Cilantro: Some people just don't get it

The New York Times is just now addressing the serious issue of cilantro revulsion. Even so, they just don't get it.  In a Food section story today, which seems confused as to whether cilantro disgust is genetic or acquired, Darwinian or cultural, those of us who can't bear the weed, uh, herb, are condescendingly dismissed.

Admittedly, the story by Harold McGee does report Julia Child's hatred for cilantro, and her determination to "pick it out if I saw it and throw it on the floor." But the writer claims the froufy leaf's "soapy" taste has over the years grown on him.

I say: Better on the floor.

I am one of those who cannot bear even to be within nose-shot of it.  When helpful friends assure me that the green bits in the guacamole are only parsley, I catch them in their deception, since the putrid stench wafts from the dip long before its hideous flavor taints my tongue.  I blanch at chopping cilantro, even as a favor to my beloved daughter who savors it, as gagging while holding a knife can be trecherous.  My other daughter inherited the cilantro-despising gene from me; we both recoil from the wretched taste today's article blames on the leaf's aldehyde fat molecules. Scientists explain that such particles combine with air to produce a distinctinctive "bug-infested bedclothes" odor. Mmm-MMMH!

I detailed my disgust with cilantro in a previous post; I am convinced that such loathing is entirely inbred.  I cannot imagine ever imbibing something so repulsive with nonchalance.

(Here's a left-field comparison:  this is the same kind of statement I've heard from gay people who say they can't imagine attraction to one of the opposite sex.)

I suspect that even characteristics that are physiologically based, like the foods we find absolutely abhorrent (as opposed to those we merely dislike, which of course can change over time and throughout life) may have a cultural component.  Perhaps if I'd been exposed to hot chili peppers regularly as a child, I could tolerate pungently heated dishes today.  As it is, spicy foods cause my palate pain. (The same daughter who reviles cilantro, by the way, loves firey food; my other daughter, the one who craves cilantro, shares my discomfort with spiciness.)  We don't understand how these peculiarities are set, though I suspect researchers will soon discover the marker that confirms a biological basis.

So I strongly disagree with the Darwinian hypothesis by neuroscientist Jay Gottfried of Northwestern University that unusual tastes get classified by the brain as safety threats; once they're rationally identified as friendly food, they can be re-sorted into the palatable pile.  He suggests readers re-orient their instinct by... making cilantro pesto.

Well, maybe wearing a face mask I could try...but then it would take a lot of time to pick out the little green flecks and throw them on the floor.

Cilantro: Creation of the Devil

Finally, I am vindicated for my aversion to cilantro. On the front page of Friday's Wall Street Journal is an article legitimizing my complete disgust with being even within inhaling distance of what the article headlines as a "fetid barb of green."

I am convinced it's genetic, this abhorrence for the slightest whiff, much less the teensiest taste (ugh!) of the loathesome leaves. My daughter and son share this disgust with me; my husband, who chows down on cilantro-laden Thai food (certainly never made by me!) with gusto, passed his fondness for the herb to our other daughter.

Little did I know that Facebook cilantro-bashing groups proliferate; that cilantro antipathy causes psychological problems (University of Washington student Natalie Sample, of Mexican descent, is quoted in the article as feeling "guilty" for "letting my heritage down"), and herbal hostility inspires haikus of hatred.

Uh-oh, I feel one coming on:

Eager for curry

Waitress here with steaming plates

Stench wafts and smile dies

Apparently the cilantro-loving gene is dominant. Cilantro production is up, $30 million of it produced in California in 2007, compared to $17 million in 2000. Or maybe there are just a lot more Mexican restaurants. A study did show that identical twins shared this garnish-fondness, while just 42% of fraternal twins did.

Philadelphia cilantro-neuroscientist Charles J. Wysocki says repugnance comes from an inability to detect the chemicals in the herb's smell that please enthusiasts. So it could be we who are disgusted are also faulty. But I don't think it's just the smell. Sometimes, when the putrid odor is overcome by other ingredients, I discover its terrible tang ruining what would have been a delightful dish. If it weren't for those stealth shavings masquerading as parsley.

And those who enjoy this woeful weed just don't understand the strength of detestation for those of us who despise it. They laugh when we spit it out and ask restaurant servers with exaggerated urgency to "hold the cilantro." The article recounts one home-delivery recipient who "threw a burrito across my living room because, despite my specific order, it was packed with cilantro." Packed. Makes me nauseous just to think about it.

What to do? Just don't invite me over if you're cooking with any. And if we're out and I discover some finely diced leaf, just stop laughing as you watch me pick every last speck of it out of my food.