April 18, 2006
I have hated cilantro since I was a little kid. I think I inherited this dislike from my father. It was always a silent, hidden enemy, waiting for me to bite into my burrito or dip into some salsa. Every visit to a mexican restaurant was like walking through a minefield, but at least it was just a seasoning. I could try to avoid it and I was the stronger force in this battle. But one summer when I was 17 I was working for this... woman. I only call her a woman because science has yet to discover the cilantro-loving alien race she was a part of. Every week she would go around to organic produce stores and pick up these garbage bags full of half rotted vegetables and fruit. She would have me go through them and seperate out what could still be eaten and what could be given to her cows. I really had no issue with the job. I can deal with getting my hands dirty, but this one day I opened up the bag and was faced with a huge pile of half rotten cilantro. It was... I... I can't really talk about it. It's still too traumatizing. I had to dig through the disgusting, green essence of all that is bad to find the other fruits. I felt used and violated. I went home that night and cried.
Please. Stop cilantro before more are scarred.