WWJD

How's this for a mantra: What would Julia do?

If you're a fan of Julia Child, you probably don't need me to explain to you why you are. You probably like her easy camera presence, her unpretentious instruction of classic French technique, her contagious lust for life, her general bad-assness, and, if your like me, her unapologetic liberal politics and unique brand of feminism. Truly, she was a magical woman so nearly unanimously revered in the culinary and general American communities, I'd have to wonder if you were a heartless freak not liking her.


What you might not know is that Julia Child hated cilantro; an excerpt from a Larry King interview transcript:

KING: A little bit. Any food you hate?
CHILD: Well, badly cooked food...
KING: I know that. But any - for example, George Bush and yours truly, I don't want to couple it together, hate broccoli, hate it, wouldn't go near it, wouldn't touch it, what do you hate?
CHILD: I don't like cilantro.
KING: What is that?
CHILD: It's an herb that it has a kind of a taste that I don't like.
KING: Is there an everyday food you hate, like broccoli?
CHILD: No, I don't think so. I mean, if it's properly cooked and properly served, I can't think of anything I hate.
KING: So you'll eat...
CHILD: Except cilantro and arugula I don't like at all.
KING: Arugula?
CHILD: They're both green herbs, they have kind of a dead taste to me.
KING: So you would never order it.
CHILD: Never, I would pick it out if I saw it and throw it on the floor.

Arugula, I like, but someone running the I Hate Arugula blog (doesn't exist) can use that piece of trivia. It's the cilantro I'm concerned with. I like how she describes the taste of cilantro as "dead." That's a much stronger descriptor than say, soapy. "Well, why don't you like it?" "It tastes dead." That's a pretty good reason not to like something in my book. Hilarious. Another reason to love Julia: girlfriend was funny.

I think Julia Child hating cilantro sort of speaks for itself, so I'll be brief today. But I can tell you this, in the spirit of doing as Julia would do, the next time I encounter unexpected cilantro, I will pick it out, throw it on the floor and smile, thinking of Julia doing the same.

Cilantro, The Anti-Death

There's so much fodder in any given issue of the New York Times, it's a wonder I ever get around to reading anything else. It's not that it's the best publication out there for news or anything else, far from it, but they've mastered the ability to hook me with one story or another before the break and it remains my homepage of years despite consistent urges to change it (I'm reading Into the Wild -- it's bound to have some effect).

I think of the New York Times as a website first and newspaper second, not that these are mutually exclusive things, certainly not in this milieu. I think of the [New York Times] magazine as a magazine because I generally read it in print. Anyway, I love the New York Times as website. I look at the slide shows, watch Mark Bittman's videos and enjoy the "Most Popular" emailed, blogged and searched articles for quick ideas of where to head next. These are all features made possible by the Times as website phenomenon, features I like.

It is through this interface that I read today's "A House Not for Mere Mortals." Awkward headline aside, I've been transfixed by the text-based article and audio slide show all morning. To sort of summarize, this apparently important couple has built this house in East Hampton. It's hyper-colorful, very "open," and, probably most notably, has a strange undulating, bumpy, moon-like floor throughout. The basic idea of the place, as I read and hear it, is to make dwellers uncomfortable. That through discomfort, trying to find our balance, etc., we remain young and vital. Ms. Gins, the woman in the couple, says, "It's immoral that people have to die." I think that's absurd, it's neither moral nor immoral that people have to die, it is a fact of nature completely detached from any reasonable sense of morality, but I digress. The point is these folks seems to think it is through challenge, discomfort, whatever you want to call it, that we remain young and stay alive.

While I don't find death immoral I do have a vested interest in staying alive (never argue with Darwin -- you will lose). I prefer to be comfortable than uncomfortable, (I like Pumas more than stilettos) but I get what they're saying, I think, at least in a way that someone who more-or-less accepts that she will die one day can "get" what they're saying. One of my favorite things -- learning stuff -- is an inherently uncomfortable process. Few things are more uncomfortable than tackling the unknown, whether that be organic chemistry, Excel spreadsheets, German philosophy or, in the case of Into the Wild's Chris McCandless, the Alaskan wilderness. (It is worth noting that he died in his pursuit of the uncomfortable.) But many of these uncomfortable things, challenging things, yield the most intellectually, spiritually or otherwise insightful results. Yes, I suppose many of us thrive on adversity, on difficulty, on trying to find our balance.

