Cilantro Takes Front Page, Shares With Giant Pastrami

Illustration by Stephen Webster

New York Times

Today's New York Times Dining section has a striking front page. What is most striking to most I imagine is not the small cilantro article on the lower right, but the hyperbole of a pastrami sandwich that overwhelms the page.

I've been thinking a lot about juxtaposition recently (always) and while Harold McGee's excellent article provides so much fodder to dive into here in this blog, fodder that I'm excited to dive into in the near future, while I have the eyes and possibly attention of more than I'm used to, it's the pastrami sandiwch that juxtaposes cilantro hate neuroscience/anthropology that I'm concerned with today.

Beginning January of this year, I've adopted a vegan diet that I keep at a strictness of oh, say 98%--due dilligence applied, the occasional doubt of trace amounts of dairy infrequently ignored. I'm not here or anywhere else to try to convince anyone they should do the same, but I think I have an interesting and less-obnoxious-than-most take on it.

The Times asks "Can This Sandwich Be Saved?" in its headline (Julia Moskin asks in her headline). A better question, I argue, is "Should This Sandwich Be saved?"

The article is about the slow but consistent decline of the Jewish deli (the number of them, the success of them, the perceived quality and authenticity of them) and the corresponding ascension of the not-Jewish deli (which is not to say gentile deli--some not-Jewish delis are Jewish delis, just not Jewish delis of yore). It profiles several mostly younger chefs and restaurant owners who are bringing things like "sustainability," creativity, and vegetables (that aren't coated in mayonnaise) to delis.

On the one hand, while I value tradition, knowing what you're going to get when you go into a place, a kind of place, on the other hand I believe in progress, that what worked yesterday at least might not work so well today. As Jonathan Safran Foer points out in his excellent book Eating Animals--which I read to rev myself up for veganism 3.0 (I've dabbled before for years at a time)--no one, and I can't speak to this personally not being Jewish and all, but especially no one from such a strong cutltural and culinary tradition as the Jewish one, wants to see tradition die, even if there are not so great maybe ethical or other considerations that might not make them the best practices to uphold.

My argument here isn't whether or not certain traditions should be upheld. Certainly you can uphold their spirit and modify their specifics--this has always been so. But it gets complicated when one tries to determine what is the vital essence of this tradtion--what part of it needs to be preserved. Which is why religion is so flawed--who gets to decide that essence?; but that's another post.

My argument here is that making things better or more progressive, here through sustainable butchering practices (in house, local, grass-fed), and flavor and creativity and all these ostensibly wonderful things, can sometimes obscure that they are really much farther from that than being good enough. That is, sure grass-fed pastrami is better than its factory farmed equivalent, but is it good enough. Maybe it is good enough for you and maybe it is good enough for a lot of people (everyone knows the whole slaughter process and everything is still really awful, right?) and that it should or shouldn't be still isn't my argument (exactly).

My argument is that these progressive means of producing meat and dairy and eggs and other foods while obviously good in some ways may be detrimental in that 1) they make well-meaning liberals and people who otherwise give a damn feel like they're doing enough, that things are moving forward enough to 2) eat these things (maybe not so bad) and 3) (the real problem) eat the old-guard counterparts of these foods more often than the sustainable version because 99% of meat and eggs are still facotry farmed. Basically, the very margainal market (supply, not demand) that exists for organic, local, sustainable, not factory farmed animal products seems larger than it is and because many seek out the good versions when they can, are used to eating these things at all, they will inevitably eat these things in their factory-farmed-mixed-pig-part-ball-park-frank-at-the-Yankees-game variety too, right? In fact, many if not most end up eating this kind of food (think cubed chicken in that make your own salad New Yorkers) more often than the good kind, because the good kind is out there.

And I'm not here to judge that. Food writing for years I ate my share of all these things--foie gras, Yankees hot dogs, Shake Shack burgers, Heritage Pork chops, etc--and I'm not on a mission to change anyone's mind about anything. But I'm interested in spotting flawed logic and unwarranted self-congratulation and while I really hope that Karen Adelman and Peter Levitt of Saul's Restaurant and Deli in Berkeley and chefs like them continue to create a better product, maybe at least some of us should also be thinking of creative ways of not eating this stuff at all.

Despite all this, you can say one good thing about delis categorically--I've never seen cilantro in a single one.

Also, I think the New York Times should give me a vegan and/or cilantro hate food column. Just a thought.

Most Emailed, Most Read

NY Times today.

Real analysis to come circa lunchtime.

Rupert Murdoch Eat Your Heart Out... I'm Finally in The Times

More later, but for now a link to The New York Times article and this juicy bit from Harold McGee, paraphrasing Northwestern (GO CATS!) neuroscientist Jay Gottfried:

"the great cilantro split probably reflects the primal importance of smell and taste to survival, and the brain’s constant updating of its database of experiences."

Indeed, to hate is to survive.

The Hate Stands Alone

The queue of compelling cilantro hate topics to entertain grows as my time/commitment wanes and while the list is long and I do hope to cover some ground in the weeks and months ahead, one topic stands apart from the others and deserves immediate attention.

The apparent hiatus/tech failure/abandonment of the I Hate Cilantro site by my cilantro-hating brethren at ihatecilantro.com has got me thinking: who, what, why? But, given that I prefer speculation and creative thinking to good old-fashioned investigative journalism (contextually), let's go Fox News on the situation, let's go rogue!

Possible explanations:

1. I Hate Cilantro quit hating cilantro.

2. I Hate Cilantro is having a very serious tech problem (the site has been down for at least a month if not longer) manifest in a lone sad face surrounded by gratuitous negative space.

