July 08, 2017
On a horrifically cold winter night, my mother had the nerves to delight our relatives with the chicken tar-tar burgers, dressed beautifully . . . as always. Grudgingly, I bit through the thin bun, and then into the creamy gravy sprawled across the burger, leaking my teeth. And I knew the horrific taste. "Is there something new in the burger?" I choked out once I had wolfed the Cilantro-infested food down forcefully. "CIlantro." The word rung in my ears as it politely pelted away from the table sitting, coughing up the dreadful herb into my sink, gripping the sink's rim with shaking white knuckles. Food Poisoning -- never again, I declared to myself. Cilantro had to be put down.