An epistle to an unexpected visitor
Cilantro, you are not my friend. You show up uninvited in my Vietnamese-esque salad from Trader Joe's, and even though I think I've done a thorough job picking all your parsley-impersonating fringed leaves out of the bowl, there you are on my tastebuds when least expected. And do you stay in the back, all meek and subdued because you know you're not wanted? No. Of course not. YOU MAKE EVERYTHING ELSE TASTE LIKE CILANTRO IS WHAT YOU DO.
Cilantro, you need to go to the other side of the playground and, I don't know, challenge jalapeno pepper to a game of jacks or chutes and ladders or some other game I don't like to play.
Seriously. See this line? You stay on THAT side of the line. This? This is MY side of the line. And MY side of the line is a cilantro-free zone. No one likes you anyway, you know. They say they do because you're all ethnic and special and stuff, but I'm pretty sure they're just saying that so they don't hurt your feelings.
I know all this is hard to hear, but it's for your own good. Someday you'll thank me.
Labels: chutes and ladders, cilantro, Trader Joe's, Vietnamese-esque
posted by Elinoire @ 10:07 PM
3 Comments:
Mmm, cilantro. Cilantro came over to my house to play this weekend, and I put an _entire bunch_ of it into some coleslaw. It was delicious. And it's not just me saying that -- Andrel thought so too. You should've seen the size of the helpings he took (fortunately it was a Rebar cookbook recipe so there was a vat of the stuff). Cilantro can come play jacks with me anytime it wants to.
--Sarache
Are you sure you were raised in California, home of the cilantro-filled guac? I myself don't care much for it, and never put it on my own guac but my Cuban-ness allows me to take all sorts of liberties w/Mexican ingredients.
mmmm cilantro. I have gone to Mongolian Barbecue, just for the chance to dump on my own cilantro.
I grew some. It didn't do that well, but it reseeded. I would comb the grass for a three leaf cilantro plant, pick one leaf, and smell it for an hour.
You don't like it? More for me, then!
But parsley... ew.
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