3. I Hate Cilantro just quit. Enough. The burden is too great to alone shepherd the growing and growingly vocal numbers of professed cilantro haters.

4. I Hate Cilantro is making an implicit statement about internet media: the masses seek a return to critical experts telling them what to think without the interruption of clunky forums and various interactive templates that would seek to make their voices heard in ways more cumbersome and complicated than the immensely efficient "comment" option provided by nearly all blogs.

Whatever has happened, the implications are clear. I must carry the cilantro hate torch alone. I accept this responsibility and will do my best to not let you down cilantro haters everywhere.

The Need to Write, The Need to Hate

I've been getting annoyed a lot recently, not that me getting annoyed is in anyway anomalous. I am someone who gets annoyed: whether a person (or group) is being a jerk or too nice (in a an ostensibly genuine but upon closer inspection not altogether genuine way), too loud or too soft spoken, too dumb or too erudite, admittedly there's a thin tipping point in my book where something goes from just right, to just not. But I'm not a hypocrite--(or at least not an unknowing hypocrite, we're all hypocrites after all) I'm annoying too.

But getting annoyed is not, you know, a trait I'm interested in nurturing. I'm self-aware enough to know that an over abundance of getting-annoyed-ness has more to do with me than with the world around me, that I have some power in getting annoyed less and that getting annoyed less would probably have the effect of, rather intuitively, me being less annoyed, which seems pretty good.

So I've done a bit of science on this situation. Having a predisposition to getting annoyed, I'm going to need somewhere to channel this propensity. And that's where you, neglected cilantro hate blog, come in: nothing is more reliably, even comfortingly, annoying than cilantro, and unlike say republicans hellbent on stopping health care reform, cilantro being you know an herb, as opposed to near-half the American population, seems like a healthier, easier and altogether more fun place to direct my annoyance.

There are other reasons, too, why I've come to think revisiting this blog might mitigate this annoyance phase (don't we all live in phases? I know I do.). Principally, I very much miss writing and not just writing, but writing about something that is so uniquely mine, not the hate of cilantro--we're a large, vocal group--but the whatever unique blend of memoir, personal philosophy and of course cilantro hate encounters this blog evolved into. In no uncertain terms: my blog is way better than ThisIsWhyYou'reFat, however fun it is (I guess), but rather than be annoyed with how much better my blog is, it seems a better use of time to write my blog than be annoyed that other people are writing (popular) stupid ones. With that I bring you....

The Week in Cilantro Hate:

1.) Thank you Vanessa for your tip on McDonald's' new salad, the Southwest Chicken Salad, which features cilantro lime chicken and some sort of Ranch dressing with cilantro in it. Now, call me a snob if you will but Ranch dressing isn't my first choice, and McDonald's chicken belongs in a group (with say haggis) of "meats I don't want to eat" (As a side note, I'm dabbling in veganism at the moment), but McDonald's: consider yourselves removed from my cilantro safe-restaurant list, a blow certainly as detrimental as Fast Food Nation, Super Size Me and Food Inc. combined (oh wait, McDonald's is doing better than ever?)

2.) This morning I had a falafel platter at Miriam in Brooklyn that came with a green tahini sauce. I of course asked if it was green from the addition of parsley or cilantro. "Both," said the waitress, "but you really can't taste the cilantro."

"But, I really hate it."
"So do I, you can't taste it."
"Is it on the side?"
"Yes."
"Cool, I'll try it."

Guess what? I couldn't taste it. I didn't eat much of it, but I really didn't taste it. This leaves me wondering if there was actually cilantro in it or if the amount was so small that even I couldn't taste it (this doesn't seem likely, haters know even the slightest amount is totally egregious). In any case, the waitress was surprisingly right, and it was great to not be annoyed.

These Bitches is This Bitch

In all things cilantro love and cilantro hate, seriousness can be difficult to gauge. I hope I haven't left anyone confused about my true feelings re: cilantro, nor on this hate's seriousness in my life--to clarify, let's say the hate is more ever-present and real than serious.

But seriously, it's fun to do the occasional site meter read-up, the twitter @reply rundown, the google alerts perusal in the inbox and notice something is abuzz in the esoteric realm of cilantro feelings good and bad.

An enthusiastic "writer" has recently found page view success through a front page Reddit appearance this weekend past. In between "posts" the author of "Fuck Yeah Cilantro" has found time to attack this "blog". Anchor text: IN OTHER NEWS, THE WORLD IS FULL OF SHITHEADS brings you here. It is followed by the elaborating: "i would throw smallpox blankets on these bitches."

Well, sorry to disappoint, but these bitches is this bitch.

Being in the magnanimous mood that I am, I'd like to take this opportunity to reach out to Fuck Yeah Cilantro and say "Love is not the opposite of hate," as a friend once said, "Indifference is the opposite of love." And so, while we ostensibly stand at irreconcilable ends, we're united in a similarly strong, however opposite, relationship with cilantro, which while I hate and you love, we clearly both notice, and in this noticing we both win.

As cilantro becomes more and more popular, so does the hater's ability to ask for its omission in dishes increase. That is, even English speakers of the not proficient sort tend to know what I'm asking for when I say no cilantro these days. That's because it is increasingly, for better but more for worse, part of the American cultural landscape. So cilantro enthusiasts, enjoy your passion, but seriously--lox and cilantro on bagels?

Top Chef's Fabio Viviani Hates Cilantro, Exclusive Interview

Fabio Viviani, incontrovertibly the most charming of Top Chef contestants, ever, hates cilantro.

