Bernard O'Shea: Five things I've learned about açai bowls

Bernard O'Shea: "Ordering an açai bowl declares internally to your refined self: 'I care about wellness, and I'm willing to pay for it'."
My first encounter with an açai bowl occurred not in Brazil, where the berries originate, but in a café that seemed to have been decorated entirely by Instagram. You know the type — white subway tiles, plants in every corner, and a wall mural of wings you’re meant to pose in front of. The menu listed “Açai Bowl €8.50.” I stared at the word for a full minute before placing my order. Was it “ack-eye”? “ah-kay”? “a-kigh”? I considered just pointing and saying, “That purple one.” Eventually, I whispered something that sounded like a sneeze, and the young staff member nodded with pity.
An açai bowl is basically a smoothie you eat with a spoon. The base is made from frozen açai berries — little purple fruits from the Amazon that taste somewhere between blackberries and dark chocolate. Blend them up with banana or juice, and you get a sorbet-like mix. Then, pile on toppings like granola, fruit, coconut, honey, or nut butter. In Brazil, it’s an everyday food, sold at beach stalls. In Ireland, it’s turned into a “superfood” breakfast that costs the price of lunch and looks great on Instagram.
When the bowl arrived, it looked magnificent: a deep purple smoothie-like base, topped with sliced bananas arranged like golden coins, granola scattered as if a health-conscious fairy had sneezed, and a drizzle of honey catching the light. It looked like art. It also looked like dessert.
I took my first spoonful. Cold, sweet, smooth — basically like sorbet. That’s when it hit me: this was ice cream in disguise. Here I was, a grown man in his forties, eating what amounted to a posh 99 without the cone, and telling myself it was health food.
Lesson one: açai bowls are basically dessert — but more expensive and far more smug about it.
To understand how I ended up with purple ice cream for breakfast, I had to learn where açai actually comes from. The açai berry is native to the Amazon rainforest. For centuries, Indigenous communities have eaten it as a staple, often mixing it into savory dishes. It wasn’t called a “superfood.” It was just food.
Then, in the early 2000s, the Instagram world discovered it. Açai was suddenly branded as a miracle berry that could melt fat, boost energy, slow ageing, and possibly help you pass exams if you ate enough of it. Oprah mentioned it once, and the world lost its mind. In Los Angeles, açai bars popped up overnight. Gwyneth Paltrow likely bathed in it.
It took about a decade for that craze to trickle down to Ireland. The price has stayed Hollywood, though. In the Amazon, açai is cheap, eaten daily, and a normal part of life. In Abbeyfeale, it’s a luxury served in a reclaimed jam jar. If açai berries had been discovered in Offaly bogs instead of Brazil, we’d all be millionaires. Imagine if Oprah had declared “sugar beet roots from Carlow” the next big thing, we’d be eyeing up investment properties in Bangnelstown.
Lesson Two: Açai bowls aren’t really about food. They’re about status, about buying into a global trend.
Whenever something is called a “superfood,” I get suspicious. It’s like the word “super” has been deputised by marketers who ran out of ways to make “fruit” sound exciting. So I looked into the science.
Açai berries are, to be fair, packed with antioxidants, especially anthocyanins — the compounds that give them their deep purple colour. They also contain fibre, healthy fats, and vitamins A, C, and E. Some small studies suggest they might help reduce cholesterol, support heart health, and reduce inflammation. That all sounds great.
Here’s the catch: the research is limited. And most of the bowls we eat in Ireland aren’t pure açai pulp. They’re blended with bananas, apple juice, honey, and sometimes even added sugar.
By the time you’ve topped it with granola, Nutella, coconut flakes, and a dollop of peanut butter, you’ve essentially undone any benefits. It’s like ordering a salad and drowning it in Caesar dressing.
Irish food, by contrast, has never been photogenic. But they keep us alive. Açai bowls keep us scrolling.
Lesson three: açai bowls may have health benefits, but let’s not kid ourselves. Most of us are eating them for the Instagram post, not the antioxidants.
Ordering an açai bowl declares internally to your refined self: “I care about wellness, and I'm willing to pay for it.” Doing DIY açai activities at home isn’t that hard. You can buy frozen açai puree in select health food stores, blend it with frozen bananas and berries, and then top with granola, fruit, and perhaps nut butter. But even at home, it ends up costing a small fortune. Frozen açai isn’t cheap.
Açai bowls have become shorthand for a certain kind of lifestyle: urban, health-conscious, yoga-adjacent. They’re less about filling your stomach and more about filling your personal brand.
Lesson four: açai bowls aren’t lunch. They’re a performance of wellness.
After eating my açai bowl, here’s what I learned: they’re not really about açai. They’re about me.
Do I want to believe I’m a healthy, forward-thinking, globally aware individual who eats purple berries for breakfast? Yes. Do I actually just want a chicken fillet roll? Also yes.
Açai bowls expose the contradictions of modern wellness culture. On one hand, we’re bombarded with messages about functional foods, antioxidants, and superfoods. Açai bowls are an attempt to import a lifestyle from California into a country where it rains sideways, and to be honest, we welcome the taste of sunshine every now and then.
Lesson Five: If you want to boost your antioxidant intake, eat blueberries. If you want comfort, eat stew. And if you want something cold and sweet, I’d just buy a 99.