December 16, 2013
I was ten when I first realized my mother was putting cilantro in my food. It started with little things. Snacks after school, like quesadillas and then it just got worse and worse. I started to see it in enchiladas and one night I cut into my lasagna and a whole mess of it was there…just where I thought I was safe. So I told her about how much it bothered me, I really opened up and we agreed that no more would that wretched plant be allowed in our home! Everything was going great, until the night she made baked chicken and I noticed a bit of a sweet-spicy taste. Turns out she had garnished the chicken breast with cilantro! After we had talked about it! I was crushed, I ran out of the kitchen and made myself vomit the revolting herb--if you can even call it that--until I was sure my system was cleansed of its poison. The next day I moved out. That is my cilantro story.