He doesn't just casually hate it--as if that were possible--he really loathes the stuff: His secret dream is to "be filthy rich, grow 20 acre of cilantro, and drop a bomb on it." He kids. I asked Fabio how hating cilantro has affected his life, he laughs in characteristic Fabio manner and says it hasn't affected his life of course but then admits "People are having fun with me when I say I hate cilantro… [It's] something fun."

Hating cilantro is so fun that he has banned the herb in his restaurant Cafe Firenze (though he is sure the Latino cooks (cilantro is popular in Mexican, Central and South American cuisine) prepare family meal with it in his absence as he finds it in the walk-in when he returns from a short vacation). Hating cilantro is so fun that he refused to help co-competitor and European compatriot Stefan Richter prepare his (losing) dish of salads and meat for the "Super Bowl Chef Showdown" episode. Come to think of it, not helping Stefan cook does sound sort of fun.

Fabio feels like he's the only member of a club. "No way" I assured him. Please read the Wall Street Journal or check out IHateCilantro.com or Facebook or anything--you aren't alone! He feels the herb tastes like soap, and there is a lot of support out there for that opinion.

I'm not the only one who has noticed that cilantro is everywhere. Fabio agrees and is not happy about its growing prevalence. While would-be fancy chefs find cilantro sophisticated, new and exciting--Fabio says it just wouldn't happen in Italy: "It's outlawed in Italy," he jokes.

Once he and his (Italian) mother prepared meatballs and accidentally purchased cilantro (in the U.S.) instead of parsley--they look similar. Neither noticed the mistake until they tried them--they were both repulsed.

Erin: Does your mother not like cilantro either?
Fabio: No, she's Italian.

While I have often argued that cilantro has no place anywhere, it certainly has no place in Italian cuisine: cilantro in pasta sauce? Please. I can imagine those meatballs must have been very terrible indeed.

Some people think we cilantro haters are just a winy group of crazies, or that we must just hate everything. Fabio admits he isn't crazy about artificial cherry flavor, (clearly a man of good taste) but quickly goes for typically less-desired foods like rooster neck or bull's testicles. Not a finicky eater, just a man who knows what he likes, and what he really fucking hates. (Fabio likes to use the word "fuck" by the way--this cilantro hater approves--am I gushing, how embarrassing. I'll admit the company is nice).

So, what's next for Fabio (he was robbed and told to "pack his knives and go" last week)? He's cooking me an 8 course cilantro tasting menu at his restaurant Cafe Firenze, of course.

10 Reasons To Love Hating Cilantro, Number 7: The Lying

I'm not much of a liar.

There's an obvious potential paradox here that I won't even insult you explaining, but choose to believe me or not, I'm actually a pretty honest person. This is for a variety of reasons most notably: I'm bad at lying, My long-term memory is better than my short term memory and I would have a hard time keeping my facts straight (in other words, I'm bad at lying) and I, to be honest, have this strange sense of what one might call integrity wrapped around this virtue, if you will, of telling the truth. Telling the truth is better than not, most of the time, and I leave it to men smarter and men dumber than me to decide when those times might be.

Except with this whole "I'm allergic to cilantro" businesss, which WSJ quoted me on and has been the source of much discussion since. Commenters have written that they are worried I've exposed the lie as such and restaurateurs and cocktail hour hosts across the world will no longer take the allergy proclamation seriously. Another commenter worries that the "crying wolf" waters down the very serious allergies of people like her daughter--restaurants no longer take allergies seriously, everyone's got an "allergy," these days.

To be fair, I've always had a somewhat unfounded attitude towards allergies, with the exception of peanuts (though I resent people with peanut allergies because it means I can't eat them on planes anymore), thinking they're largely the result of 1) too worrisome parents who don't feed their kids anything potentially allergy-causing and hence end up with kids "allergic" to everything 2) nature telling us we shouldn't be eating these things we're "allergic" too (lactose intolerant, please, eating milk from another species (and after early childhood) is unprecedented in the animal kingdom and just straight weird--yes I eat milk products) 3) a general hypochondria that has swept the nation. But, while these opinions aren't going anywhere soon, in all seriousness, of course if a child, especially, has a physical reaction when eating a food, I don't want to stand in the way, in any way, of them not eating that food.

But, I don't see that happening. I worked in a bunch of restaurants and I can tell you chefs take allergies seriously, especially real ones like peanut allergies, and while they find it HOPELESSLY ANNOYING, they don't want to get sued or lose business, so they comply. They've gotten so used to allergies, that they are actually more prepared and skilled at dealing with them. Separate areas for peanuts, separate pans for garlic or meat or vegetables. Do they sneak a little butter into risotto they call vegan? I've seen it done. And why? Because they find vegans annoying and their cause not sympathetic whereas they find people with allergies equally annoying, but a potential lawsuit--they would also have proof of the infraction in theory where the vegan wouldn't. (I'm speaking in general from my experience here, but I think I'm right). So there you go, the person with the allergy gets what they want and the person with a distaste doesn't, at least not relaibly.

So then the question becomes, do I, a paying customer deserve to get what I want? Yes. I think so. I treat "the help" politely and when I've explained I don't like, even hate cilantro, it finds a way onto the plate. Those of you who have watched a certain amount of Sex and the City know that the Carrie Bradshaw character does not like parsley and uses the same lying technique to avoid getting parsley in her food. This of course annoys Berger to no end and is probably the beginning of the end of their relationship, but I digress. I get what I want when I lie. It carries that I could do this in other arenas of my life, (get what I want by lying) but one must sacrifice one's integrity with calculation and consideration for mankind.

