By : Ali Syarief
One evening in Fort Worth, Texas, I was graciously invited to a dinner hosted by the city’s mayor. The setting was far from ordinary—a distinguished Mexican restaurant with a rich history. I was told, with a touch of pride, that Michael Jackson had once dined there. The ambiance was warm, the conversation lively, and the sense of occasion unmistakable.
Seated at the same table with Senator James Lane, I found myself immersed in discussions that danced between politics, culture, and personal stories. But it wasn’t just the company that made the evening memorable—it was also what was served on the table.
To my surprise, avocado featured not just in the appetizer but again in the main course. Dressed in herbs, drizzled with vibrant sauces, and accompanied by traditional Mexican spices, the avocado was celebrated in a way I had never seen before. I couldn’t help but smile. Where I come from—Indonesia—avocado is typically reserved for sweet drinks. We blend it with milk, ice, and condensed sweetness to make a rich, creamy juice. To see it center stage in savory dishes was as curious as it was delightful.
Later, I shared this culinary culture shock with my Mexican friend, Fania. Her reaction was priceless. “Avocado? In juice?” she asked, half-laughing, half-shocked, as though I had just suggested something completely unthinkable. For her, avocado belonged in guacamole, tacos, salads, and savory dishes—not in a blender with sugar and milk. Intrigued but skeptical, she promised to try it one day.
That moment made me reflect on how food, in its humble way, becomes a bridge between worlds. A single fruit, prepared in different ways, told stories of different lands. In one culture, it refreshes the palate as a sweet drink. In another, it adds depth and richness to a hearty meal. Neither is right or wrong—both are expressions of heritage, taste, and tradition.
That dinner in Fort Worth became more than just a meal. It became a lesson in cultural curiosity, a taste of shared humanity. Through a simple avocado, I was reminded that even the smallest things can carry profound meaning—that sometimes, understanding begins not with words, but with what’s on our plates.
