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:

Evergreen Indeed (Rolls Eyes)

The great thing about the regular place concept--whether a bar, cafe, AA venue or restaurant--is the familiarity, the safety, the knowing what you're going to get and, unless you're an idiot or a masochist, probably like it. For my friend and I, Evergreen serves as a near weekly regular lunch place. A reliable, noteworthy for its lack of things that suck and prevalence of things that are fast, midtown diner spot, Evergreen is perfect for a quick, decent, cheap lunch. That is, it was.

Knowing I'm in for a delicious BBQ dinner at Brooklyn's Fette Sau this evening, I opted for a lighter midday fare: Manhattan clam chowder and tossed salad (a stupid term really, as it is so rarely actually tossed). I considered the New England chowder which they were also offering today, but 1) back to light fare thing 2) the waiter said he preferred New England clam chowder, but that the Manhattan was good. When waiters tell me what they like, it's not so much that I don't care for that as much as that I find it totally irrelevant. What I was asking was which was better, not whether the (very nice) waiter preferred cream or tomato-based soups. 3) My mom will no be surprised by this as she knows whichever outfit she likes better will be the one I do not wear; sorry mom, but you're right in observing that -- no contradiction there. 4) I do quite enjoy a good Manhattan clam chowder and I find they vary so much from place to place, it's worth seeing where what you end up with ranks.

This one did not rank so well. The soup itself is what I would call diner-style vegetable soup with clams, which is probably what most diner Manhattan clam chowders taste like, come to think of it. I was actually ok with that. It sort of invoked the (not good) vegetable soup at Big Boy's I loved growing up; an excellent pairing with the (maybe good?) fish sandwich. The clams added a nice chewiness. It was good enough and more or less what I expected. The thing is, though, that a few bites in I thought to myself: "No, it couldn't be. Really. Is this a joke? Who puts cilantro in Manhattan clam chowder?" Plus Friend and I were having a nice conversation and I didn't want to interrupt with my food neuroses. But then, several bites later, that same, familiar ineffably bad flavor attacked my palate and this time it wouldn't let go.

"OK. Enough about your life, you must try this soup. I swear. I think there's cilantro in it. Try it. No not that bite, there's nothing green. This bite. Try this bite." Dutifully, she did: "Probably. I guess. Uh, maybe that's cilantro."

As a point of fact there wasn't much cilantro in the soup or I would have smelled it before it hit my mouth, in all likelihood. So my friend's lukewarm confirmation was as good as gospel to me. Of course I had to keep sampling it to be absolutely sure and each infinitesimal spoonful reinforced what I already knew: this was a Manhattan clam chowder unlike any other I'd ever had, and unlike any anyone else should ever have to have.

But to be fair, this was all my mistake. I should be more pointed in my waiter Q&A sessions. Instead of "Which is better?" I should say "Which do you recommend and by recommend I mean which is either objectively better, preferred by more customers or the chef or all three. Whether you prefer pasta carbonara or alfredo (gross) is of no interest to me. And if there is cilantro in anything, any amount at all, I don't want it. No, I don't mind if you check with the kitchen." But then I'd be kind of a bitch and I used to be a waiter so I don't like to give them too hard of a time. Perhaps I could prepare a cute flowchart to hand to waiters upon entering a restaurant that begins with: 1) Does this item feature cilantro? 2) if not, do more than 75% of customers like it and do those customers appear to have discriminating palates and/or college degrees? 3) If yes will the item arrive properly cooked and in a timely fashion? And so on and so on. This approach is perhaps no less bitchy, but, you have to admit, it's pretty hilarious. Flowchart forthcoming.

Foreign Types with the Hookah Pipes

One of the great things about vocally, perhaps pathologically hating cilantro is people are constantly offering cilantro anecdotes, testimonies, periodical features of interest. Many of these tidbits aren't SO interesting after all, but some of them are.

My dear friend (I was going to call her "best friend" but didn't want to step on any toes cuz for real I have several "best" friends. Then I thought "BFF" because it's amusing as hell to me but I thought something in the intended tone might be lost on my audience: many of you I know like cilantro, and we all know what that means about your IQ.) and roommate has just moved to Rome/Cairo. She's been in Cairo a few weeks now and one of the first things she tells me is she is surrounded by Cilantro. No, not the herb, the fucking cafe.

I know. As if. Well, apparently this chain of cafes is as ubiquitous in Cairo as suicidal cab drivers. The cafes, Dear Friend tells me, have internet connections, nice amenities, a quiet, relaxed ambiance and, you know, allow women. In other words, this is a Western-style chain standing in direct opposition to the segregated, loud, cheap and dirty ahwas, traditional Egyptian coffee shops.

It goes without saying that this is an outrage, but alas, Cilantro Cafe is but one of many businesses masquerading as restaurants with the audacity (or I'm sure what they all think of as hip, or edgy or just plain clever idea) to bear the name "Cilantro." It's not surprising with all the restaurants in the world some are bound to be named Cilantro; naming restaurants after food is pretty common (and stupid, if you ask me -- thanks for asking) and cilantro, as we've established many times over, is everywhere.

What's upsetting is that the biggest chain of coffee shops in all of Cairo is named after my nemesis. Or is it? I mean, is it really a term of distinction to be a coffee shop chain? Is it really so awesome to be the very Egyptian icon of Westernization and cultural atrophy? Dear Friend tells me she'd never spend any time there, that she'd really prefer to hang at the ahwas, but damnit, honky needs her wireless connection and the ice cubes next door might make her sick. Then there's also the issue that she isn't really allowed in those "realer" places, having tits and all. So, on that front Cilantro represents progress, of the good sort that creates the eponymous noun liberals prefer to call themselves; they allow women.

I have a tremendous amount of patience for other cultures, mostly because I recognize after 25 years in the US of America one I don't know that culture is the kind of thing one can ever understand, but more to the point, I don't like to be too judgmental -- do whatever you want, please don't kill my dog (I don't have a dog). I have serious problems with religion, but, that's with all of them, not a particular one. Most of my problems are rooted in the fact that people do irrational things that are objectively bad for themselves and everyone around them in the name of a god or spirit or faith that they don't know exists. Yeah. That sounds a lot like a judgment to me too. Anyway, some of the worst forms of what I don't like about religion involve violences and injustices against women, a group I'm (on the whole) pretty fond of. Genital mutilation (ha, you thought you were reading a cilantro blog), anti-birth control policies and a general limitation of that great word W loves to throw around -- freedom -- are but a few nuisances women have had to endure at the hands of "their" religions. Exclusion from public cafes would be another.

So, while I'm down with dirt and noise and all those authentic things Western travelers like to tell themselves they like so they can have authentic experiences, in the end I value the kind of progress that allows a woman to order a fucking cup of coffee. And if that kind of place goes by the name Cilantro.... Point for cilantro.

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.