I would argue that the rampant allergic-ness of America has in fact made it easier to have an allergy in America (described above) and that while this makes things more difficult and annoying for chefs, it makes things better for diners, in other words for the demand to the restaurant's supply, and those with allergies have nothing to fear from liars like me, and cilantro haters calling themselves allergic similarly have nothing to fear because the chef is obliged to take the allergy seriously. But cilantro haters out there, if your hate is as real, as tangible, as undeniable as mine, it is as serious an unpleasantry as most not-serious allergies (which is to say most allergies) and if lying means I can enjoy a meal, one man's hives is another man's ruined palate and dining experience, let's leave it at that.

And lying's kind of fun too.

10 Reasons to Love Hating Cilantro, Number 8: The Fame

While I've often entertained the idea of a small, esoteric, and elite fanbase, (for cilantro hate propaganda and other literary works) I haven't known how it would feel to taste a glimpse of recognition for the first time on the front page of the Wall Street Journal. Of course, that is until now.

If you're reading this you either hate cilantro and found me on google search, are one of my 25 or so loyal reading friends, or more likely read the piece in the Wall Street Journal today, which so generously did not contain a link to my blog. Thanks guys. Well, can't complain too much. So nice it is to be recognized and pencil-fied!

I'll keep this post short, but if you haven't read the WSJ article do--it's an interesting look at the amazing and surprisingly diverse community that has developed on the web around hating cilantro. As always, I'm honored and compelled to be a part of this community, indeed to be the self-proclaimed expert on cilantro hate and more importantly, cilantro hate introspection and sociology, if you will. If this is your first time here, I would suggest using this blog as an apt diversion from anything you'd like to be diverted form, mainly work I imagine.

As for the 15 minutes, it's as awesome as cilantro is not...

10 Reasons to Love Hating Cilantro, Number 9: The Absolute Shock it Sparks in Cilantro Fans

To mention you hate cilantro in mixed company, which is to say any company really, is to immediately incur the fierce judgment and opposition of many.

When you say you hate cilantro--you might as well say you hate the Virgin Mary herself--it is that offensive to those that love, or even those that kind of like.

I recently had this experience on an conference call:

Me: "Oh, you have a window box garden. That's tremendous. Tell me, what in it grows sir?"
Sir: "Cilantro"
Me: "Gross. Nothing else?"
Sir: "No, just cilantro, it's a limited garden as yet."
Me: "Indeed"
Conference Call Chorus: "I love cilantro." "Me too. Who hates cilantro?" "It's so refreshing." "Yeah. It's one of my favorite herbs." "Exactly. It's really good." "Who doesn't like cilantro."
Me: "I HATE CILANTRO is who... I have a whole blog about."
CCC: laughs
Me: "No, for real...."

I would never begrudge the masses their relishing in something (they find to be) delicious of course. What's funny, amazing, something to love as it were, is how impassioned the cilantro lovers are. I hear what you're saying--I too, my lot, are similarly impassioned. Perhaps. But not without irony dammit. Have you seen the I Hate Cilantro site? It is irony incarnate. Those that like are so, well, genuine! But no need to judge, I've said my peace about cilantro lovers in the past...we all have our crosses to bear.

What's fun is in an otherwise ordinary meeting, or say it's a nice brunch looking for a little culinary discourse, or say it's a conversation with a stranger in the checkout aisle you wish you could connect with (if only to argue)--hating cilantro is immediate grounds for a kind of good-hearted outrage-turned-understanding: We feel the same way, just but it's the opposite, or something. Anyway, it's fun to see people get so riled up about something they probably hadn't given a ton of (any) thought to until it was suggested someone might hate it. Many times I feel I'm the first cilantro hater people have met. Cross to bear? No, it's my privilege and honor.

10 Reasons To Love Hating Cilantro, Number 10: The Esoteric Company

As 2008 nears end, I've set up an ambitious plan to conclude the year with my top 10 reasons to love hating cilantro. Today: The Esoteric Company

With my favorite shows now off the air on HBO (Sopranos, Six Feet Under) or in off-season (Big Love), I've found the need to dig deep into the realm of shows I didn't watch when they originally aired but can easily score for free online, on-demand.

The Grey's Anatomy period was a sad, but short, experiment in this genre: Emergency, patient has an explosive lodged in his arm and Dr. Meredith Grey must hold it place or everyone will die!--but there have been more rewarding examples. Friday Night Lights was pure joy and Arrested Development requires no further lauding than it's already received--that show's hilarious. But the O.C., co-starring Peter Gallager and his eyebrows (to off-quote Sarah Vowell) is a current guilty favorite. Like any self-respecting O.C. viewer, I watch not for Ryan and Marisa, but for Seth Cohen and his delicious adolescent, but preternatural brand of sarcasm.

No matter how stupid any episode's given plot, no matter how much the writers insist on giving pretty but retarded at acting Mischa Barton lines, Seth Cohen gets you through and keeps you coming back.

But of course there are other characters on The O.C., like the requisite parents in any high school primetime soap, and less requisite ones like the parents of the requisite parents--enter Caleb Nichol, father to Seth Cohen's mother, WASPY but witty Kirsten.

A mere 24 episodes into the first season--dammit I just learned Caleb dies in the second season, beware, the internet will tell you everything!--I can tell you that Caleb's deep distaste for cilantro has come up in not one but two episodes. In both cases, this hate arises as Kirsten scrambles to prepare one kind of high-society party or other for her difficult tycoon of a dad. "No no, dad can't take cilantro" she warns the cooks and caterers as if this pickiness were the very proof anyone watching needed that Caleb really is a powerful, particular man. "He'll notice even the slightest amount," she continues.