This of course got me to thinking about my ever-growing relationship with cilantro. Now I'm not one to draw metaphors, (I have a penchant for the literal) but I've never shied away from drawing parallels. As I've written through other lenses before, this cilantro hate thing isn't always bad. Maybe my deep passion for hating cilantro keeps me young and virile -- alive even. It's all-too easy in our culture of convenience, materialism and excess to become, well, comfortable. We ignore the world's injustices and straight-up outrages, many at the hands of W, but more at the hands of our own unforgivable (yes immoral) selfishness, isolation and indifference. And in doing so we destroy ourselves, slowly but surely. The environment's shit. Iraq is a quagmire of the finest order. And don't get me started on our prison system.

I think we have a tendency, as Americans and maybe as people, to avoid conflict (except war, we like that) and to shun criticism. To complain is bad, negative. I agree in a sense. I actually quite hate complaining (of the my life is so hard variety; no, your life is probably not so hard) but a healthy dose of criticism, of questioning as I think of it, maybe I'm alone here, but I think it's healthy, it's good and it might just save all our lives in the long-run.

While I don't pretend that my cilantro hate is going to save anyone's life or even really perpetuate my own, for me, this passionate hate stirs a spirit of criticism that I like and find good, however ostensibly negative or contrary. Cilantro makes me uncomfortable. It makes me frown. It throws off my balance. Eating it makes me immediately seek homeostasis of some order (water, wine, other food, anything, please, now). In other words, eating it, musing on it, writing about it shakes things up. And shaking things up, to quote Martha Stewart, is a good thing.

I LOVE CILANTRO

Er, uh, April Fools?

Ok. Back with a real post tomorrow.(+)*


*New thing I'm trying out whereby periods and exclamation points can be nuanced with the addition of (+) or (-) ("+" making it more exclamatory and "-" making it less exclamatory, more period-y) because I really think we need a punctuation between "." and "!," even if I'm the only one out there. Maybe eventually the MLA or QWERTY people or whoever decides these things can make a new symbol for me? I'd be ever so grateful.

I Hate Cilantro ".com"

I hear there are bloggers out there who post, I dunno, a few times a week, every day, several times a day, but let's be honest -- as much as I may try, I'm no Perez Hilton. (It's taken some time and support of friends to come to terms with this undeniable fact.) I've made the reasonable deal with myself to post once a week, you know, -ish. But sometimes, cilantro news comes to light and you (I) realize it is only really you (me) who can properly address the issue. And so it is that I have to act now; I wouldn't be doing my cilantro-hating duty otherwise.

I Hate Cilantro.com, my friend and nemesis (these things are never simple) seems to be out of order, or under construction, or - I dont' know - folding. This is what it looks like as of 2:49pm EST, 3/27/2008:

And it's looked this way since at least early yesterday. I don't know what's going on, but I can tell you I don't like it one bit. I cannot bare the literary/web burden of cilantro hate alone; I need ihatecilantro.com back. What I'm hoping is they're going for a site redesign/revamp -- they hadn't updated their "news" since September -- and will be back bigger and better than ever. While I'm not a member of their clan, I do love what they do, the multiplicity of voices they add to the truly infinite diversity that is cilantro hate.

And so, in this uncharacteristic spirit of pseudo news, frequent Perez-style posting, I'll keep this post short and I'll leave you with this amazing image.

Sí, Por Favor

~

Totally Generic Grocery Store Checkout Girl: This is flat leaf parsley, right?

Cilantro-Loving Birthday Friend: Uh (rolls eyes), no; this is cilantro.

TGGSCG: Right.

~

This is the scene that had taken place in a local grocery store mere hours before my friend's annual birthday brunch this Saturday past.

We had chilaquiles. We had fresh fruit with chili/cinnamon whipped cream. We had rugelach. We had lots of Champagne. We had, you know, a good time.

Chilaquiles (is/are?) a new dish for me. But like so many things, the moment you become familiar with the thing, the thing is everywhere -- how did I not encounter these marvelous, mysterious chilaquiles before? I had my first set last weekend during a lazy, rainy Saturday brunch with a couple of friends. I had my second set at my friend's birthday brunch on Saturday. Both were very different, both were very delicious and both, surprisingly enough, were cilantro-free.

