April 17, 2006
I am lucky enough to have lived in the hindu kingdom of Nepal. This place has a lot going for it, but one big problem (besides the political intrigue of current events) is that these people infuse everything they make with cilantro. I kid you not.
So, I arrived in this beautiful spot, and I am a guy who just barely tolerates cilantro, and suddenly I am being fed a steady diet of the horror weed. Cilantro with rice, cilantro in muffins, cilantro in salad, in sandwiches, on all meats and cheeses and with all vegetables, cilantro here, cilantro there, cilantro everywhere!
Well, as luck would have it, 2 days in to a 6 month stay I ate one of these cilantro-bomb meals, and also managed to partake in some kind of wild himalayan germ.
I went for a world record that night, in that I threw up for 12 straight hours, from straight projecticle style, all the way down the line to the awful and soul draining dry heaves. I gave everything I had. And then I gave some more. I was a broken man.
And, three days later, when I came out of the fever coma of death, I had one word on my lips. One word to direct all of my hate at. One clear and very present enemy. Because for every minute of that 12 hour barfing marathon of pain I tasted nothing but cilantro. Sure, the texture changed. The viscocity changed. The temperature, frequency, power and pain all changed through the night. But the one horrible constant was cilantro.
I swore on that first day of recovery that I would never eat cilantro again. And by god I have not and wont. Cilantro, you made yourself a powerful enemy that day. And I rest assured that ultimate victory will be mine.