Skip to main content

Avocado Tchotchkes

“Can you believe this? Everything is gone!

It was 7:00 p.m., we were headed home after sampling the 29th Annual Fallbrook, California, Avocado Festival. As if by magic all traces of  frantic activity had disappeared when we left that evening, including the traffic.

Only a few hours before a nine-block section of Main Street was closed to vehicles and converted to - avocado nirvana? If you’ve never visited the village of Fallbrook, it is an unincorporated community in northern San Diego County of about 30,500 residents. This quiet community is known for it’s avocado groves and claims the title “Avocado Capital of the World.”

Before leaving for the festival that morning all our friends could talk about was the grandeur of avocados; an art contest, a children's avocado race, and so much more. We glanced at the local newspaper.  “Unbelievable - this festival draws anywhere from 70,000 to 100,000 people. Where in the world will all these people park?”

We threw a few bottles of water in a backpack and made our way downtown. There must have been over 250 tchotchke vendors selling everything from slingshots to Direct TV subscriptions. And throngs of people six deep as far as you could see. Where was the the Art of the Avocado Contest, the Best Decorated Avocado, for that matter we could not even find the guacamole contest? 

“This street is packed. How many days did it take to set all this up?” I practically yelled to our host over the roar of the crowd.

“I was downtown last night, none of this was here,” he admitted.

Finally we stumbled upon one of the Holy Guaca-Moly booths and got a free sample. “Yep, this tastes great “- but what’s the big deal, I thought. Well, it turns out avocados are a very healthy food source. Some benefits include; promote heart health, provide anti-inflammatory benefits, they support cardiovascular health, promote blood sugar regulators, and claim anti cancer benefits. Wow, one of natures magic foods. So where are all the avocados?

Finally after wandering the street we stopped into the chamber of commerce office and asked, “We’re looking for the Avo 500 children’s car race can you point us in that direction, please?”

As an avid soapbox derby racer in my youth, I’ll admit I was drawn to the Avo 500. Contestants did not bring their racing machine to the event, they selected an avocado and built them on the spot. Or should I say, their parents built them as they entered their names in the contest, shhhh? Oh well, it was fun to watch the colorfully decorated and carved avocados with plastic wheels slide, roll, tumble, and flip down the raceway. One kid even entered a pit. No it wasn’t a pit stop, but a completely stripped avocado. The race official chirped, “We definitely need to change the rules for next year.”

The winner turns out is the village of Fallbrook. According to the chamber of commerce, the Avocado Festival costs about $70,000 to put on, but generates more than $1 million in revenues for merchants.

My friend James introduced me to one of the locals, Rick Hill, owner of Retro Candy and Toys in the heart of downtown. Exploring his store was like stepping back in time. Open baskets of Saltwater Taffy, Redhots, Bitta Honey, Jawbreakers, Wax Lips, even Daisy BBs. I wouldn’t recommend eating the BBs. 

Coincidently while researching this piece I found a quote from Rick in The San Diego Union Tribune, “We do about three weeks’ worth of business in one day,” Hill said. “It’s nonstop.” The shop sells all sorts of sweets and toys, “but avocado fudge is by far the biggest seller.”

In all the hubbub we never did find the avo fudge. Tchotchke collectors mark your calendar, next years event is scheduled for late April. Oh, if you’re looking for avocados all the local markets sell them in season, everyone grows avocado trees in their yards, and you can have them shipped to you from Avocados Direct.

I’m still shaking my head, sadly what the event has become is a tchotchke survivalist festival hiding behind natures magic treat - the avocado.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Time Travel, Roving Mics, and Muscle Memory

In this episode, the 2026 Sinkankas Symposium. Let’s get one thing straight: I didn’t arrive in a DeLorean. No flux capacitor, no dramatic lightning strike—just a Saturday parking pass and a name badge. And yet, somewhere between the rotunda doors and the first handshake, it happened anyway. This past Saturday, April 25th, I was transported—effortlessly and completely—back in time at the 20th Annual Sinkankas Symposium on the GIA campus in Carlsbad. Walking into that magnificent main campus rotunda early with my colleagues, Paul Mattlin and Glenn Wargo, felt like wrapping myself in a familiar, gem-encrusted blanket. It was less a building, more a family living room where nobody ever really forgets your name. The halls were quiet (a rare and beautiful thing), and the soft echo of our footsteps on the polished floors sounded exactly as I remembered it. For a moment, it wasn’t 2026—it was April 1997, my first time walking onto the beautiful, brand-new GIA campus as Director of Alumni. Som...

Confidently Wrong: The Art of the AI Tall Tale

In this episode, A chat with Adamas the Chef on hidden recipes causing digital hallucinations. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee—and please, for your own sake, taste it first. We need to have a quiet chat about why your computer sometimes decides to reinvent reality with the confidence of a five-star chef who has clearly lost his mind. In the world of technology, we call it a  hallucination . It sounds pretty dramatic, doesn’t it? As if the computer decided to ignore your instructions altogether in favor of a vivid, technicolor imagination that simply hasn’t met reality yet. But in truth, an AI hallucination isn’t a breakdown; it’s just a very confident, very polite mistake. Think of it like our friend Adamas , the Chef. Adamas is a master of the kitchen, but he is also a bit of a romantic who refuses to say “I don’t know.” When you ask him for a classic recipe he hasn’t made in years, he doesn’t stop to consult a cookbook—that’s far too pedestrian. Instead, ...

Ode To Gemology

For over 80 years, students of gemology have struggled with spectrums, bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochroism. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology rediscover nature's gifts every day.  Ode to Gemology , by a GIA on-campus student. Dispersion, fire, adventurescence. Orient, sheen, or iridescence. Refractive index, high or low. The luster should indicate that, you know. Polarization, double or single. What to do now, they intermingle. Pleochroic colors you really should see. Was that only two, or actually three? Birefringence should help you a lot. Use your polarizer and watch the spot. Now, did it jump most on low or high? Sure, you can get it if you really try! Your liquids should be an aid, I think. Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink? Just use your imagination now. (He doesn't see me wiping my brow.) Solid inclusions or only bubbles? Huh, th...

The Cowardice of Corporate Jargon

Picture this: an email lands in your inbox. A colleague—maybe even a friend—needs a favor, a second set of eyes, a moment of your time. You sigh, stare at the glow of your monitor, and type: “I’d love to help, but I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.” Hit send. Problem solved. Conscience clear. Except it shouldn’t be. Most of us have said or sent that line at least once, hoping it would land gently. On the surface, it’s perfect—efficient, polite, even self-aware. And that’s exactly the problem. It lets you decline without ever quite telling the truth. You didn’t just say no; you softened the discomfort of being human until it barely felt like a feeling at all. Instead of admitting, I’m overwhelmed , or I don’t have the energy , you reach for the sterile vocabulary of a server room. You turn a feeling into a metric. A boundary into a system limitation. Apologies, my data transfer rate is capped. Please submit a ticket to my emotional help desk. It’s a clever little trick—and an un...