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Greg Bardsley

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Mexican food

That’s right, I am *not* retiring

Retire?

How could I retire from guacamole after this past Sunday, when I made a batch of Guacamole Gregorio that seemed to achieve what so few of mine had done in 2009? Sunday felt like the 2008 season all over again. The avocados were soft and ripe. The hair-trigger ingredients danced with each other in an intoxicating rumba. The bowl was scraped clean – my mom, who’s staying with us, even asked for a spoon to collect the final strips of green.

Retire?

Me?

Hell no.  

Call me the Brett Favre of guacamole.

The Helen Thomas of the green stuff.

I ain’t going away just yet.

So yes, by the powers invested in me (by the International Commission for the Guacamole Arts), it is my pleasure to open the 2010 Guacamole Season. Let there be Mexican beer in frosted glasses. Let there be Latin jazz beating in the background. May the sun shine on you and your lemons and red onions. May the guacamole gods smile on your cumin and cilantro. May you embrace thick, authentic tortilla chips.

In other words, I wish each and every one of you nothing but the very best.

No, I will *not* retire

Some of  you know that the only thing I’m cocky about is my guacamole. I have won more than my fair share of guacamole showdowns, and last summer, after years of secrecy and paranoia, I released the recipe to Guacamole Gregorio to the world.

Then, at the end of the 2008 gaucamole season, I announced that I was considering retirement, Brett Favre style (meaning, I would tease the public throughout the off-season as to whether I truly would retire).

I was on the fence until this past weekend, when I whipped up perhaps my best batch ever. It all worked — the organic red onion, the ripe avacados, the cilantro, the touch of cumin — and I was able to create joy in my small corner of the universe.

So today, I am announcing that I am returning for one more season. One more season for this crafty old bird. One more season of wholesome ingredients, Latin jazz and ice-cold Tecate. One more season of making my friends and family smile. One more season of working very carefully with my hair-trigger ingredients.

‘Nuff said. … Let the 2009 guacamole season begin.

A season’s end … and a retirement (maybe)

It’s that time of year. It’s the end of another guacamole season.

You know what this means. It means that as far as me and Guacamole Gregorio are concerned, I’m done making it until the 2009 season begins in early spring. Sure, you can try making guacamole between now and then; just don’t expect me to help you out of a crisis during the off-season.

We achieved a lot in 2008. We had another guacamole showdown, had some laughs, learned some new tricks. But perhaps most notably, in 2008 I gave my recipe to the world after years of hoarding it. It took a lot of soul-searching to reach that point, but I know that open-sourcing my recipe was the right thing to do.

So at the close of this season, I’m left wondering, What else is there to achieve?

Therefore, I feel obligated to let you know that I am considering guacamole retirement, Bret Favre style.

What does this mean? It means that, during this off-season, I will toy with retirement. I will let the world speculate on my future. I might announce in January that I have decided to retire, only to reverse that decision in February. Then, in late March or April, as the 2009 season is about to begin, I will make a final decision. Then again, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll decide to sit out the season, only to return in 2010.

Until then, Casa Sanchez makes a real nice salsa.

I give to you … Guacamole Gregorio

For so long, I refused to share the secrets of my guacamole success. How selfish. How insecure. How short-sighted.

When the 2008 guacamole season opened, I finally realized just how ugly my secrecy had become. So I decided to listen to all the repeated calls for my guacamole recipe. I decided that, rather than horde my power, I should “open-source” it to the world. On Aug. 1, I would give the world Guacamole Gregorio.

And so here we are. The day has come.

And with that, some things to consider.

First, great guacamole is so much more than a tablespoon of this and dash of that. It’s about the total experience. So this is how I approach my guacamole, and I think it’s one reason I have won my share of guacamole showdowns. In other words, have faith.

No. 1, if you want to achieve guacamole greatness, you need a phenomenal supporting cast. Think of the great legends in sport and the arts. Each has had phenomenal support to help them achieve greatness — Raiders quarterback Rich Gannon had future Hall of Fame receivers Tim Brown and Jerry Rice, for instance, and in the seminal comedy, Old School, actor Luke Wilson benefited greatly from the supporting efforts of Will Ferrell and Vince Vaughn.

So, in the context of your guacamole, it, too, needs great support. First, you need an ample supply of ice-cold Tecate. The Mexican beer (along with some great Latin jazz, which we will discuss in a minute) will not only put you in the right mood as you prepare your guacamole, but also amplify the nuances of sublime guac. Also, you need the highest-grade tortilla chip possible. Mass-produced, wafer-thin chips from Illinois? Um, no. A bag of thick, slightly salted, authentic tortilla chips? Absolutely essential. I recommend Casa Sanchez, which puts out a phenomenal bag of thick chips.

Next, the music. … Since we’re talking about a Mexican dish, I suggest Latin jazz. Specifically, plan your first outing with Guacamole Gregorio for Sunday afternoon/evening (or any Sunday), which is when Latin-jazz aficionado Jesse Chuy Varela airs his world-class Latin Jazz radio program from 2 p.m. to 6 p.m, California time. The best thing is, regardless of where you live, you can join us Sunday via KCSM’s live web streaming site.

