At lunch the other day, I heard a radio host ask, “Does familiarity decrease awe?” He asked the question referring to some prominent city landmarks he once walked by daily. He speculated that his regular, expected experience of those sights was at least different, if not less remarkable, than how someone else — who only saw the landmarks either for the first time or once in ten years — would experience them. From the moment he asked the question, I’ve been thinking about what my response might be.
My backyard is a very different environment from the tall monuments and official buildings the radio host discussed. It’s a large, deep lawn backed up with enough trees that in the summer, we have no idea houses live behind those trees. We only start to see lights in the distance in autumn, when the leaves begin to fall.
I remember eating breakfast one morning during our first autumn here, looking out at the backyard’s warming colors. I was suddenly startled to realize that through those trees I saw a window. I felt like I’d learned about a secret passageway in a children’s novel.
You might not be surprised, then, to correctly assume my evolving answer to the radio host’s question is that familiarity does not decrease awe. Here’s why: through familiarity, something can both surprise and stay the same. And while a surprise is thrilling, it is also ephemeral. Consistency, though, continues.
Consider your favorite childhood meal. I imagine that meal was one you enjoyed often. Or consider a longtime favorite Columbia restaurant like Shakespeare’s or Murry’s. I imagine when you think of that restaurant, you might already know what you plan to order. You’re treasuring consistency.
My husband, Lyle, and I discussed this topic at breakfast this morning while savoring some homemade avocado toast. The recipe originated as a surprise; I just came up with it one morning this summer. We enjoyed it so much that we’re still making the same basic recipe. Occasionally, we vary the type of bread or replace the serrano pepper with jalapeno, poblano, Tabasco, or habanero.
Our technique makes three pieces of avocado toast (one for me, two for Lyle), so if you’re making toast for larger quantities of people or appetites, please consider adjusting amounts.
Here’s how to make it:
- Cut a ripe avocado in half and remove the pit. Slice the two halves horizontally into half-inch slices. With a soup spoon, scoop out the slices and put them in a small bowl.
- Add a teaspoon of minced Serrano pepper (or another pepper you like for milder or spicier heat), a teaspoon of minced shallot, and a good pinch of flaked sea salt.
- Mash the mixture to the consistency you prefer (we mash ours until it’s almost a whipped consistency, with almost no chunks of avocado, so the flavors blend well).
- Spread the mixture on the toast of your choice (favorites so far include sourdough, ciabatta, and English muffin halves).
- Sprinkle some good-quality feta on top of the avocado toast, then some chopped Canadian bacon on top of the feta (one piece chopped is enough for three pieces of toast).
- Drizzle the toast with balsamic glaze. Our current favorite is a porcini mushroom-infused one that we purchased at a specialty cheese store in Wisconsin.
From there, enjoy the avocado toast as is, or try one or more of the following finishing touches: a pinch of smoked paprika, a drizzle of good olive oil, and/or your favorite hot sauce. Our favorite hot sauce right now is locally made Kaged Heat Garlic Ghost or Garlic Ghost Reserve.
This morning, Lyle and I talked about how we’ve both memorized how to make our out-of-nowhere, made-up avocado toast. We’ve been making it the same way for probably three months, even while on vacation in California.
I told Lyle that the drastic, vast California coastline we experienced on vacation stunned me; it’s so different from my calm, meadowed Missouri home. I said that if I lived there, though, I think I’d increasingly notice subtleties in those intense cliffs the way I recognize small daily changes in our backyard, like the color and the time of light on leaves, or the brush at the base of the trees that bloomed white overnight.
Lyle finished his avocado toast, and he said, “That’s it. It’s all about appreciation. Familiarity doesn’t decrease awe; it enhances it. Consistency creates awe.”