In 2003 when the show first aired, the season in question, season 1, stretched to May of '04, cilantro had considerably less notoriety. The two leading blogs in cilantro hate, this one and that other one didn't even exist! People weren't as into food yet, though they were getting there, and I think this choice of herb (also suprisingly referenced in My So-Called Life) was meant to show just how classy yet have-it-his-way Caleb was, may he rest in peace (Though I really suspect one of the writers hates cilantro, but that's neither here nor there).

Well, if Newport Beach's richest, most powerful man is in my club of hate, I can't quite say why, but I tell you I'm thrilled to have him, may he rest in peace. There's a kind of existential allegiance in those moments, when you realize that fictional or not, there are people you have deep, deep connections to (in this case hating cilantro but it could be something less meaningful I suppose) that you never would have known about, had it not randomly come up.

I like to think there will be a time in my life when someone, perhaps a real life Orange County real estate mogul, perhaps a holy rollin' Republican evangalist, and I will share a special bond when we realize, over passed canapes, that we share at least one thing, and because of that one thing, even if we don't see eye-to-eye on everything, a spoken or unspoken understanding and connection otherwise lost will have been shared.

But until this person rears his hummer-driving head, it's me, Caleb Nichol and the countless unknown of you out there...

The Hate Lives On and Paris Too!

It appears I have "fans," and these fans, if you will, have grown agree with me, disappointed, nonplussed.

Well, we can't have that, can we?

I remember the feeling, when a certain friend of mine named James had quit writing in his always entertaining blog, I went through all, not some, of the 5 stages of grief. To review, they are: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. I have accepted that my friend James's "career" has replaced his "blog" (indeed he did just help to elect our new president--an achievement that's sheer awesomeness is ironic retort-proof, an achievement in its own right), but I cannot accept that mine (career) has replaced mine (blog). (It's funny, I was complaining to my boyfriend how much David Foster Wallace's () annoyed me, and yet...) Please loyal fans, go through but 4 stages of grief, rest on your depressive laurels and be ready for what I have to say next--I'm back and so too is my deep, serious hate of cilantro.

Perhaps an anecdote is in order.

Recently, in the blogless month of October, I took my first excursion abroad. I went to Paris, which is apparently the most touristed place in the world. Who knew? Apparently my friend's father who was nice enough to share his apartment with us for a week, apparently he knew, pretty awesome.

What would stand out to many in Paris is how awesome the food is, and certainly this was not lost on me. Practically the entire purpose of my trip was to go to Paris, eat croissant and not check my email for 9 days. On all accounts, the trip was a success. But there is more to Paris than croissant of course--there are also macaroons (the best are at Pierre Herme), pan au chocolat, steak frites, everything in the world you could ever want with ham and cheese (omelet, croque monsieur, sandwich mixed, quiche, dear god it's so good), and the list goes on. Of course there's the cafe and the champagne and the wine and the wonderful fact that to imbibe is to live, to not hold your liquor a little is ok, and to not hold it a lot is just, well, it's gauche, ok.

But it's what Paris is not, of course, that makes it awesome. Paris is not a place one goes to feast on cilantro, though it disappointingly if not completely predictably is now present in the newer, nicer restaurants, the kind that are just like the newer nicer restaurants in New York except the menus are in French and the people are too. Since all the fancy New York places are run by chefs from France, well, it's like buying Chanel shoes in Paris--sure you can, but what's the fucking point? Which is to take nothing away from probably the best meal I've ever had and certainly the most expensive, the 12+ course affair at Pierre Gagnaire--Yummo! It was a pleasure to explain in broken French, oh who am I kidding, it was in English, when the waiter asked:

"Do you have any dietary restrictions, things you won't eat, etc.?"
"Just hold the cilantro, please."
"But you don't have a problem with say foie gras, or frog legs or lightly poached oysters?"
"God know, what do I look like a freak?"
"Thank you madam, Chef will be most happy to prepare your meal sans cilantro"
"Merci monsieur."

And so the meal was divine and, my friend Margaret did have a course featuring cilantro, while mine sported sorrel--cilantro haters really do win sometimes.

But it isn't just the Michelin 3-stars that know how to cater to cilantro hate, it's more importantly the bistros, the cafes, the brasseries (the real French food if you ask me) where you don't even have to ask Chef to prepare you a special course, there simply isn't any of the stuff in the house to begin with. So thank you Pierre, thank you nameless cafe and thank you Paris for nine days without an email, without a worry and without a trace of cilantro.

Verdict: Cilantro Guilty

I hate cilantro is not a performative statement. Saying it doesn't make it true. Wittgenstein would disagree with me here, but I hated it before I had words for it--the hate is stronger than even the words to describe it.

But there are other phrases that are performative: I do and I bet you come to mind, but so does another--Guilty.

My stint, which started today and will end I don't know when, as a duteous Brooklyn potential juror has got me thinking about all kinds of words: objectivity, (don't believe in it) judgment, (don't like it) guilty, (gross--do you know anything about the prison system? did you watch the OJ trial?) innocent (we're all guilty, did you read the Brother's K?)--words I have problems with, but it's not the words, it's what they represent. These are judicial words. Words meant to mean something concrete, serious and true. Words that weigh. Words that enable judgment. But, you know, that's just not how I feel about things.