With Tecate, great chips and Varella’s commercial-free Latin jazz, you’re ready to make guacamole.

So with that, let’s roll …

Avocados — I can’t emphasize enough the criticality of avocado selection. In short, be prepared to spend some time searching for the right avocados. Feel them. Squeeze them. Tickle them. … What is your criteria, you ask? They should be pretty damn soft. Not gooey-soft, but pretty soft nonetheless. Smell them. Is the aroma ripe and rich, or acidic? Go for the ripe and rich aroma. If you can’t find one that is ripe and soft, take a few and let them sit on your window sill for a few days. … When the moment comes to make your guacamole, remove the skins and the pits, dump the green meat into a bowl and mash them. .. Take a sip of Tecate. … With the Latin jazz popping in the background, dance-walk to retrieve your next item.

Red onion — The red onion is essential. It provides balance, and a sweet kick. It’s a matter of how much you use, but I go with about a handful of finely diced red onions and chuck them into the bowl. I also keep a mound of additional diced red onions for taste adjustment at the end of the process, if needed.

Cilantro — Beware: too much cilantro can send your guacamole over the cliff. It’s happened to me too many times. So use it with restraint. Dice up about a tablespoon of the stems (yes, the stems) and then add a handful of the leaves. Remember, it is best to error on the side of restraint rather than abundance.

Garlic salt — Don’t use garlic powder. Garlic salt adds a sharpness to the guacamole that the powder never will. I use about two teaspoons of garlic salt, but it will again depend on your tastes and sensibilities.

Cumin — Cumin is an essential component of Guacamole Gregorio, but it can ruin your batch if you use too much of it. So sprinkle a very small amount onto the palm of your hand, spread it out with your other hand and release it evenly into the bowl, then mix it up thoroughly. Better to start with less and add more to taste, if needed.

Vegetable oil — A tablespoon of vegetable oil lends additional polish to the texture.

Lemon — I don’t use limes. I find that the lemon juice provides a better balance without the bitterness of the lime. Don’t go overboard. Too much lemon juice will overtake your guacamole.

Noticing a theme here? I hope so. The point is that Guacamole Gregorio is comprised of an assortment of hair-trigger ingredients. At any moment, and with little provocation, one of them can explode in your face and taint your batch. But working in concert together — at the right moment, with friends and family waiting nearby for the first taste, the Latin jazz blaring, a can of Tecate perspiring — these ingredients can combine to create magic.

Here’s hoping you find it.

One exhausted bowl, two others plenty full

How do you know that you have done your best, that you have greeted the challenge before you with a performance of which you can be proud?

Well, when it comes to guacamole showdowns, perhaps the best indication is the very bowl in which you have presented your batch. When the party is over, is your bowl empty, exhausted? Or is it still plenty full? Is it apparent that people have been scraping chips against the ceramic bowl, leaving only a few faint streaks of green? Or do you have enough for sandwiches next week?

Does it matter that my Guacamole Gregorio won more votes than the others in today’s aforementioned guacamole showdown at Sun Microsystems‘ Menlo Park campus? No. Does it matter that my bowl of guacamole was fully exhausted? Most definitely.

I’d like to thank Lisa for her fierce competition. She made a great batch of guac today, using all-natural ingredients, fueled by a philosophy that guacamole should be about, more than anything, the avocado. She also used 10 avocados compared to my four, so it’s understandable that she’d have guac left in her bowl. And I want to thank unsuspecting newcomer Paul, who walked in with his own formidable bowl of guac and won a lot of street cred (you can hold your head up high, too, Paul).

What’s important? It’s not that I WON THE SHOWDOWN. What’s important is the fact we have collectively raised the profile of guacamole.

Be sure to stay tuned this summer as I prepare to open-source Guacamole Gregorio to the world Aug. 1

Also, a few people took photos of today’s festivities. I’ll add them to this post as they become available.

And this is how you get a showdown

A hallway party is planned for Friday.

People start firing off emails.

“I’ll bring dip,” offers one coworker.

“I’ll bring dessert,” says another.

This continues for a while until Christina sends out a group email asking if I’ll bring a batch of my famous guacamole. And being the gracious soul that I am, I reply, “How could I say no?” After all, everyone in the hallway knows about me and my guacamole. They know about this calling in life, this calling I did not choose but have accepted nonetheless. They know I make music with guacamole.

Well, Lisa apparently didn’t get the message.

Lisa, one of the kindest people here at Sun, a truly gentle soul, says she’s bringing guacamole, too. And just like that, I am forced to make a decision — to either back away and offer to bring plastic forks or cheese balls, or stand up, stick my chest out, and accept this defacto challenge for a major guacamole showdown.

I chose the latter.

So my question for you, Lisa, is: Are you prepared? Are you prepared for a battle? Have you spent the past decade preparing for this moment? Do you have scouts squeezing avocados in supermarkets from San Carlos to Palo Alto? Do you have a big-city guacamole coach? Have you thought about your chips? Do you have cooks in Florida begging you to reveal your guacamole recipe (I will reveal it August 1)?

