I wrote this at a Gotham Writer’s Workshop Write-In in Brooklyn, New York. It was five writers hanging out at Two Moons Cafe, writing freestyle stories based on prompts by Amy Shearn, writer of the acclaimed, The Mermaid of Brooklyn: A Novel.
The first prompt was cilantro and this is my story.
Before I met my husband, I thought Cilantro was the name of the pizza guy.
“Babe, did you put cilantro in the guacamole?”
“Why would I do that?! Cilantro has done nothing bad to me!”
Okay, so as a Russian Jew raised by a tired mother, I was never privy to the mouth watering herb that would complete the Spanish side dish. Sue me! My husband, on the other hand, is a half Spanish, half Italian cilantro loving fella. I just had to figure out how to tease his taste buds in the kitchen.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Cilantro and quinoa. It’s just a salad I’ve created. Just for you!”
How rude but really, it’s fine. We can’t win them all.
But I must admit that I am proud of how far I’ve come. I used to have to Google pictures of cilantro to make sure I was buying the proper herb. Sure, supermarkets label their greens but I made sure to be diligent. Now I no longer Google and let my other senses take over. I am now familiar with how it looks, smells and feels.
To most this is basic but to me it is an accomplishment to know that cilantro is an herb and not a man.
Is that you cilantro?!
No, I’m over here! Aren’t I’m sexier?
But I smell pretty!
FINE. I’ll take you both.
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