Hallelujah! I have one less thing to feel self-conscious about this morning. I don’t like cilantro, and I avoid foods containing it. Sometimes this is especially difficult to do. A few years ago, there was an apparent love affair between restaurant chefs and this herb—regardless of the type of cuisine served—and my options were limited so much so that friends noticed when I ordered the most boring side item on the menu. “Oh, don’t you want to try the [whatever the restaurant was noted for]?” “No, I’m not very hungry. I’ll be fine with the iceberg lettuce bowl.” Even that could be served with a garnish of cilantro.
I tried to keep my disfavor to myself, embarrassed by not liking something everyone else seemed to gravitate toward or, at least, no one else seemed to mind. I’m not a cilantrophobe, nor do I passionately hate it. I just don’t like it.
Today I came across an article in the New York Times about cilantro haters and found that not only are there sound neurological reasons for my resistance to foods containing the herb, but I’m in good company. Julia Child was no fan of the green stuff, either. And so much evidence of people like us exists throughout history that our cilantro-averse natures have been conjectured to have genetic origins.
So now I can stand tall with Julia, ashamed no more. “Yes, I’d like the [whatever it is your restaurant is famous for]. But hold the cilantro.”
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