almost 2 years ago
It all started so innocently. In April 2021, Toronto chef Aldo Camarena (currently at Aburi Hana) was asked a seemingly innocuous question by the website Toronto Restaurants: What one dish or ingredient would you like to see vanish from Toronto restaurant menus?
Without flinching, Camarena gave the one-word answer that, unbeknownst to him, would galvanize supporters, incite trolls and add combustible to a growingly heated debate surrounding the role of avocados on our tables – and in our society.
“Guacamole.”
At the time, Camarena was juggling chef duties at acclaimed Mexican restaurant, Quetzal, with the launch of Xolo, an innovative Latin American pop up co-created with his wife, Ashley McKay (currently at Enigma Yorkville). To put it mildly, he was busy. But avocados were on his mind.
Camarena’s answer was fuelled by the fact that North Americans’ obsession with all things avocado has wreaked serious havoc on avocado-producing regions of the planet, notably Mexico, which supplies 95 per cent of all avocados consumed by Canadians, and where Camarena lived until the age of 11.
In recent years, the booming demand for avocados has contributed to Mexico’s economic growth. The trade for “green gold” has become so lucrative that Mexican drug cartels have expanded into the sector, extorting producers, transporters and packers and taking over farms. Meanwhile, as highlighted in a recent episode of the Netflix series Rotten, “The Avocado War”, lucre for a few has come at a steep cost for many.
According to Global Forest Watch, the constantly expanding agriculture sector is directly responsible for 98 per cent of Mexico’s deforestation. The clearing of land for avocado plantations leads the way.
The resulting impacts have been multifaceted and enormous. Destruction of rich biomes has been accompanied by land erosion and drought. The latter is aggravated by avocados’ seemingly unquenchable thirst. To grow a single avocado requires an average of 70 litres of water (in comparison a single orange requires 22 litres). In Mexico, there are regions, namely Michoacán, where local farmers prioritize avocados’ water necessities over their own.
Meanwhile, over-inflated prices for this cash crop have transformed avocados into a monoculture, edging out other food sources for local populations. Perversely, this abundant and nutritious staple, that literally goes on trees, is now out of reach––and off the table––for many families who depend upon its exportation for their livelihood.
In this industry, we should be confident enough to take chances. If we can make guacamole with avocado, we can do it with other products.
The avocado has been around long before Gwyneth Paltrow helped propel it into the superfood stratosphere when she published a recipe for avocado toast in her best-selling 2013 cookbook It’s All Good. The oldest pre-Goop traces of avocados’ existence date to the Cenozoic era when the oversized berries were the favourite fodder of woolly mammoths and giant ground sloths. Although these creatures didn’t survive climate change, avocados thrived––particularly in South and Central America where the fruit grew rampantly.
Avocados were prized by the Aztecs for their health and purported aphrodisiac properties. Indeed, the Nahuatl-language name for the rough-skinned, pendulous fruit, often found growing in pairs, was āhuacatl––or, "testicle." As early as the 16th century, Aztecs were making guacamole (āhuacamolli), a mash of pure avocados that was a vital source of fat and proteins.
As Camarena––who knows his avocado history––relates, it took a few centuries until avocados, via guacamole, were assimilated into North American culinary culture. While the avocados were first cultivated in California in the late 1800s––shortly before the U.S. banned avocado exports from Mexico in 1914––initially, the strange fruit didn’t impress American epicures.
Reasons for avocado reticence ranged from its appearance (the Hass variety, created and cultivated in California, had a sinisterly dark and bumpy skin) to its picturesque yet unappetizing name at the time: alligator pear. Although in 1885, a San Francisco newspaper published the world’s first known recipe for avocado toast, but beyond California’s frontiers, there was widespread confusion as to what to actually do with avocados.
The earliest known recipe for avocado on toast, posted in an issue of the Daily Alta California newspaper in 1885.
Producers certainly tried to overcome the public’s misgivings. In 1915, the California Avocado Grower’s Exchange tried to seduce consumers with an official name change to the more sonorous avocado (an Anglicization of the Spanish aguacate, which itself was a bastardization of āhuacamolli). Around the same time, the California Avocado Association offered a few creative, if sometimes dubious recipes (avocado with catsup?). In the 1920s, the California Avocado Society placed ads in Vogue and The New Yorker, vaunting the avocado as the “aristocrat of salad fruits”.
Seemingly, the high-end approach fell on deaf palates. It wasn’t until the early 1990s that California producers hit upon the winning strategy of linking avocados to the Super Bowl via guacamole, the ideal companion to chips and football. At the same time, the 1993 signing of NAFTA allowed Mexican avocados to come flooding back into North America. As a result of both measures, Super Bowl guacamole-dipping skyrocketed over the next decades. Between 1988 and 2000, the value of avocados spiked by 70 per cent. In 2021, some 98 million viewers tuned in to the game and devoured an estimated 48,000 tons of avocados––in the form of guacamole.
“I think it’s a trend that went too far,” says Camarena, understatedly.
Camerena’s issues with guacamole aren’t only linked to the impact of the avocado trade on Mexico and other foreign producers. Aside from the massive carbon footprint involved in transporting avocados to Canada, upon its arrival, vast quantities of the fragile fruit are wasted via mishandling, bruising and rotting. This occurs not just in supermarket bins, but in home and restaurant kitchens.
“I often see so much unused avocado and guacamole being thrown out because it very easily goes bad or gets watery,” Camarena confides.
