Guacamole consists mostly of avocado. By now it’s cliché to say as much, but the avocado is an ideal foodstuff. Creamy, pleasantly hued, fatty, healthful, inoffensive.

American consumption of the Hass avocado nearly quadrupled between 2000 and 2014. Open your social media apps to find our sveltest fitness freaks smearing its guts over herbed wheat toast for likes. Flip on the telly to see our basest sandwich chain capitalizing on its popularity with cheap deals. So obvious, so widespread is the avocado’s current appeal that it just served as the premise for so many shitty jokes: “A tariff on Mexican goods is the only thing that could stir our country to rise up against our orange fascist!”

You like it; I like it. I like it with a squeeze of lemon juice and splash of soy sauce and a spoon. Sometimes I don’t even need that. It’s beautiful unadorned. You would not object to someone eating chunks of avocado out a Tupperware salad. Why performatively retch just because those chunks have been mashed and stirred with onion, tomato, lime, cilantro, garlic, salt, cumin, some varietal of chili pepper—all delicious things in their own right, and especially in concert?

Sometimes you lack the chip. Sometimes you don’t want a chip. Life isn’t all about textural contrast. Sometimes it’s about putting nourishing, well-seasoned glop on your plastic spoon and directly into your mouth. The condiment/foodstuff binary is a farce. Tim Tebow’s theology gets that point right. This man understands. It’s a shame so many of you don’t.

*Omitted here is “preservatives to extend shelf life.” Tebow’s only misstep was buying pre-made store-bought guac, which is frequently, though not at all universally, ass.