September 07, 2016
I am but a humble college student. I don't have that many choices for food, so when I find something I like, I tend to stick to it.
Imagine, if you will: evening, a lit dorm room. An innocent girl, who has just finished her music theory homework, finally opens her Asian fusion takeout box, content with her usual choice of brown rice, orange chicken, and slaw salad.
The slaw salad.
I have always known I hated cilantro. Like any sane person whose life has been tainted by that foul, offensive herb, I avoid it like the plague, which is difficult in a region that pretty much lives off of cheap Mexican food. So I tend to put my trust in the few restaurants that I can safely say are tried and true cilantro-free (a.k.a. habitable) zones.
Never again will I believe their claims, nor even my own opinion.
For I was betrayed!
We return now to that fateful night. Exhausted, I began my meal... Only to find a horrid, familiar soapy taste coming from my own bowl! I ignored the first bite- it could be a mistake of course. Or a different sour herb... but, my friends, it was not so. It was then, after unearthing each and every bit of the repulsive plant from my salad, that I realized I would never be truly safe. Not at that restaurant. Not at my college.
Not even in my own dorm.