pungent smell of the coriander leaves, and anytime its ‘chutney’ beats the green pastiche lying on the table. The host discerningly waits if my interest in the new ‘green slather’ can scurry the discussion further. On may call me quaint, my heart still is for the indigenous ‘green chutney’. After the quiescent five minutes, the host creates his own straddle of how the healthier option of Guacamole dip has supplanted the coriander chutney that was once the only spread for piquant sandwiches. A conversation ensues; the avant garde avocadoes in warfare, fulminated by the host, with the coriander finally suffering a coup de grace. 

“Avocadoes are superiorly healthy”, the host speaks in an agitated excitement. “The Gua-ca-mole dip is easy to make, mashed by just pulling off the callused hard skin”. There is an added affirmation, “hasn’t the dip become a de-rigueur?  It’s everywhere; even the small outlets have started offering it. Hasn’t it become the high falutin food among people like us?”

My mind is quizzical, if the coriander chutney is left for the petit bourgeois? I barge like a lion comes out of the den to get its cub wandering outside. “The green chutney still remains my favourite. The caterwaul of the mixie that grinds the coriander into a paste with a heartfelt squeeze of lemon and touch of spices, added to it a clove of garlic is a mesmerizing treat”. The host, in defiance, gives a smirk, albeit the savoir faire demands a fair amount of abnegation. I continue, “The spread of green on my bread, mind you it’s the coriander I favor, with raw tomatoes and cucumber still remains my breakfast meal. “The Guacamole and the Coriander now seen as antithetical!   An appellation of skimmed generosity! 

The beguile by the host, not to forget the bally hoo has my antipathy. She loves the Guacamole dip but its fine to put up a clanger to pronounce it as ‘mole’ instead of ‘moh-lee’. There is more to this suspended chutzpah where “coriander’ becomes “corinader’. This is what we call hegemony of ego that’s slips like a fortune even if the pocket is empty. I cannot even correct their mistake; I may not be invited again and who knows I may not get an opportunity to savor another distinguished dip coalesced among the ‘rich’.   

I have become more sober till my last bite finishes. I don’t wish to be the culinary iconoclast. I say, keeping the snob simulacrum of the ‘green’ behind, “the taste is not that bad, it’s about getting used to it.” We often do this, don’t we, to make the anonymity of displeasure evident?

I am, at this very juncture, reminded of the dissatisfaction of tariffs imposed by Donald Trump. ‘Avocadoes’ have been spared. The Guacamole dip will not be that exorbitant for churning the stomach. Coriander come free; no tariffs, no charge, just fresh leaves, concealed, under the vegetables ordered;, visible only the exclusive aroma.

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