Avocados and I have a somewhat complicated history. Our first encounter happened during a game of truth-or-dare in the 5th grade, when I bet Anthony Delmonico two gogurts and a nerd rope that he wouldn’t steal one from the lunch line and bite into it whole.
Turns out, Anthony was allergic to avocados – his lips quickly swelled to Kylie Jenner-sized proportions. Parents were called, the nurse was rushed in, and I spent the rest of the afternoon in the principal’s office for “antisocial cafeteria behavior.” I won the gogurts, but lost the privileges to my tamagotchi for a full week. Victory tasted only bittersweet.
My second avoncounter came a few years later, when a group of girls convinced me that applying avocado-infused “cleansing masks” would be a better sleepover game than re-enacting the choreography from Julia Stiles’ Julliard audition scene in Save the Last Dance. I took the bait and went first, making the rookie mistake of letting one girl memorialize my mudpack makeover on her Razr flip phone. It was on MySpace by morning and I haven’t appeared in anyone’s Top 8 since.
Even in times when avocados and I have attempted armistice (I’m no heathen – I eat Chipotle), finding ripe ones in Trader Joe’s remains a struggle I can only compare to enduring the purchase process at a CVS self-checkout station [insert Helga Pataki sass-face gif here]. Mark my words, Waiting For My Avocados To Ripen is the Samuel Beckett rewrite that’ll win Leo his first Oscar.
Given the above, it may seem ill-fitting that I present you with an ode to the District’s tastiest avo-toasts – but hear me out.
I actually really do love avocados. Sliced, smeared, smashed, spread – there’s a reason our Instagram feeds are streaming with snapshots of the superfood sensation. Besides being nutritional all-stars (and aesthetically pleasing ones at that), avocados are the tastiest toast toppers around. Add an egg, scatter some seasonings, and bow down to the queen bee of monosaturated munchies.
Believe me, I am not unenlightened to the appeal of the avocado artform. I just can’t remotely be trusted to administer their handling or preparation without risking the chance that highly flammable, horcrux-level hysteria would ensue. Supposing I let a reputable, fire safety certified restaurant manage the heavy-lifting, however, I’m willing to bet I can honor this city’s toastiest talents without getting FEMA involved.
SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, BEHOLD 8 OF THE MOST AVO-CONTROL TOASTS DC HAS TO OFFER:
A wild child toast notorious for its unruly tangle of tasty toppings. Sriracha-slathered avocado, crusty multigrain bread, plus a rowdy compote of rocket, radish, and runny #yolkporn eggcellence.
The avocado toast most ready for the runaway. Salted slices of avocado fan fashionably around a thick-cut wedge of crust, finished with a tousled topping of goat cheese mousse for an extra touch of glamour. Try and keep the Instagram paparazzi away.
Pistachio-garnished perfection. Cork is like the godfather of artisanal avosthetics and this plate is the OG of the toast-topping trend. It’s an offer your stomach would be ill-advised to refuse.
Chef Geoff’s is the kind of toast you want to hang out on the couch and watch Super Bowl Sunday with – it’s festive, fun, and sure to settle all bets on the brunchtime score. Plus, there’s bacon. So duh.
Crisp’s toasty take on the avocado open-face is a tasty reminder of what makes food comfort. A doughy cushion of bread upholds a generous spread of avocado smash – all tucked snug under a cozy quilt of poached eggs and leafy greens.
For when you’re feeling those modish, minimalist vibes. Halsa keeps its toast simple and sleek, serving up one of the brightest bread-breaking options around Brookland.
A blue-blooded thoroughbred. These tea-time crostinis are elegantly escorted on the arm of a Marlyand blue crab pairing, sure to indulge the avo-ristocrat in all of us.
A tasteful take on the tried and true recipe for avocado toast. Smashed avocado flaked with chili pepper, topped with goat cheese crumbles and a dusting of pistachios. No muss, no fuss, but certainly far from avo-rage.