Chilaquiles, if you aren't familiar, involve stale corn tortillas, fried and simmered in a somewhat spicy green or red sauce then topped with things. Those things generally include queso fresca, crema, chicken and/or eggs and herbs (read cilantro). The whole dish is often served with refried beans. Variations are obviously limitless; what's essential is the fried tortilla simmered in sauce part.

My first set of chilaquiles came from an (at least somewhat) authentic Mexican joint, so I'll attribute the cilantro-free status of their chilaquile salsa verde to divine providence -- there is simply no other way to explain such a thing. My second set of chilaquiles -- the birthday brunch chilaquiles -- now that's a different story. Or is it...

As I was helping in the final stages of prepping the birthday brunch to end all birthday brunches -- I'm telling you: it was great -- I noticed a big bag full of green shit. And what I mean is I saw a big bag of cilantro.

~

Erin: Uh, Cilantro-Loving Birthday Friend?

CLBF: Yes, Erin

Erin: What's the meaning of this? (points to big bag full of green shit).

CLBF: Oh, funniest thing. So (recounts grocery store interaction with TGGSCG) but, get this; it's flat leaf parsley. Can't even use it.

Erin: Are you out of your mind? You can put parsley on anything.

~

And so it was that we enjoyed cilantro-free chilaquiles, con parsley. And here's what I'm thinking. While it's obvious that Chilaquiles Set 1 was a product of divine providence I'm going to go ahead and argue that Chilaquiles Set 2 was also a product of such divine providence. To clarify, Cilantro-Loving Birthday Friend is a pretty decent cook, knows her way around the kitchen and the produce section if you know what I'm saying. For her to mix-up the two admittedly similar-looking herbs is just too unbelievable.

I'm left with only one possible conclusion to draw: God wants me to enjoy chilaquiles (which are super delicious) and God hates cilantro! More on this later.

Bittman Go Braugh!

I love Mark Bittman (of the New York Times Dining Section) for insisting, relentlessly, to be such an elitist foodie prick; he embodies the effete New Yorker cliche so well, it's uncanny. If you aren't familiar with his work (he's written lots of cookbooks) or have only read his column (The Minimalist) I suggest you check him out in video form because only through this medium does his sincere I can't help but make it clear I know I'm smarter than you-ness come through. I'm not being ironic or sarcastic, these are actually the reasons I can't help but like the guy (he does seem to know what the hell he's talking about and he makes quick meals -- the obvious smart guy's alternative to Rachael Ray -- poor thing).

So I used to read his column every week and once in while I read his blog "Bitten," (hey, even Shakespeare couldn't resist a pun) but recently I've been watching his 3-5 minute videos instead, much to his indifferent chagrin no doubt. This week's video is for St. Patrick's Day (aka Monday for all you out there who seem to find it impossible to remember what is the same every year -- March 17th guys -- Erin go Braugh!). As Bittman introduces the segment, "In honor of St. Patrick driving the snakes out of Ireland, I've decided to cook a Mexican dish, because it's green." Just about everything I love about the DB (and I don't mean Daniel Boulud) is evident from that very first sentence. You kind of have to listen to it, but, trust me, it's all in the delivery. The pregnant (I once posited that only men used pregnant as a non-literal adjective, so I guess I'm trying to prove myself wrong) pause between "Mexican dish" and "because it's green," is done with ironic perfection -- that kind of perfect Monty Python beautiful clash between the low-brow ridiculously absurd and the higher-brow intellectually germane -- right, ok Mark, sure, and you know what else is green? Marijuana. I'm just saying.



Since the whole dish is about being green and apparently Mexico's cuisine is also about being green, it shouldn't come as any kind of surprise that cilantro is but one of many green ingredients. There's the tomatillos and pepitas, the marjoram (love marjoram, love it) and poblanos, the lime and serrano. So of course, being Mexican and all, and green and all, there's the cilantro too. Once the chicken has finished cooking in the sauce of tomatillo and garlic and peppers and pepitas and so on (Mark calls them pumpkin seeds, "well actually squash seeds" dismissively. If you watch the video you'll note the characteristic crotchetiness in the delivery) he questions "That green enough for you? Wait! Some ciiiilantro..." and proceeds to top the dish with various other herbs and green things. He says cilantro with the affect of an American ex pat living in a Spanish speaking country (and maybe he lived in Mexico for 15 years, I really don't know) -- he really gets cilantro, cilantro is Mark Bittman's homeboy.

