Coming Home – To Coriander

The look of disgust on Dad’s face should be immortalised in marble for future generations to recognise in themselves when they taste coriander for the first time. “It tastes like soap!” He shakes his head in disgust, lips pursed, shoulders hunched. My sons imitate the look exactly when presented with the herb. Genetics are strong in this one! There is very little else that polarises this house quite like coriander does.

Coriander was not an ingredient in the meals I enjoyed growing up. To be honest, I am still partial to the plain cooking of my childhood, sausages and mashed potato are my comfort food.  I came to it as an adult and I do remember my first two confrontations with the herb. One night Ian and I went out to a rather pricy French restaurant in Canberra. It was a celebration of some sort, the reason for which has long slipped from my memory, but I know it required our nicest clothes and plenty of makeup. Well, I would have worn makeup. Not sure about Ian (he didn’t need to, he has lovely skin!). The food was exquisite, rich and complex with flavours layered in a way only a French chef knows how. It was in the creamy sauce on the chicken. Yes, Dad, I nearly threw up when the taste hit me in that first mouthful!!! But it was an expensive meal and a special occasion and I was hungry… so I persisted. When we got home I resolved never to eat coriander ever again. Chip off the old block, that’s me!

Until the day we headed north and my darling mother-in-law served one of her specialties. Like the French meal it was full of flavour and so rich. In the first mouthful not only did I renew my acquaintance with coriander I also met capers for the first time! Oh, Jules, tell me, did I manage to get away with it? Did I keep a polite, straight face? It felt like a full body assault! And then to my surprise I became aware of a competing sensation. I wanted more. Even as I took a second mouthful, then a third, my mind was questioning my tastebuds incredulously. “Are you serious? Do you KNOW what you are doing???” It seemed that my tastebuds and my MIL did know what they were doing. By the fourth mouthful I was in culinary heaven. It’s ok, Jules, I loved it!!!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how our tastes can change as we gain both years and experience. As a speechie working in early intervention I found myself regularly supporting families with children who took personal taste and picky eating to a whole new level. There was the child who only ate food if it was white. It got so bad she would only eat if the room, too, was completely colourless. The little boy who would vomit if there was the slightest lump in his food. His mother pureed entire roast dinners and, once, a pavlova for his birthday. Mothers were torn between sustaining their child on junk food or watching them fade away with a healthy meal within reach. Neophobia is the term for it – fear of something new and unfamiliar, in this case particularly relating to a fear of new foods. Science suggests it evolved rather sensibly from a cautiousness with unknown items on the menu that first needed to be proven safe before we munched on them. A risk management approach to nutrition, if you like. (Seriously, don’t eat the red berries! You know who you are…).

The resolution of a picky eater and their diet can take what feels like forever. Some children only needed a new food to be introduced 3-4 times and were game to give it a go. Others needed weeks of careful encouragement and unemotional time at the table before they would even touch the new food with the prongs of their fork. But by the time they are grown we know that most adults have come to terms with a more mature palate in some form or another. It really does get better!

My family will remind me of the time I threw up pumpkin and screwed my nose at tomato, two foods I now grow in the garden and enjoy as an adult. It’s more than just food that we grow to like and appreciate with maturity and exposure though. I’ve taken to playing ABC Classic FM on the radio in the morning when I write. To begin with it was because I didn’t want to listen to radio presenters and I can’t write when there are other words being sung in the background. Over time I have come to know and even appreciate the different composers and I’ve begun to have a preference for pieces that the divine Ed Le Broq plays. Exposure and repetition, works every time. A version of this same theme is how we supported the development of first words and of language comprehension. Repetition and context, over and over again. Reading and walking and playing an instrument. One step at a time. It’s how you learn to ride a bike only with less skin off your knees!

It’s a superpower we all have access to if we are willing enough to give it time. Practice. Commitment. Determination and repetition. Like building a new habit. Like turning a previously unfamiliar process into a new skill. Like learning to use hiking poles. Like tempting back the creative cooking muse! I’m not so sure about anybody being able to like coriander but I could be wrong on that one! 

I’ve seen (and tasted) enough and read even more that shows that even though we can train ourselves to do so much we obviously do still have our own innate, particular tastes and preferences. I love really crunchy, nutty textures and will chomp into a whole apple with glee. I have a relative of a strikingly similar age to me who continues to avoid vegetables though his dear wife sneaks them into his food while she does the same for their little ones. Ms G became vegetarian initially due to her innate revulsion for the chewy texture of meat (hmm, is this something about my cooking?!). She has a wide and adventurous palate but that texture preference is ingrained and has never altered. Dad is sensitive to strong smells and taste and finds pleasure in simple, more subtle, nuanced servings while our diabetic has an unfortunate yet understandable leaning towards sweetness. It fascinates me to see these individual preferences develop around the same dining table. Yes, it’s not only what is put in front of you! Mr M recently observed that as he gets older (go 17!!) he is noticing his tastes are evolving and that it’s actually quite an intriguing experience.

Liz Gilbert would tell me to show up and do the work. Turn up and keep trying even on the days when making the meal or writing the words or trying the food is the very last thing you want to do.

That said, I’m pretty sure that Dad will never, ever come to like coriander. (You can’t teach an old dog new tricks apparently, especially if he DOES NOT want to learn them and especially if it’s likely to be genetic!). But next time we see you, Jules, will you make me the chicken with coriander and capers dish? It’s been a long time and I think I would really love every single mouthful this time. Even the first one! I’ll bring the wine.