I Throw Up on An Indian Lady (Intro to Gastronomy Journal 3)

Cilantro smells like a rotting corpse- a rotting corpse covered in battery acid and soap that’s gone bad. I don’t know if soap can go bad, but if it could, that’s exactly what cilantro smells and tastes like to me.

When I was studying in India, I must have lost ten pounds because our cook, Lakshman, put cilantro into everything. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G: chutneys, naan, rotis, pakora, Goan stews, and I’m sure I found it in a dessert or two. Even his adorably misguided attempts at American fare (one evening we were served a somewhat recognizable “Waldrot Salad” that none of us had the heart to correct him on) were not exempt from the cilantro treatment.

I remember walking by the fish market everyday and being un-phased by vendors’ eels sitting on dirty newspaper glistening in the 100 degree sun. I remember getting used to the smell of the empty market square at late afternoon when the stalls were cleared of people but not of the grime and garbage left to bake there in the humid afternoon air. I also remember, one particular morning, walking by some stalls filled with an almost fantastical array of fruits and vegetables, being confronted by a tiny and ancient saleswoman. Her crackled face smiled as she shoved a bouquet of green at me. “Smell!” she yelled. As soon as I got a whiff of that putrid plant, I threw up right in front of that poor woman and the entire market. Of all the cultural faux pas I committed in that country, I’m sure this one was the worst.

I ran home, wondering why I was different from everyone eating Lakshman’s food and from everyone in the market. There was no way they experienced the plant the same way I did. If they smelled and tasted cilantro like I did and still ate it, they were some pretty twisted individuals indeed. I guessed that there had to be discrepancy in our tastes.

Later that day, I sat at an internet café researching my plight. God bless the internet, there, all outcastes- even culinary ones- can find kindred spirits. Typing “hate cilantro” into Google, I came up with about 300,000 hits. There was even a website, Ihatecilantro.com, which had a very active forum, a research section, and a store where I could buy an “I hate Cilantro” t-shirt or track suit. Another website told me not to fear, my future as a chef wasn’t in jeopardy: Julia Child hated the horrible herb.