Apart from issues of waste, there are issues of taste. “In Toronto you get charged $3 or $4 for a portion of guacamole and it’s a bland paste. That’s what mashed potatoes are for (which isn’t to say that people should start dipping chips into mashed potatoes).”
Camarena isn’t the first to refer to guacamole as a “lazy” dish that exists on many Toronto menus by default despite the massive costs involved.
“In terms of what cooks can create, there are so many options out there,” he says. “In this industry, we should be confident enough to take chances. If we can make guacamole with avocado, we can do it with other products––squash, fava beans, peas or even roasted broccoli. Last night my wife and I made some mockamole, with carrots and a handful of nuts, and we enjoyed the same experience.”
The mockamole trend is small, but real. Camarena gives a shout out to several chefs in Latin America and the UK who have been leading the mockamole bandwagon. Among them is Santiago Lastra, whose pistachio and fermented gooseberry dip appeared on the menu of his vanguard Mexican restaurant, Kol, in 2020. A year later, Wahaca, a Mexican restaurant chain, launched “Wahacamole”, made from fava beans.
Meanwhile, in Toronto, aside from the mockamoles he shares with his wife, Camarena created a version for Xolo’s menu. Based on a traditional Venezuela guasacaca salsa whose recipe Camarena learned from a Cuban taquero in Miami, this “liquid guacamole” is made from squash and pumpkin seeds. The couple used it to adorn queso panela asado, fried cheese that was also accompanied by onion sofrito, pickled mushrooms and amarynth. On Instagram, Camarena posted photos of the dish––one of the most popular items on Xolo’s menu––with an explanation of its importance as an antidote to the negative impacts of avocado over-consumption.
“I wasn’t trying to start a movement,” confesses Camarena. “[I'm] just being honest.”
The initial rumblings of the anti-avocado movement began across the Atlantic. In 2018, The Independent reported on avocados being banned from “trendy cafes” in Britain due to environmental concerns. That same year, BBC Scotland talked to Irish chef JP McMahon who not only removed avocados from his restaurant’s menu, but referred to them as “the blood diamonds of Mexico.”
However, when in the aftermath of the Toronto Restaurant piece, Camarena was interviewed for a blogTO article entitled “Toronto chef says we need to stop eating avocados” he became something of a poster boy for avocado activism. As avocado backlash was picked up by global media––including The Guardian, Fox News and CTV News––Camarena was repeatedly cited.
Chef Camarena prepares his guacamole alternative in his Toronto home.
In Toronto, Camarena’s frank talk generated a lot of discussion, unfortunately not all of it positive. Indeed, he admits that the surprising amount of vicious blowback made him wary of talking to TasteToronto.
“The reaction to me speaking out in the media about avocados has been a mixed bag,” he confesses. “I was getting hate comments online, people saying things such as ‘maybe Mexicans should stop breathing’. But I also received a lot of positive reactions. One direct message was from someone who wanted a guacamole alternative to share with friends.”
The reaction among Toronto’s chefs and restaurants was equally mixed. “One of my employers (not Quetzal) took me aside and said, ‘We need to talk about what you’re posting,'”recalls Camerena. “And among some of my peers, it’s become a joke – they call me ‘the Avocado Guy’.”
At the same time, there were many chefs that, cautiously and off-the-record, cheered Camarena on. “I’d be crazy to name drop, but in private many people in the industry are saying, ‘this issue is important and it’s a good thing you went out and said what you did.”
And yet, despite their support behind the scenes, many Toronto chefs seem loathe to take a public stand against avocados. “I’ve heard concern from many cooks and chefs, but then they counter that people will pay $3 or $4 extra for guacamole so they won’t take it off the menu, which just doesn’t make sense.”
Chef Eric McDonald's (Sakai Bar) edamame-based "mockamole".
Among those sympathetic to the cause – and who’s willing to go on the record – is chef Eric McDonald of Sakai Bar. McDonald cops to loving avocados, but rarely using them. “I think they’re delicious, but people fuss over them a lot and try to make them something that they’re not.”
“At the restaurant, I always make use of local and seasonal stuff,” continues McDonald. “On one hand, we have a personal relationship with our supplies. But I also just think local produce in season tastes better.”
McDonald echoes Camarena’s observation that a big problem with avocados is their sheer availability, which wasn’t the case 15 or 20 years ago. “The average Canadian goes to FreshCo and buys avocados even though it’s the middle of winter. People are used to having access to everything all the time – and being able to pay for it. But a lot of people don’t understand the weight of it.”
McDonald also laments the ubiquity of avocados and guacamole in Toronto’s restaurants, an easy and lucrative sell, but which ends up stifling more creative and sustainable alternatives.
I think it’s a trend that went too far.
Riffing on the possibilities, McDonald comes up with a puree of squash, with the liquid strained out of it. Roasted beets (instead of smashed avocado) on toast. A fava bean puree spike with “tons and tons” of citrus and generous hits of cilantro, garlic and salt that “would trick your brain into making those flavour connections.”
In practice though, instead of squash and beets, Eric uses cooked edamame as the catalyst to an avocado dip alternative––puréeing them, along with garlic, citrus and cilantro, into a savoury paste perfect for the scoopage. Eric's alternative includes a variety of textures as opposed to some smashed avocados, while hitting all the enjoyable flavour profiles and vibrant green colour you would get in a guac.
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