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This New, Surprisingly Delicious Avocado Toast Will Confuse You (in the Best Way)

In my battle to grapple with the possibility of nourishment drifting and afterward leaving, I consider it along these lines: The best nourishment patterns lift up more dishesa for us to adore, and the great ones stick. 

Avocado toast, obviously, is one of the great ones. 

Avocado toast was here some time before we as a whole begun discussing it and it will be here long after we've halted. (Unicorn frappuccinos, tragically, won't.) 

Perhaps we'll quit paying $16 for it at cafés one day, yet at home, we're immovably dedicated. (Google doesn't see us not-discussing it at any point in the near future, either—look are as yet developing, topping in January every year.) 

Be that as it may, in spite of (or perhaps in view of) it living in my eternity assortment of gizmos and snappy tidbits, I generally appear to top in the equivalent unsurprising manner: lemon for corrosive, cumin for warmth, chile for heat. Every decision is tied in with surrounding and standing out from a heap of smooth avocado. 

Also, clearly, salt. Since everything needs salt—particularly avocado, the most extravagant natural product, the subtlest spread. Correct? 

All things considered, no. As I gained from Apollonia Poilâne's incredibly delightful avocado tartines in her new cookbook, Poilâne, none of this is fundamentally valid. With increasingly keen flavoring, not all things need salt—in any event, for a sense of taste like mine that anticipates liberal measures of it. 

Rather, Apollonia seasons her tartines with lime get-up-and-go and squeeze, chile chips, and nectar—each adjusting and lighting up and carefully elbowing salt good and gone—yet in addition, less typically, with ready banana. 

This is the place my complexities just avocado toast theory truly falls flat. Banana is all the more a cousin to avocado than a foil. Their surfaces are practically undefined, delicate on progressively delicate, and their flavors should without a doubt sit in a similar zone of our taste buds or those wine sampling wheels: Mild. Velvety. Agreeable. (Infants love them.) 

Yet, some of the time setting two things this comparative beside one another can draw out their inconspicuous contrasts more: The banana tastes somewhat better, the avocado somewhat more green. 

This surely isn't the first or just spot the two have canoodled: Bananas or sweet plantains and avocado are ordinarily served (and developed) together in Latin America, and gourmet experts have played with the blending in everything from chaat to guacamole to treats. Pierre Hermé's macaron with avocado, banana, and dim chocolate was Apollonia's motivation here. 

Avocado Tartines With Banana and Lime from Apollonia Poilâne 

Two 1-inch/2.5-cm-thick cuts sourdough 

1 ready, medium avocado, split, hollowed, stripped, and coarsely squashed 

1 medium banana, cut 

1 teaspoon finely ground lime get-up-and-go 

2 tablespoons new lime juice 

Squashed red pepper chips 

1 to 2 tablespoons (30 to 60ml) nectar 


Toast the sourdough on one side until brilliant. 

Crush the avocado onto the toasted sides of the bread. Organize the banana cuts on top. Sprinkle with the lime get-up-and-go, shower with the lime squeeze, and finish with a squeeze or two of the pepper drops. Sprinkle with the nectar and serve.