October 09, 2006
Oh, disgusting, vile plague that assaults the palette like essence from a mountain of sweaty rotten gym socks soaked in floor wax, how I abhor you!
Cilantro, coriander, chinese parsely, you have proven that the devil still has a strong grap on beings of this world. To taste but a flake of your foul foliage is what one can only imagine it must be like to lick Satan's armpit.
My love that was one so strong for the fine culinary delights from our Indian, Thai, and Mexican cousins has all but vanished, only to be replaced by constant disappointment and a finely-tuned gag reflex.
My tortilla chip is no longer heaped with delicious tomato, onion and peppery goodness that salsa used to offer. Even simply wetting the chip with the afflicted concoction is often too much.
My vocal opposition to this abysmal waste of chlorophil is often met with scoffs and rolling of eyes. I am completely convinced that the only surviving life forms after a nuclear fallout will be cockroaches and cilantro.