Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for a declaration.
Time to write a blog about an oft-maligned creature.
Time to write a blog heralding the delights of–are you ready?–yes, you must be ready–CILANTRO!
Let’s get honest. Let’s not be shy. How many of you LOVE cilantro? How many of you HATE cilantro? How many of you are wishy-washy about this inconspicuous bit of greenery? How many of you don’t know? Don’t care?
OK, now that you’ve raised your hands with your appropriate response, I am going to wax poetically about this green. So either trot on over to another blog, or stay for dinner. It’s cilantro time!
The first time I tasted cilantro–down in Florida, at an Iguana Mia’s restaurant near Fort Myers Beach–I detested it. AYYYYY!!!! Who put the soap in the burritos? Who put the awful taste in the taco? Who dreamed up this green awful creation? (God surely didn’t make it. No one would make anything that tasted this horrible.)
So what made me taste it again? Who knows? Perhaps I didn’t want cilantro to get the best of these taste buds. Perhaps it was all-out war. (I’ll learn to like you, darn it!) Who knows? But I tried it again.
Still soapy. But almost an intriguing soapy.
A friend shared a statistic about that time. She said–They say you either have a cilantro gene or you don’t. If you don’t have the cilantro gene, cilantro will taste like soap and you will hate it. If you have the cilantro gene, you will love it.
Of course, I rarely believe either personality tests or studies which definitively point toward heredity.
I ate cilantro again. Ick! Still soap-like.
Again. About the fourth time, cilantro began to taste–ohmygoodness–isn’t this kind of, almost, sort of, good? Again. Mmmm, I’m beginning to like this stuff. Again. Ohmygosh, you could die for this stuff. Again. Did God ever invent anything so magnificent, so wonderful, so delectable?
So now we’re in love with cilantro. (And I don’t mean luke-warm in love. I mean passionately in love! We eat cilantro almost every single day. On vegetables. On fish. On grains. On anything that goes down the gullet. Except maybe cereal. Or fruit. These are mutually exclusive. So far.)
We grow cilantro in our garden. We’ve taken to labeling it in a sotto voice: “The NEW green.” Barry will say, “Is there cilantro in that?” and I’ll say–at least five times a week–“Yes, cilantro,” and I bat my eyes at him, “The NEW green.”
OK, OK, you’re wanting to weigh in with your opinion, aren’t you? You are ready to tell us it A) tastes like soap or B) is the most wonderful creation on the planet. If you tell me you sort-of like it, I might not believe you. Cilantro is an either-or vegetable.
(OK, OK, I might believe you if you’re wishy-washy. But that only means you need to eat it more frequently until you, too, are mincing it on everything you eat–except for cereal and fruit–and proclaiming it “the NEW green. Eat more. And “lettuce” know if you change your mind.)