When I say I love you, I know I'm saying the truth, not because it applies to certain feelings but precisely for the opposite reason, it just feels true. Maybe expressing that I would need to feel someone was guilty would get me out of jury duty. They like to tell you to pay attention to the facts of the case, to the evidence and then ask asinine questions like:

"Are you capable, Miss [I scream not married] Hollingsworth, of paying attention to the facts?"
"Sure," I respond.

"Have you prejudged this case Miss Hollingsworth?"
"No, but, I have, you know, opinions..."
"Oh, yes of course and I'd urge you to hold out on sharing those... but of course you have opinions as you say.."
"Yup"
"But you haven't judged"
"No, I don't know how I'd rule at this point" (laughs)

and I'm wondering if I have a shot in hell of getting on this jury (I find out tomorrow). What's weird is that I'm kinda into it. It's such a specific experience. They didn't say we couldn't talk about it. They probably should have? Anyway, it's a small case and the defendant is that city of New York. God damn it all to hell. I love New York--the city of taxes, taxes that pay me to do jury duty, taxes that pay the plaintiff for whatever the fuck happened to her and is New York's fault (or is it?!) Taxes! Love them. Suck it Sara Palin. I made $40 today serving my country! (though I guess you have to be tortured as a POW to get the full, authentic serving your country experience).

Well, anyway, whatever happens, probably won't end with me Law & Ordering someone into a guilty verdict (I'd hang that jury so fast if prison were involved). I don't make a lot of performative statements. Guess I prefer to take it in, observe stuff, then write stuff. I hate cilantro: it's easy to say, to write because it's specific, it's true (if we agree hate is a strongly negative feeling toward a thing) and I don't have those kinds of dogmatic, strong, true feelings about things like, oh, whether someone is guilty or not, but believe me it's very hard to explain to an ambulance-chasing attorney and his apathetic defense counterpart that all these feelings of ambivalence somehow tie into my hate of cilantro. It just doesn't roll off the tongue.

Anchovies, Beef Heart and Cilantro

You'll please pardon my linguistic atrophy--it's been awhile.

They say memory isn't (please, someone, explain to me why "isn't" isn't in my firefox dictionary--y'all download 3.0?--readers, so much has happened) so reliable, so it's going to require a leap of faith for you to believe my account of a dinner a fortnight past, but, suffice it to say, I have a preternatural memory, especially for all-things involving cilantro.

One of my good friends is leaving New York to work for the Obama campaign. This is a trend a lot of my friends are partaking in--not the work for Obama thing, the leave New York (me) thing. First there was good friend who moved to Cairo, then there was other good friend moving to Argentina in two months (I won't mention her name in the event her employers are reading--surprise!!) and then this guy, my best guy friend that isn't my boyfriend in the whole state of New York--moving.

Well, that's neither here nor there except that we had a sort-of goodbye dinner together. As I said, it's been a couple of weeks (I have, a few weeks ago, taken a real grownup job that has been a bit needy time-wise). We went to Marlow & Sons. This is a restaurant I can't help but love despite the fact that hipsters love it too--this is true of a lot of things in Williamsburg. Great oysters. The same menu of 10 things everyday, except the way each is prepared changes with what's in season and presumably the chef's whim. I've never had anything I didn't really like there.

That was, at least, until a couple weeks ago (God, I should write murder mysteries--you didn't know where this was going, did you?) when we ordered the beef heart. I'm basically of one mind when it comes to offal: I'll try it. I don't always like it, but I often do, and, you know, I'm out to eat, so, let's, like, try something new. Especially when I'm with a group of experimenters, as I often am--I like to just order weird shit, especially when I'm in good hands like at M & S.

I asked the waiter how the heart on anchovy crostini was and he responded with something like: "Oh my hold fucking christ it is so good you won't believe it." While bordering on the too-much enthusiasm in a response category, it seemed clear his answer was an endorsement, and so we ordered it. I said something snarky like "Wow, your chef really went for it with the anchovy AND the heart, huh?" He knew what I was saying. Bold. Real bold.

My review of the heart is this: it was fine. I wouldn't eat it every day. I wouldn't spit it out. It was just fine. I'd never had heart before and have no source of comparison. It seemed like it was probably cooked properly, it was just sort of OK. The anchovies were a bit much (I find they almost always are unless they're used where they belong--in caesar salad dressing or as a flavoring in some sauce or dip or other kind of condiment situation) and didn't help things out--they took things from fine, to less-than-fine. What changed things dramatically was the accoutrement. I've never seen such an egregious affront to my cilantro hate, maybe ever.

With the thinly sliced heart and anchovy crostini was a green salad of what looked to be parsley tossed in a very light vinaigrette. Of course, as any good cilantro hater would, I asked (aloud) if it could be, was it possible, could it be cilantro? I didn't really think it was--who would do such a thing? But wouldn't you know it? An absolutely mammoth pile of cilantro was just lying there nearly naked, adorned by nothing more than some fresh lemon, a little olive oil, some salt, some pepper and my rage, contempt and nonplus.

This was no normal cilantro. No, this was local, organic, seasonal, probably god-damn heirloom cilantro. In other words, it tasted like the Platonic ideal of cilantro, which is to say the Platonic ideal of gross. I promptly told my waiter, relating the same lesson I will take with me from the experience: When a chef is bold enough to pair beef heart with anchovy, he's not going to think twice about serving it with a heaping pile of cilantro--and you're a fool to think otherwise.

