Great Green Gold The Avocado Economy of an Alternate Inca Empire

Upon my arrival in this parallel timeline during the Spanish Conquest of the Inca Empire, I found myself utterly intrigued by an unusual twist in their trade system. Instead of the labor exchange known to history as "mita," this Inca society has elevated the avocado to a status of almost comical reverence. Here, the world's economy seems balanced on the pinnacle of this peculiar fruit. Avocados are their primary trade currency, and much to my amusement, their measure of wealth. In my own timeline, avocados have become a beloved food for millennials—who would have thought they could drive an entire economy elsewhere?

Picture, if you will, the esteemed conquistadors swapping their quest for gold for an equally fervent pursuit of these "green wonders." Francisco Pizarro and his cohorts are tearing through the landscape, attempting to monopolize avocado orchards with an enthusiasm matched only by their historical pursuit of precious metals. It's said that Pizarro's palace in Spain now features a menu dominated by avocado dishes. Unfortunately for him, it seems that his obsession hasn't endeared him to a European populace yet to embrace this foreign taste sensation. However, a whispered conversation I overheard reveals a burgeoning interest in "avocado oil hair tonic" in Madrid—proof, perhaps, that even in this alternate world, some fads hop continents with ease.

The elevation of avocados to an almost mythological status creates fascinating social dynamics. For instance, marriages are sealed not with gold or gifts, but with baskets of the plumpest, ripest avocados one can muster. The delicate nature of these fruit-baskets makes matrimonial arrangements a perilous affair indeed. I’ve been told tales of wedding day fiascos leading to brides fainting or runaway grooms when presented with less-than-perfect fruit—imagine the scandal of brown spots on the sacred offering.

In this society, a quirky divergence from our accepted wealth indicators has emerged. They call it the "Guac Standard," and those who hold vast quantities of these creamy treasures boast immense influence. The elite store their troves in stone vaults, and traders transporting them do so with almost reverent care. Failure to maintain freshness during travel is akin to financial cataclysm. Those who arrive at market stalls with even a hint of overripeness about them find themselves socially ostracized—like a smelly outcast expelled from polite company.

Curiously, I’ve found that avocados have even birthed new traditions. The most notable is a seasonal festival fondly referred to as “The Great Slicing.” Participants offer up dishes like the legendary "Bowl of the Pit" while they engage in spirited debates over the precise balance of salt and lime to achieve the perfect guacamole. It's all rather poetic, really—an entire community coming together, the bonds of fellowship fermented through the simple act of slicing fruit. There's an innocent beauty to the whole affair, a seasonal reminder of life's ripeness and eventual consumption.

Recording these observations fills me with a chuckle, as it’s quite a peculiar thought that a centerpiece of brunch culture where I'm from serves as the fulcrum of an empire here. Yet, the Inca manage it with such earnest dedication, it leaves one pondering whether such dedication might lend even Time herself a reason to stop and ponder the beauty of a buttery bite.