Like many in Southern California, I grew up eating guacamole the way it is made almost everywhere in the United States, from Tex-Mex joints to West Coast margarita houses.

The basic ingredients of avocado, tomato, onion and lime juice have defined the Mexican American style. Chile and garlic are also present in most cases but (in an often spice-sensitive culture) not always.

With such a universal standard ingrained in our minds, it shouldn’t be surprising that this food can get people really riled up. At the same time, we’ve been altering and experimenting with guacamole almost since the beginning.

U.S. home cooks have such an affectionate view of guacamole that they indulge their most ridiculous whims with it. The great peas-in-guacamole controversy of 2015 that drew in President Barack Obama is part of a chain of rage-fueled social media incidents sparked when an unusual ingredient goes viral and is declared sacrilegious. I am not anti-innovation in general, but it sometimes feels like audacity and chaos are the primary goals.

I’m proposing another route for your guacamole: subtraction. If we remove two ingredients that are considered holy to guacamole’s base, we may chart a course toward another state of ancient avocado nirvana.

It’s time to drop the tomatoes and onion from the guac, people.

Why subtract these seemingly core ingredients? It’s because tomato and onion are almost all water, about 90% to 95%. When in contact with the avocado, tomato and onion start turning a bit sad and soggy in a matter of minutes.

Instead, let’s lean into unapologetic, assertive flavors. Totemic taste notes. Heat.

Intensify the chile and lime, dial up the garlic, get liberal with the sea salt and make a guacamole that will have people’s eyes popping at any gathering. Use a volcanic-rock molcajete, or mortar and pestle, to smash the fruit and serve, perhaps with a pinch of cilantro chopped on top.

I picked up this way of making guacamole years ago, via my closest friends during the chunk of my life I spent in downtown Mexico City. I’d be hanging out on lazy weekend afternoons, on someone’s rooftop or patio, or at home in Colonia Juarez, listening to the symphony of the streets.

We’d grill meat and nopal paddles and make an easy, super-spicy guacamole — practically with a beer in one hand the whole time.

Each time I’ve shared this guacamole since moving back to Los Angeles, the gathered go a little nuts about it.

Why serrano and not jalapeño, the preferred pepper in mainstream guacamole? Jalapeño is a bit too dark in color for this guacamole, and too meaty in texture. Plus, serrano seeds have a more aggressive heat profile, and the chile’s smallish size makes it ideal to slice into penny-size discs for a final bit of garnish. Why garlic? With its inherent bite, garlic for me is key, clearing the nostrils and complementing the pepper.

There’s a folk custom I picked up from friends to help prevent the oxidizing of the avocado, which causes browning, passed down from grandmas even if science doesn’t support it — place the first pit of the fruit that you halve inside the smashing bowl and keep it there throughout serving and storing. This guacamole tightly stored may keep two or three days with a pit in it.

When in doubt, add more lime. Or add lime after opening a stored portion of this guac to wake it up after a day or so.

Accompany the guac with baked tostadas like botaneras, as is custom in central Mexico, or with homemade tortilla chips that are hilariously easy to flash-fry and somehow make any guacamole taste 10 times better.

You can make warm, salted cantina-style tortilla chips by quickly frying a batch using any tortillas hidden in the back of your fridge. Once you do, you’ll never skip this step again. Fresh-fried tortilla chips are a worthy accompaniment to the new centerpiece of your party: a hot, limey guacamole.