My gripe du jour is two-fold. 1) I understand the desire to play off the green rather than decidedly Irish cultural aspects of St. Patrick's Day, I really do, but for God's sake my fucking name is Erin, I got Irish heritage, leave cilantro out of a holiday we all really know is not about food but too-much drinking. 2) It seems to me cilantro is becoming an almost de facto green addition to things. Now, I'm not saying it isn't at home in Bittman's dish, (although I don't think even he would argue it'd be fine without it, just add a little more parsley) but in his delivery he makes an I'm sure accidental point, a point only a cilantro hater might notice: not green enough? add some cilantro! For Christ's sake, if it's green you're looking for add some parsley or chives, inoffensive flavors that, sure, have flavor, but it's, you know, neutral-ish. When you add cilantro you're not just adding green, you're adding gross.

Threat Level: Orange (Read Cilantro Green)

I have dinner plans with some former food people (as in people who "work in food" as opposed to people who are yuppie, amateur food enthusiasts or "foodies" as they're so often called/call themselves -- I'm not disparaging these people (I love yuppies as much as the next guy) just making a distinction) coworkers tonight at a French Moroccan place, and as much as I'm looking forward to the housemade merguez (love merguez, love it) I'm in a high state of cilantro alert as I anticipate the meal.

I've already had some too close for comfort encounters this week. Wednesday I went to an Italian steakhouse and while the steaks were safely cilantro free, they could have used some salt. Then we went to our favorite bistro on Thursday and the French onion soup/frisee salad with poached egg and lardon/profiterole trinity is failsafe -- cilantro there would be French blasphemy of the highest order. But then Friday I went with a friend to a Cuban restaurant (thank you restaurant for seating us right next to the live entertainment, thank you) and when the empanadas arrived with a vinegary green dipping sauce I knew, didn't think but knew, I was in trouble. I took a quick empanada dip in the sauce to make sure and even my not-as-into-food-but-starting-to-be-into-food friend confirmed (what I of course did not need confirmed) that the sauce was absolutely cilantro to the core.

What came next was a difficult conversation. I speak some Spanish, certainly enough to say "No me gusta cilantro. Otra salsa por favor," or what have you, but see there was this live entertainment directly to our left and if you've ever eaten in a New York restaurant of a popular variety (the line the wall with 2-top banquets and cram them impossibly close together variety) then you can imagine just how this situation is not conducive to communicating with a waiter who, eager as he is to understand is just not hearing let alone understanding what I'm trying to say in English or Spanish. Well, finally somehow I did get the message across, but then I'm left waiting for my new sauce to arrive as my toasty hot empanada becomes less hot and less delicious -- such is the plight of the cilantro hater.

But eventually the new (something roasted tomato based) sauce did arrive and the empanada was good enough and everything was fine. I mean the rest of the meal wasn't great (overcooked lobster tail, not ok) but it was fine and we were drinking sangria heavily so obviously we were happy anyway. But the point is, I can see a similar situation panning out tonight in which a surprise cilantro attack comes to pass and I'm left waiting to enjoy something delicious while something cilantro free gets made. I know what you're thinking, just ask for no cilantro from the beginning. Sure, but that can be difficult in some restaurants, especially when there's a language barrier and you don't want to have a confusing 5-minute conversation if you can just order things that probably won't have cilantro anyway. So for instance I'm probably ok with my merguez, but what of the pastilla or various cous cous dishes I might want? What when the group of 8 or so wants to share appetizers? Will I be the wet blanket of the evening?

Maybe this is why I like going to bistros so much. It's like going to Cheers, except instead of everyone knowing your name you know the menu, er, something like that. But sometimes you want something more interesting than a hanger steak medium rare with frites. Sometimes you want merguez and in that case, the high state of cilantro alert that comes with it is usually worth it; it isn't the cilantro-free status that makes a cuisine good after all (I love myself some green coconut curry sans cilantro), it's the presence of so many other delicious things that makes it stand out. Indeed lots of things don't have cilantro that also don't have flavor -- water comes to mind. So, it is with a high state of alert but an adventurous and hungry palate that I bravely enter my Moroccan dinner.