That Demon Cilantro
Many years ago now, I was eating lunch at a TGI Friday's with a handful of college friends. I had recently become vegetarian and was exploring the menu with new eyes. Oh how many things were off limits! It turned out that there were very few options for me besides bread sticks and french fries. Oh! I spotted my only option: The Fresh Vegetable Baguette. I quickly skimmed the description and, despite being unfamiliar with a few of the ingredients, decided it was going to be my lunch. It arrived minutes later, a 8-inch baguette sliced down the middle and stuffed with roasted vegetables, lettuce, cheese and some green sauce/spread tying it all together. My mouth watered. I took a bite.
Eww! I nearly gagged. The sandwich tasted like liquid dish soap. I thought perhaps something soapy had brushed briefly up against a corner of the sandwich in the kitchen, so I turned it around and took another bite. Eww! Same taste. I called the waiter over and complained that someone had spilled soap on my sandwich. He apologized and said he'd bring me another one. Ten minutes later, I had a fresh sandwich and, even hungrier than before, I took a huge bite.
Eww!!! What's that taste?!?
Figuring that no one would pour liquid dish soap all over two different sandwiches made at different times, I started to wonder whether the problem was me. I got up from the table and grabbed the menu, rereading the description of the sandwich. All the described components were there between the two layers of baguette, but then I hit the unfamiliar component: cilantro pesto. Mmm. I scratched my head and inspected my sandwich. I noted the green spread that coated the inner surface of the bread and the vegetables and cheeses. I figured that was this "pesto." I took a finger and gave the green sauce a swipe, collecting a good amount on my fingertip before wiping the greenness on my tongue.
EWW!!! I gasped and reached for a water glass, rinsing out my mouth and forcing myself to swallow that diluted yet vile substance.
That was my first introduction to cilantro. That word was seared into my brain. I'd found my culinary nemesis, and vowed to battle it at every opportunity.
Soon after this discovery, a friend decided she was going to cure me of my cilantro aversion. She made a heaping bowl of Asian noodles with peanut sauce, but just before serving it, she stirred in an entire bunch of fresh cilantro. At first, I tried just eating it, but simply couldn't swallow the vile creation. After picking the cilantro out of my teeth and off my tongue, I started stripping every individual strand of pasta of its sauce and accompanying foliage, scraping the evil onto the edge of the bowl. By the time I'd finished the meal, the most trying and complicated meal of my life, I'd created a wreath of cilantro around the rim of the 8" bowl.
Since then, I've discovered all sorts of delicious foods that contain unpalatable amounts of dreaded greenery. Thai food is often served with big twigs or sprinklings, with fresh Thai spring or summer rolls often being stuffed with it. Vietnamese food is often covered with cilantro, or it's equally evil twin brother culantro. Fresh salsa and pico de gallo at Mexican restaurants is always ruined with huge flakes and stems of the stuff. Indian food is nearly always topped with a heap of the fresh green devil the same way Italian food is topped with grated Parmesan.
I've done plenty of Internet research on the topic and have been unable to find any reliable or official description of "cilantro aversion," only thin references to my problem with cilantro being genetic. A quick poll of my family hasn't resulted in any strong correlation between genes and cilantro aversion.
In my searches, I did find the one thing that helped me feel better about the whole situation: a website called IHateCilantro.com. I discovered an entire community of people who share my distaste for this otherwise innocuous herb, and share their stories and perspectives with the rest of the world. I immediately created a profile and shared my story. Thank goodness I'm not alone.
I have developed a theory over the years: Either you hate cilantro, or you can't taste it. However, a few acquaintances have challenged this theory, saying that it tastes like "freshness" or "sunshine". Whatever.
Why the hell am I sharing my story here? First off, please be aware that we "cilantro-averse" are out there. Please keep us in mind when you're making something to bring to a potluck or inviting folks over for dinner. I attended a BBQ last summer where EVERY side-dish had cilantro in it. Blech!
Secondly, there are probably other cilantro-haters out there who haven't made the realization yet, and this post is for you guys. You are not alone.
Finally, I want to get an idea of who else in the TNG community might feel the same way. Do you have a similar reaction to other aromatics? (I had a friend who had similar reactions to celery.)
What does cilantro taste like to you? What other foods should I watch out for?
17 comments:
I actually laughed out loud when I saw this headline because I have the exact same response to cilantro. It is truly vile, and the worst part is people never believe that you don't like it...
Ok, thinking about it too much is giving me a visceral response. Must stop typing.