Independence (from Cilantro) Day

As a precocious, egomaniacal kid, the fireworks meant a lot to me growing up. See, they would happen on the 4th of July, while my birthday is on the 12th of July, (and I always used that syntax to describe my birthday, being in addition to precocious and egomaniacal, patriotic in the precise way of a nuance-free 5-year-old) and my recollection is that my father would tell me every year the grand fireworks were part of my birthday celebration, not so much that they were for me but that they were somehow part of the Erin Hollingsworth birthday gestalt, if you will.

So it's in this context that I came to know fireworks, Independence Day, the whole thing; America's birthday and mine are, in my mind, intrinsically linked. Of course, as I've grown older I've realized this isn't strictly true, but one doesn't easily shake-off childhood associations. This association has also become more disturbing as each year of age brings another year of Bush--another year of mitigated freedom. The fireworks, invented by the Chinese, are less magical and more ironic--China kicking our economic asses and everything. But as we grow older, we find new ways to enjoy things we used to, or we probably should try.

And so it is that I greatly look forward to this weekend's festivities, which awesomely will be full of friends old and new, and I'm thinking cilantro-free! You don't get more Americana than 4th of July food: potato salad, BBQ, hot dogs, baked beans, watermelon, (with salt if you have any reverence to either the fruit or your Midwestern roots) and domestic macrobrews. And when and if Americana is overtaken by cilantro, well, the war against gross is lost. Not on my watch America!

Channeling My Inner-Punk

Sometimes things like our jobs, personal relationships, and constant inner-monologues get in the way of what really matters: blogging. Dear readers, I apologize and will not soon let you down again.

The other night I had dinner, a subtle euphemism for blog fodder, with a good friend, her visiting-New York Latin lover (who loves being called that) and my, what I think it is now officially safe to call him, boyfriend. We went to a place called Graffiti, a joy of a dining experience if you're in the area and are open to not-so-much weird food, as much as weird food combinations, most of which work. From the moment the sweet watermelon balanced perfectly with the salty feta, and cool mint hit my impatient mouth...just kidding--I hate that kind of food writing: the watermelon with feta and mint sorbet tasted awesome. So did a lot of other things.

The chef, Jehangir Mehta, earned accolades as a pastry chef at Jean Georges and some other places that also matter, as it were. We met him quickly (the restaurant is very small) and not sure of what to choose, asked him if he would just send out some stuff. "Allergies, restrictions?," he appropriately and kindly inquired. "I hate cilantro," I said, but added: "But I know you're rocking the Asian thing and I wouldn't want to destroy the integrity of your cuisine; let's keep dishes that feature cilantro to a minimum, but do what you must do." And so he sent lots of stuff out (Graffiti is a small plates concept) and I was impressed that foie gras made the cut; there are people who wouldn't have been pleased with the assumption involved. I was very pleased.

A pleasant chickpea flour-crusted skate arrived somewhere in the middle of our degustation. What it was served with I don't really remember except that it tasted good. And also Mehta, bless his heart, brought the cilantro-cumin yogurt on the side. "Mostly it's cumin," he suggested, and rightly so. Some waiters will tell you that you won't really notice the cilantro. This really pisses me off. I will notice the cilantro, while you will not. See, we're different people with different tongues and everything. (It's like telling a die-hard right-to-lifer not to sweat the 'morning after pill': it's just a hypothetical, mini abortion, you see) But Mehta was right. Notice the cilantro? Yeah, cuz there was cilantro in it. But, and I'm getting more and more freaked out by this, I didn't hate it.



I attribute this largely to context. Mehta was explaining the restaurant concept to my ever-inquisitive, ever-gregarious boyfriend using words like "our living room," "inviting," "eclectic," and phrases like "graffiti is an international art and our cuisine is international" to explain the restaurant's name. But when you name a thing a thing, (a restaurant, a movie, a book, what have you) while your intention and inspiration is valid and, perhaps, interesting or amusing, the audience--diners in this case--gets to interpret the name how they want. I think graffiti and I think punk, as in the punk "Fuck you" or rather "Fuck the man" or rather "Fuck everyone" attitude. Mehta certainly doesn't have that attitude but his cuisine's irreverence toward the status quo, toward tired flavors, toward the stuffiness often associated with food as good (if not as inventive) is very punk indeed (by the way, Mehta has a fun quirk of saying "Thank you very much indeed," whenever you complement his food, or restaurant, which comes across as super genuine and hence super charming).

Anyway, I think because we had all signed up, so-to-speak, for this punk experience (I'm not sure pork-abstaining Latin Lover was ever informed he was eating pork), my palate was more willing to be assaulted than normal. I was so happy Mehta had taken the trouble to put it on the side, I figured I'd give it a taste. Cumin's a flavor I've come to really like, although I associate it with Rachel Ray, so I was cool with that, and because it's such a warm, if you will, flavor, the very little bit of (soapy) cilantro did cool it down. Now, I wouldn't say I liked it, because I didn't, but I appreciated it and said, for a moment "Fuck you" to my cilantro hate. But mostly I appreciated Mehta's relentless sweetness and attention to detail.

The skate with cumin-cilantro yogurt certainly didn't come anywhere close to converting me, but it was a nice reminder that cilantro lovers, while morons, can be very nice folks indeed.

Things That Suck More than Cilantro

1. 103 degree days in June (or any month)
2. culantro (more on this later)
3. Nazis

Colorado Doesn't Suck

Sometimes, I don't know why but I don't think it makes me weird (other things make me weird--sure--but not this one), I look around for what's wrong or incongruous in a situation before pinching myself to confirm that I'm not dreaming and in fact there is nothing "wrong," and that everything is as great as it seems.

