It smells clean—not in the manner of an antiseptic or toothpaste, but as something crisp and fresh. That’s the avocado. The green paste brings vibrance to the bread, which shuns all color, with even the crust cut off. A simplicity in the even triangularity of the shape belies the bread’s previous form. There is no spice to the chicken, bound together by mayonnaise so that the contents entire form a conglomerate. The texture, overall, is similar to a chicken salad sandwich—homey, comforting. It’s the kind of meal you would associate with a lazy Saturday afternoon.
In my case, eating the ave palta was a reprieve after the frantic worry of the previous night, as I struggled to prepare the dish for Spanish Club the following day. The avocados I’d purchased from the grocery store were somewhat less than ripe, and had the glorious effect on my blender of stopping the blades in their tracks (this after having both removed the pit and chopped the fruit into multiple pieces, albeit large ones, which I’d hoped the blender would rectify). I’d chosen to bring the dish due to its apparent simplicity, which I denounced as lies and propaganda as the night went on. However, once the deed was done and the sandwiches composed, I found the end result to be quite delicious—a sentiment shared, luckily, by the rest of the club.