As a child I hated avocados. Luckily, I grew out of that phase. I’ve since developed a strong fondness for their creamy texture and subtle, buttery flavor. I also like mustard now, although I still can’t stand black licorice—its scent is the kind that makes me recoil even when someone is only chewing it across the room.
What you see here might look modest on the plate, but these avocados are anything but small. They are huge. I’d been waiting all summer for Andrés to bring in his massive Semil avocados, the kind that are rich, buttery and golden when perfectly ripe. When he finally got them in, he messaged me immediately and recommended wrapping them in newspaper and leaving them in a sunny spot to encourage ripening. I followed his advice: the specimens I received weighed well over a pound each, easily twice the size of the typical supermarket fruit.
Those large avocados changed the way dinner felt that night. Earlier in the afternoon I had been out picking up a few errands when Mike asked me to grab lunch. I stopped for a generous bowl of wonton soup from King’s—a meal that, for the right price, fills you with noodles, broth, pork and vegetables, and is a comforting, simple choice after a day of snacking on little things. By the time evening rolled around, after a light day of eating mostly fruit and toast, the idea of a heavy burger felt excessive. Instead, a few thick slices of ripe avocado over peppered goat cheese on grainy toast was exactly the right balance of decadence and restraint.
The combination was straightforward: the creamy, buttery avocado contrasting with tangy goat cheese and the coarse texture of whole-grain bread. Pepper added a little bite, cutting through the richness, and the toast held everything together. It’s the kind of dinner that looks casual but tastes considered, the sort of meal you can prepare quickly that still feels like a treat.
That covers one way to enjoy these oversized fruits, but there are plenty of others. A neighbor suggested an avocado milkshake—ripe avocado blended with milk, ice and a touch of sugar—the sort sometimes served at Vietnamese cafés. The idea is tempting: utterly smooth, subtly sweet and luxuriously thick. Yet part of me hesitates to puree something that looks so lovely on a slice, with its pale, buttery flesh and glossy skin. I kept thinking about other possibilities that would preserve texture as well as flavor.
Some other straightforward ways to highlight such a remarkable avocado include: spooning it over warm scrambled eggs with a sprinkle of flaky salt; slicing it into a simple salad with lemon or lime, olive oil and a few herbs; mashing it coarsely with a little salt, lime and diced tomato for a rustic guacamole; or topping grilled bread with avocado, lemon zest and a drizzle of olive oil for a slightly different take on avocado toast. You can also fold chunks into cold pasta salads for richness without overpowering the other ingredients.
The ripening tip from Andrés—newspaper in a sunny spot—was the kind of old-fashioned, low-tech advice that actually works. It encourages even ripening while protecting the fruit from direct heat. When these avocados finally yielded to gentle pressure, their texture and aroma were a clear sign that they were ready to eat.
I’m still torn about the milkshake idea, but I’ll probably try a small batch soon. For now, enjoying generous slices on peppered goat cheese and grainy toast felt like the most respectful and delicious way to celebrate avocados that had been worth waiting for all summer.