Walking along Ocean Avenue, I was suddenly and inexplicably struck with an unreasonable, yet popular, urge to purchase and voraciously consume an açaí bowl. Experiencing symptoms of such “açaí craze” exposure, I began to see visions.
At first, I saw a swirling mound of vivid violet açaí purée, the fresh foundation upon which my taste buds would swim in fruity flavor.
Then, I witnessed slices of fruit and bits of granola rain down from the heavens above in a mesmerizing routine of culinary choreography, rivaling the perfection of synchronized swimmers.
Staring into this imaginary bowl, a beautiful platter of the vibrant and technicolor bounty of nature, as one would gaze at the Mona Lisa for hours, it called out to me, beckoning for its scrumptious consumption.
Following the directions of my revelation, I darted into the nearest Whole Foods Market and bought an açaí bowl, violently ripping off its lid in uncontainable excitement. I found nothing but a dull, freezer-burnt red paste complemented with a vile, pale cup of soggy granola chunks.
In the three spoonfuls I convinced myself to take, my mouth was assaulted by a taste and texture best described as slurping down a water-diluted berry Go-Gurt sprinkled with miniature packaging peanuts.
Falling to my knees outside the Whole Foods in despair, my eyes made contact with Acai R, located right next door. Just go there instead, and do not let my pain go in vain.
