Guacamole is a staple of the Mexican kitchen. It’s become an American favorite, an essential for Superbowl parties and fourth of July barbeques. Guacamole has become as American as apple pie, so to speak. And like apple pie recipes, there are endless variations.

I learned to make guacamole from my mother, who grew up in the mountains near the city of Puebla in Mexico. In our kitchen my mother kept a mortar and pestle, which she called a molcajete.

She used it to grind down spices and garlic to use in her cooking. It was carved from volcanic basalt and looked ancient. For me it represented a connection to the ancient past of the native American peoples of Mexico that represent 41% of my DNA. I have no idea what happened to that molcajete, but I wish I’d taken it with me when I was the last person to leave my childhood home after my mother died in 1977.

Returning to the subject of guacamole and the present, I make guacamole for most dinners we invite people to, Christmas, Easter, birthdays. I also make it as a bring-with dish to any potluck I’m invited to- in this case my friend Wayne’s New Year’s Day open house this coming Monday.

I have to mention that I have my own molcajete, Danusia gave it to me for a birthday ten years ago or so. But it’s made from granite and doesn’t have the patina of history my mother’s had.

I cherish it not just as a thoughtful gift with some meaning to it, but as a kitchen tool I like to use. Just the appearance has mystical qualities. I’ll be using it Monday to crush up some dried Aji Charapita peppers for a special guacamole for my friend Wayne. He’s Jamaican and takes great pride in Jamaican Scotch Bonnet peppers, which are pretty hot. So, when I discovered these Peruvian Aji Charapitas I thought of Wayne, and this will be my opportunity to share some heat with someone who will appreciate it.

My mother’s guacamole was pretty spicy. She used a combination of jalapeño and habanero peppers, onion, and diced tomatoes in her guacamole. A pinch of salt, the juice from a whole lime and her secret ingredient, a big dollop of mayonnaise. When I was old enough it was my job to dice up the peppers, onion, and tomatoes for her.

“Not small enough,” she’d say when I thought I was done. “Chop more.” So, I have the skill required now to chop the ingredients to proper size. I could use my food processer, another gift from my lovely wife, but there’s something visceral and spiritual about using my 8-inch kitchen knife.

My recipe is a little different. After making a chili for a group picnic many years ago that was so hot only the most courageous of my friends would eat, I realized I was going to have to adjust for the American palate. But how could I make it interesting? Different from the pablum available at Whole Foods without sending everyone running for the water faucet? Ginger! That’s how.

My mother never cooked with ginger, as a matter of fact I didn’t discover ginger until I was an adult and began to sample various Asian cuisines. But ginger has been a staple of my cooking for the past 20 years. I put it in everything. Beans, stir fry, stews; anytime I marinate meat.

So, here’s the recipe:

2 or more ripe avocados. If they are black, they are ripe. No squeezing, please.

½ cup of grated ginger. I use a regular box grater with the next to smallest holes.

1 large jalapeño or serrano pepper. Or you can go crazy with habaneros or even scotch bonnets! How courageous are your friends? Do you still want to have friends after they try it?

½ or less of a small red onion. The peppers and onion will have to be diced small, like my mamma said.

The juice of half a lime. More if you use more avocados.

A pinch of salt, and lastly, a dollop of mayonnaise.

I cut up the avocados a bit in the bowl before adding the finely chopped ingredients. Makes it easier to mash and mix everything together after. And there you have it! Please let me know if you try it.