Count me in the cilantro=soap category. If I'm watching a cooking show or reading a recipe that has it I can't help myself from verbalizing "yuck" when they mention the ingredient. Fortunately, most restaurants use it as an accent rather than an integral ingredient so I can just pick it out.
Now I must disagree; cilantro is actually one of my favorite herbs. In addition to its obviously non-descript "fresh" flavor, I find it to be slightly peppery, and a wonderful compliment to most spicy dishes, Mexican or no.
My friends and I have even invented a cocktail featuring cilantro: a glass of eagle rare 12 year on ice, adorned with a generous handful of cilantro, fresh from the garden. Sounds crazy, but it's really lovely.
count me in the "what's the big deal" category. too much of anything is bad, which i why i would not want to have cilantro pesto. it has a strong taste that wouldn't be good that concentrated. but i think there is a lot of mexican, thai, vietnamese and indian stuff that is not what it is without cilantro. my experience with cilantro hatred is that it usually comes from picky eaters who think all things are "gross." but i know michael and know he is not one of these people. this is puzzling . . .
I happen to enjoy cilantro, but I respect your aversion to it.
I used to work at the Red Sage Restaurant, which touted itself as Mexican/Spanish style restaurant. Where many of the food items had cilantro.
I was amazed by the number of people that claimed to have a "Cilantro Allergy" Really people? It's ok to say you don't like it but don't say your allergic, that just makes me want to put more in the food and see your head swell up like a balloon.
To me the "fresh" taste is a kind of mintiness. I grew up with the stuff, but two good friends have the same aversion to cilantro, so I've dealt with it accordingly. They don't describe it as soapy, though. Their reaction, they say, is akin to what animals must think when they eat something they shouldn't. It's like a visceral "This Isn't Edible, Stop Eating This!" reaction.
I never actually pegged it as soapiness before, but that's pretty accurate. I can't stand the smell or taste of fresh Cilantro, it's so offensive!
If it's well hidden in a guacamole or salsa, I'll put up with it -- finding a bite here or there but mostly avoiding it.
Here's the rub: my fiance is Mexican! He absolutely ADORES Cilantro, and he is the cook between us. So, one of us is usually miserable when it comes to home-cooked authentic Mexican cuisine.
are you a super-taster? You know how some people can taste some horrible bitterness in broccoli and cabbages that other people are completely oblivious to?
I had the same reaction, and also thought it was soap, the first few times I had cilantro. But there are lots of things I was disgusted by my first taste of -- dry red wine, stout, very dark chocolate, stinky cheese -- and which I love and appreciate now.
If you love Thai and Indian and Latin American food, I have a feeling you could grow into cilantro if you just relax about it. (It's going to be hard now, though, because you seem to have a lot invested in your identity as a cilantro-hater.)
My step-father shares your aversion. I think it's odd, but apparently my two little aversions are more bizarre:
-fresh cucumber: not quite the same, as it doesn't trigger a gag reflex or anything, but I can't even pick it out of salads - I can taste it on anything it's touched. Blech. (My father shares this with me... I blame him. And weirder still...
-beans: Thank the gods I wasn't born in a third-world country, because I'd've been fscked. The mere smell makes me retch. Everyone thinks I'm being dramatic, but I honestly don't think I could keep them down under anything less than starvation conditions.
Allergies (which are basically the body freaking out over something it shouldn't) are everyday phenomena; I don't see why random mutant taste-bud rebellions would be much different.
I can't say that I share your feelings about cilantro, but I can empathize via my hatred for caraway seeds. Nasty nasty little things.
it really does taste like sunshine. and i maintain if you'd go un-veggie for a day i could not only get it past you, but make you a believer. the power of cuban pork is strong...
until i read rob's post above i thought i was the only one who couldn't stand cucumber. i can smell it being sliced from across a room, and won't eat anything a slice has touched either (exception being tzatziki)... weeeird...
Haha, control... that's creepy. Tzatziki's the only fresh cucumber dish I can stand as well. Maybe the yoghurt neutralises it?
It's actually a form of allergy that gives food a very alkaline taste, hence the soapiness.
I find the stuff vile and would rather drink Dawn than eat cilantro.
While it causes no physical harm, it is a poison pill to any culinary satisfaction. I'm surprised given the number of us who share this aversion that restaurants still serve it with pride and abandon.
zucchini, actually. there is something about its astringent taste that leaves my mouth just sandpaper dry.
I used to think my mother doesn't like cilantro because her mother does, but I'll be more sensitive now--I rather enjoy it myself, but I share Daniel's hatred of zucchini. There's very little I won't eat, but that vegetable is nauseating.
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