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I Technically Have No Dietary Restrictions, But I Fucking Hate Cilantro

Cilantro
The offensive herb
by a Sensitive Boy
 
Every year, I fill out a ton of forms for events like field trips or programs. Usually, there’s no issue, and I quickly answer my name, date of birth, and the other generic questions. My mindset is that I should put down answers on these forms that will maximize my happiness and well-being in the long run. That’s why I honestly don’t see what’s wrong with filling out “I fucking hate cilantro” on every form I receive that lists “Do you have any dietary restrictions?” as a question.

Look, I understand that “real” allergies can be serious. My two younger siblings have deadly nut allergies, and I’ve witnessed them both go into anaphylactic shock on numerous occasions. Pretty scary stuff. No one’s questioning that. But let’s not pretend like having my taste buds violently assaulted by some cilantro is that much worse. I mean, an EpiPen solves all that shit my siblings deal with in like 15 minutes, but what do I have? Best case scenario, a really thick chocolate milkshake. Worst case scenario, a glass of iced water that just spreads the flavor everywhere.

Nowadays, everything is nut-free, and labeled as such. Nearly every menu or ingredient label stresses the presence of nuts, as to make life easier for people like my brother and sister. I think that’s great and all, but the elites of the food-labeling community completely forgot to do the same with cilantro. I have found covert cilantro in all manner of dishes, from rice to salads to sandwiches to every single part of Mexican cuisine. Imagine if peanuts were secretly planted in random foods that really didn’t need peanuts. It’s such a double standard, like how women are treated in the workplace, or something.

I hate when people tell me, “Oh yeah, there are some people that think cilantro tastes like soap. You must be one of those people.” No. NO. I would rather shove four bars of soap down my throat than eat some pico de gallo, where every bite of tomato-y goodness is obscured by that putrid herb disguised as weird-looking parsley. 
 
To everyone out there who thinks I’m being overdramatic or petty, I want you to imagine something. Imagine that your favorite food was littered with small bits of the worst memories of your childhood. Now imagine that those memories taste like cilantro.
 
 
© 2019
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