Originally published by The Clifton Courier, December 2, 2020

We’re well and truly into barbecue season. 

Sundays previously spent curled up on the couch in front of yet another screening of Cougar Town are now spent basking in the sunshine in parks and backyards. And I’ve reached an age where attendees are required to bring something more than a single packet of two-for-price-of-one chippies (keeping the second bag at home for later, obviously). We’ve grown. We’ve matured. We’ve gone past the age where our scummy habits can no longer be written off as youthful cluelessness and will be seen as serious character flaws.

You don’t want to be the friend who offers to bring the plates to the barbecue and turn up with a packet of flimsy paper disappointment discs when someone brought 10 steaks and someone else brought enough sparkling wine for all.

We’re better than that now. 

I mean, I’m not saying that it’s a competition, however, it’s a non-competition you don’t want to lose. It’s no longer enough just to bring something (yes, even when you’re told not to bring anything). You have to contribute.  

But I will say this, trying too hard to win this competitive non-competition can also feel like a stinging loss. 

I remember one time I put on a picnic and offered to make an array of slices, thinking it would be a casual afternoon in the kitchen the day before. But it was not. There were three different slices with three different processes and the oven was on well into the night. And it was January. So it made for a sweaty, stressy time. 

Never again.  

And, yes, most of the time you can’t go wrong with a cob loaf. But even with my cheeky stovetop shortcut, it still requires a bit of oven time. And, let’s be frank, if you plonk one of those babies down next to the Bega slices and Jatz, it’s going to be very, very clear that you’re being competitive in this non-competition. A cob loaf is a show-stopping power move and it’s less-than subtle.

So, when I’m confronted with a group chat full of offers to bring drinks and desserts, I gently assert myself with guacamole. 

Now, it’s just a dip, but if you do it right, you come off as a fancy and thoughtful but still rather laid back friend. And, again, I’m not saying that friendly barbecues are competitions, but you do come out as a winner if you can hit that trifecta. 

I’m very well aware guacamole is essentially mushed avocado and a recipe for it could be three-words long: “mush the avocado” but I’ve never been one to cut a long story short. And, to quote the scripture of Australian cinema, “it’s what you do with it”.

The first thing you want to do is get yourself a novelty serving dish. You want it to stand out from all the other offerings on the table. I recommend the most garish receptacle you can find at a second hand shop. I have this dish that’s shaped like a large avocado. The base and the lid are bumpy and dark green and it comes with a smooth, brown spoon that looks like the seed. It’s fabulous and Nigella Lawson has one just like it (something I never fail to mention each time I use it). It’s undoubtedly my best op-shop buy. 

Then you grab two ripe avocados. You can check for softness without destroying the avos for other customers by lightly pinching near the stem instead of squeezing/bruising the whole thing.. 

Mash up your avos in the skin by slicing them in half and scraping at the flesh with a fork. 

Scoop the gunge out of the shell and into your novelty holder. Some people say to use lemon to keep the avo from browning, but then everything tastes like lemon and, to paraphrase a young Hugh Grant, if you wanted lemon you’d just buy lemon. No, squeeze in the juice of a half a lime for zest, aesthetic and to feel like you’re doing something more than just mushing avocado. 

Then sprinkle in a pinch of salt, about the same amount of pepper and as much chilli flakes as you deem appropriate. I reckon maybe a teaspoon is enough, but I don’t really measure the amount; I just shake the jar until I’m mildly concerned about the heat. 

Then snip in one to two finely-chopped stalks of shallots/spring onions/scallions, depending on how comfortable you are with the barbecue guests to have onion breath around them. 

Mix until all the flecks are evenly distributed and, if you really want to impress, serve with fancy corn chips – the thick tortilla kind. 

Place on the table with a flourish to distract everyone as you snag yourself your fifth Tim Tam of the night.