Guacamole Temper Tantrum

Last year, I taught my roommate, Jared, how to make Guacamole. Which isn’t to say that I taught him much at all. Really, I just should him how easy it is to mash 6 ingredients together. The hardest part is picking avocados at the right level of maturity. After that, if you can use a knife and you know how to mix and mash, Guacamole’s a snap.

Now Jared makes this dip for every occasion. Every potluck dinner (and there are plenty end-of-semester potlucks), he goes to the store, buys four avocados, two tomatoes, a lime, a jalapeño, and a white onion and a bundle of cilantro. He cuts up his veggies, adds lime juice, salt, a little pepper, and a few shakes of chili powder. Then, he mushes the mix together with his hands (just as I do it) and he’s off.  He’ll come back with a smile on his face and he’ll brag to me, “Everyone loved the guacamole.” Of course they did! Who doesn’t love fresh guac?!

Jared’s mother once jokingly reproached me, “why’d you teach him how to make guacamole? Now every time he’s home he has to make some. It’s expensive to buy all of those ingredients!” I laughed and looked over at Jared, his head turned down smiling.

“Well,” I responded, “There’s nothing like home-made guacamole!”

So what’s the problem? It’s a selfish one: I never get to see much of the guac! Sure, he bought the ingredients, he cut them up (usually with a steak knife, just to up the challenge) and he stained his fingers green with avo slime. Regardless, my sense of entitlement out-competes logic. I taught him, right? Don’t I deserve some amount of guac royalties, owed to me for the rest of my life plus 70 years? If he makes the green dip for his wedding, I want a Tupperware full of the goods and a bag of tortilla chips with my invitation. If his geriatric friends invite him over for a game of bridge and he decides to mash some avocadoes up for the occasion, he better send me some in the mail so I can spoon the slop up before eating my pudding. That’s that.

I love that he’s turned my recipe into his specialty, but I want it to mean more guac for me, no matter how ridiculous it sounds. It’s the toddler in me still lingering around.