August 09, 2006
I was the 2nd born of Italian immigrants. Olive oil, garlic and parsley are my life.
On Christmas day in 1994, a second generation Italian friend offered to bring the homemade lasagna to my home as part of the day long celebratory feast. What did I have to fear - she had Italian blood pursing through her veins.
The table was set, and we had made it through the soup and antipaste. Now for the homemade lasagna. Our mouths were watering - it looked fantastic and she said we wouldn't be disappointed.
Angela did the honors of serving her lasagna. My fork sliced through the tender noodles, and within seconds was at the opening of my parted lips. My first taste - oh with such anticipation - was loaded with cilantro and cinnamon. I gag! She offers her explanation - she thought she would do something different with the lasagna. NOT WITH MY LASAGNA ON CHRISTMAS DAY I scream!!!!!
Is there any wonder that my day was ruined, and that next to cilantro, cinnamon is my next hated spice.
Since that time, at every single encounter with cilantro (which is horrendously frequent) I make a very scary, horrible faces and gagging noisese to protest the use of cilantro in restaurants, cafeterias and even at the homes of friends. In the cafe at the club I work out at, I have asked them to isolate the cilantro away from the other salad and sandwich garnishments so there is no chance of accidental contamination. I have asked them to create cilantro free zones in the club. At the very least I feel as though there should be full disclosure whenever the poison is used.