March 23, 2006
A few years ago I began experimenting with my cooking. Until that time I had only made the occasional hamburger helper for my mother. I decided to try something simple, like a chicken tortilla soup. Exotic enough to strech me, simple enough that I could pull it off the first time around. I bough cilantro, having no real idea what it was, and chopped it up to put in the soup. Oddly enough, although I did smell something unusual, it didn't seem vile...at first. It wasn't until I took my first big hopeful bite of soup that I realized what I'd done. "Mom, something was rotten in the soup!" I said. She laughed, tried it, and said it was delicious. Surprising, coming from someone who finds basil to be "a bit too out there." I drank as much milk as I could stomache, put the rest of the soup down the garbage disposal, and tried to get the now-nauseating smell out of my hands and clothes. I have to catch myself, now, because I tend to lose respect for someone who says they like cilantro.