No, I have not just found Jesus but props to the many who have. Instead I've come back from a "nothing wrong" weekend with 8 of my closest friends from college and hence, because I enjoyed college and was lucky enough to go with a whole bunch of awesome people, favorite people in the world. I hope some of them will read this so I don't have to actually tell them how I feel about them in person--God that would be embarrassing.

Anyway, we got a cabin and spent our Memorial Day Weekend in the mountains of Colorado on a Lake named Dillon that I can only describe as big, blue and wet. I was told we were 10,000 feet up, and I'll take it on faith that my graduating from Harvard law school friend who, while she doesn't know everything, probably didn't makeup the elevation of a location in a state she grew up in. We had a cabin, a hot tub and lots of provisions which thankfully included gin but did not include cilantro. Actually that isn't entirely true.

With the $300-something grocery tab (9 people, 3 1/2 days, pretty good if you ask me--no this did not include beer) we purchased lots of things that generally fell under these categories: meat, carbs, (both refined (hot dog buns) and unrefined (7-grain hot dog buns)) cheese (including my new once-a-year favorite--Salsa con Queso), condiments, (I correctly insisted on full-fat mayonnaise) bagged and pre-washed salad mix, and Oreos, which were consumed with such abandon as to require a group of their own. A category we did not entertain the use of was herbs, which if that means no cilantro is just fine with me.

Of course, when it came time to make extemporaneous use of the (somewhat) well-stocked pantry of the cabin we stayed in, anise seed made no appearance--a slight disappointment to my doctored-up leftover hamburger baked ziti. What they did have was two containers of dried cilantro. You know who else has two jars of dried cilantro? My folks. You know who else? I'm guessing a lot of people. But here's the thing: neither container had been used much, especially when compared to the others, especially when considering there was only one jar of most of those.

What I'm thinking is, as cilantro is now everywhere, people buy it, forget they bought it because they never use it, then buy it again because they think this would either make them fancier human beings or be something they might like to use. In either case they are wrong because those who like cilantro know it tastes better fresh and those who hate cilantro know that it always tastes terrible.

In any case, I'm very proud to report that we put a dent in neither dried cilantro jar--the gin's another story.

Epicurean Existentialism

It's just like me to make a flowchart on how to eat out, how to survive really, and go out of my way to ignore it.

Like the Christian Existentialists who explain life's troubling, irreconcilable paradoxes through the existence (and source) of the greatest irreconcilable paradox--Jesus (God/man? mortal/immortal?--anyone else confused? No? Congratulations--you're smarter than me.)--sometimes we do things not because they make or don't make sense, but because we just do them. Some things just are. Their absurdity is in line with the inherent absurdity of the universe and hence, given a certain liberal mindset, we are comforted.

And so was my absurdly comforting dinner at Chavella's last night.

I ordered the chicken enchiladas. Here's the thing about chicken: I was a vegetarian for 11 years, vegan for two of them and I certainly didn't start eating meat again to eat factory farmed chicken. But, and I'm not making excuses here as I think factory farm chicken is morally and ecologically reprehensible, in the moral/flavor cost-benefit analysis often at work in my food choices, there's something about that ambiguously but inarguably delicious American Mexican chicken that I'm a total sucker for. So, as I said, I ordered the chicken enchiladas.

At Chavella's, a pretty good little Mexican joint a few blocks from my Brooklyn digs, one orders his/her enchiladas with a choice of salsa verde or mole. You don't need a PhD in Cilantro Hate to know salsa verde is quintessentially dangerous to the cilantro averse. For those of you living in the far reaches of xenophobic denial, speaking so little Spanish that you don't know verde means green--verde means green. It gets its green moniker from a variety of ingredients, most notably tomatillo, lime, green chili and, yes, cilantro.

But the thing is the gentleman next to me had ordered the chicken enchiladas with salsa verde and he was enjoying them with gusto in a not-subtly audible fashion. I asked, "Sir, excuse me, I can't help but notice that you're enjoying those enchiladas."

"Oh, God yes. They're so delicious," he replied.

"Sir, do you have a palate for cilantro? What I mean to say is, would you notice if there was cilantro in your salsa verde there?," I continued.

A good sport, he confirmed what I already knew: "Well, yes, it's noticeable but certainly not overwhelming and did I mention how truly delicious they are?"

So then the waitress did what I didn't even consider asking her to do, which was to bring me the mole and verde to try. The cilantro-hating friend who was with me tried them both too. Strangest thing: I could kind of tell there was cilantro in the verde, but I liked it anyway, not because of the cilantro mind you, but despite it. Now, it's common knowledge that the cilantro taste is mitigated in the cooking process and in this case it was cooked. There was no extra fresh cilantro chiffonade or fresh cilantro finishing touch of any kind. As such it just sort of became one with the sauce. I don't know what I'm saying here. This doesn't make sense! This is so, so, absurd.

So I ordered the enchiladas with the very bright, pleasant, garlicky, limy, spicy sauce. It was perfect with the queso fresco and crema and yummy chicken and delicious house-made tortillas. The mole would have overwhelmed everything as (if you want my opinion) it does most everything it touches. In short, the chicken enchiladas verdes were good.

Now, this is not the post you've all been waiting for where I change my ways, start liking cilantro and ruin my blog. No. This is the post where I admit there was once a time in my life when I ate something that had cilantro in it and enjoyed it and much to the chagrin of you polarizing cilantro lovers out there--I'm OK with that. Existence precedes essence, if you know what I'm saying.

Eating Out, and How

As promised, I give you the Eating Out and Hating Cilantro (at the same time) Flowchart: