Guacamole

Once as a child my parents took me to a Mexican restaurant. The adobe-red masks that hung on the walls fascinated me. Their eyes followed me wherever I went with benevolent, smiling cheerfulness or passive, frowning wariness. As I occupied myself with the wall decorations my parents ordered the food. I wanted a taco meal. My attention now focused on the painted patterns on the tiles of the table. Interlocking leaves and diamonds wove their way around the border. The diamonds were divided up into fourths by a pattern of black and yellow triangles. The leaves danced pale green across a bright blue background. The center of the table was covered in larger white shining tiles with yellow daisies painted in their center. It was upon these tiles that the waitress deposited the strangest thing my young eyes had ever seen. There on a small white plate surrounded by yellow corn chips was the oddest scoop of ice cream imaginable. It had a sickly green color as though the ice cream had gone rotten and lacked the smooth sheen of melting sweetness a good scoop would have. As my father scooped up some of the green ball, I asked: "what's that Daddy?" "Guacamole," he replied and handed me a corn chip with its own green mass. It was not the sweet goodness I had hoped for but I chewed diligently the traitorous ice cream that Dad had offered. "Whaddaya think," he asked. "It's not very good ice cream," I stated honestly. My parents laughed and tried to explain that it wasn't ice cream but it was many years before I understood that guacamole is not a sweet dessert.