June 2009
54 posts
Jason Mraz Has Purchased an Avocado Farm
Reason? He’s going to create a new kind of chocolate that is combined with avocados. True story. As if he wasn’t a cool person already, he has to go make avocado chocolate. The man is insane.
In a good way- we love him.
Interesting.
“I went walking through the city like a drunk, but not”
—
Regina Spektor, Dance Anthem of the 80s (via fuckyeahpotatoes)
Um HELLO! I thought this blog was supposed to be about potatoes!
California Avocado Fesitval →
avofest.com
I would love to go someday.
Lifespan, Avocados
In a produce aisle at Henry’s, a 70 year old man paused at the avocados. They were ripe, soft, a pretty deep green. The man held a single avocado in his hand and squeezed it like a small bean bag. He seemed amazed by its softness. His hands were tan and wrinkly.
“Excuse me, what do you think they do with these when they get too soft? No one’s going to buy them like this,” he said.
I nodded my head and half smiled. ”They probably end up getting thrown away.”
A Henry’s employee who was grocery shopping passed the avocados. She was still in her uniform. She looked like a teenager. I imagined she was one of those children who become legally emancipated from their parents, a child who has to buy her own groceries.
The man asked the girl what the store does with its aging avocados. ”They throw them out,” she said, “We are told to keep everything until it expires.” She grew silent for a few seconds. “I get what you’re saying, though.”
It wasn’t her job to hurl produce into dumpsters.
“What a shame. I’ve asked this question at other grocery stores and have gotten the same answer. There are so many hungry people.”
I walked over to the man, who now had his hands in a mountain of onions. I said, “It’s sad about the avocados.”
“Yes. I’m a man of action. I was the head of a union for 40 years. Every week I give a man on the corner 10 dollars for food. And right in this store there is all this food going to waste.”
I walked to my car and pulled out of the parking lot. The sky was absent. It was night. A woman who had just stepped off a city bus looked at me and said something. I rolled down my window. She smiled. ”Don’t forget to turn on your lights.”
When I arrived home, I sliced open an avocado.