Do you realize, dear Lisa, that you have wandered into the jungle?

Do you know how you’ll get out?

An announcement …

It is my extreme pleasure to announce the opening of the 2008 Greg Bardsley Guacamole Season.

I know, I know. Who am I give to myself my own guacamole season? Has some kind of guacamole governing board certified me as an aficionado? Do I know if guacamole really is better suited for certain parts of the year? Do I even know what the hell I’m talking about?

The answer, of course, is no.

But the way I see things, if baseball can have a season, if “Desperate Housewives” can have a season, if a theatre company can have a season, and if whales can have a breeding season, then why can’t I have my own season?

And so I choose guacamole.

To start off the 2008 season, I targeted a scheduled night of garage poker this past Monday. At an emotional level, I had been treating my debut outing as if this were baseball’s spring training, looking at the exercise simply as a way to “clear the cobwebs,” or “to stretch the legs.” The poker dads, after all, would be coming for the cards and male-bonding, not for guacamole, so I felt safe. As the hour neared, I was slicing and dicing and mixing and seasoning, having a good old time, mindful of the warm weather, of the cold bottle of Modelo at my side.

When the poker dads showed, I didn’t say much. I just paid silent attention to the two small bowls of guacamole and smiled to myself as they were quickly exhausted.

Adding to my glee, the next day, a friend and I visited a newly found Mexican-food joint, where I had a phenomenal chile-relleno experience.

[Long sigh if contentment] I love guacamole season. I guess it’s because that, along with the great food, guacamole season means fun, laughs, cold Mexican beer, friends and family, warm weather, sunny skies and Latin jazz.

And who could possibly have a problem with that?

Postscript: Several of you have asked repeatedly for my recipe. I’m afraid that, even in today’s open-source world, I’m still not ready to share it. Maybe later in the season I will share it, or maybe I never will. But I will offer a tip: You are doing your guacamole a disservice when you pair it with a mass-produced, paper-thin chip. Authenticity, my friends. Authenticity.

I hereby declare ….

By the power invested in me, I hereby declare this day, Nov. 7, the end of the 2007 Guacamole Season.

As I sit here looking at the overcast skies, I am reminded that all good things must come to an end — the youthful beauty of a rose, the brilliance of a sunrise, the innocence of a child, and yes, even the wild success of a phenomenal guacamole season.

So as I reflect on the past year, I realize that I’ve grown. As many of you know, I learned this year to embrace the finer subtleties of the guacamole craft. I learned to use a little less of “this,” and a lot less of “that.” And thanks to a hotly contested guacamole showdown at work, I even added a new ingredient to my personal recipe (again, don’t ask; I ain’t gonna tell you).

But alas, the 2007 season is over. Two recent batches of guacamole came out very poorly, forcing two awkward and unsuccessful attempts at culinary improvisation at our household. Apparently, November avocados are best left for sandwiches and salads.

Yes, my children, soon the wind will come. The rain will fall. The frost will descend on the West Coast. Darkness will envelope us. But keep that chin up. One thing will lead to another, and before you know it, the warm months will return, the avocados will be ready, the salsa music will be shaking, the Tecate cans will be perspiring, and a new season will be upon us.

My new love affair … with the chile relleno

All those years, and I never gave the chile relleno a real look. All those years, I was enamored with carnitas and huevos rancheros and tamales. All those years, I was missing out on the wonders of my brand new love — the cheesy, plump and complex chile relleno.

Suddenly, I can’t get enough of her.

In my family, Mexican food always has been serious business. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of things like my grandmother, Maria Cristina, making hand-made tortillas in our kitchen, my mom passing her guacamole secrets down to me, and my family driving into Oakland to buy hand-made tortillas from one restaurant on East 14th so we could have them at another restaurant around the corner. Back then, I found the chile relleno to be a too little exotic; the fact we were talking about a big pepper dipped in egg batter and smothered with a mysterious sauce didn’t help with my picky adolescent sensibilities. Decades went by, and I continued to look right through the chile relleno.

Then something strange happened: By pure chance this past spring, I bumped into her, grabbed a hold for a stolen moment and realized I didn’t want to let go. One thing led to another, and just like that, I have become addicted to her, lidding my eyes at the wonderful sequence of senses unfurling in my mouth — first the extreme softness of it all, then the mild tomato sauce with the Mexican kick, then the pronounced statement of the poblano chile pepper, and finally the creamy comfort of the melted queso Oaxaca cheese, the cheese that had been stuffed inside and was now arresting my brain in pure taste-bud pleasure.

So now here I am, completely enamored with the chile relleno, kind of blown away, thinking of this wonderful dish at unusual hours. As for why, maybe my sensibilities have matured. Maybe my physiology has changed in some mysterious way that advantages the chile relleno. Maybe I am simply in the right frame of mind — finally — to enjoy what the chile relleno has been offering all along. And that’s frightening — terrifying, in fact. What else have I been missing out on?

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