By Leigh O’Connor.
There was a time when smashed avocado on toast felt like the ultimate symbol of carefree living. A simple indulgence, creamy and green against warm sourdough, it represented slow mornings, easy laughter and the kind of weekend ritual that made life feel light.
I still remember the first café plate I ordered - it wasn’t just food, it was an atmosphere. The sun was pouring in through the windows, the coffee was strong and that first bite felt like a small luxury I had chosen for myself.
The world has shifted and so has the meaning of smashed avo. These days, every forkful feels heavier, not because of the fruit itself but because of what it costs. Avocados are ‘green gold’ now, their price swaying with unpredictable seasons and global demand.
That simple plate of toast can run close to $20 and suddenly the joy of it comes tangled with guilt. Should I really be spending this much on something so fleeting? Couldn’t that money stretch further in the supermarket, turned into a week’s worth of pasta or rice?
Yet, I keep coming back to it. Not every day, not even every week, but often enough to know that for me it’s more than food - it’s a pause. It’s a moment to remind myself that even when the economy presses in from all sides, there’s still space for pleasure.
Mashing that ripe avocado at home, or ordering it at my favourite corner café, feels like an act of quiet defiance. Yes, the bills are piling up. Yes, saving feels impossible, but I’m still allowed to taste something beautiful.
The truth is, smashed avo has never just been about sustenance. It’s about ritual and comfort. The crunch of toast under the creaminess, the zing of lemon cutting through richness, the sprinkle of chilli or feta lifting it into something more - it’s nourishment wrapped in indulgence.
In a world where so much feels uncertain, those small rituals matter. They tether us to joy, to normalcy, to the idea that not everything has to be sacrificed.
Sometimes I think about the jokes made years ago, that smashed avo was the reason people couldn’t buy houses. It was a cliché that stung, mostly because it ignored the bigger picture of economic reality.
Maybe it also struck a nerve because there was some truth in the choice: do we give up every small pleasure in pursuit of a distant, almost impossible dream, or do we allow ourselves something that makes the day feel brighter, even if just for half an hour?
For me, the answer has always been the same. I can’t control the soaring costs of rent or groceries or fuel. I can’t fix the uncertainty of markets or the creeping weight of inflation, but I can take a slice of toast, top it with green and remind myself that joy is still within reach.
Smashed avocado may not be the cheapest option, but in today’s economy it has become something more valuable - a symbol of choosing comfort, choosing life’s small delights and holding on to hope that even in difficult times, beauty is still worth tasting.
