... might the papalo leaf be the answer for those poor souls who have never been able to experience the zingy shiver of a good sprig of cilantro?
In summer 2013, one particular papalo leaf ('Bolivian coriander' or 'summer coriander' despite not actually being genetically related to coriander) tucked itself coyly away in a sandwich I was about to devour. I was expecting a torta: you know, meat, cheese, avocado, lettuce, some kind of spicy slathering, a bun, copious amounts of grease.
Instead, unbeknownst to me, I was actually holding a cemita.
...a MONSTER cemita. |
But an unexpected guest at a party always earns an extra once-over, and I did a double take, peeking under the pillowy egg-bread to see what that surprise zing was. Cilantro? Fish-mint? Saw-leaf herb? My at-the-time-primarily-phở-based herb expertise was at a loss. I poked and prodded the clover-shaped herb, ripping off bits to taste and holding it up to the light, examining its plant-veins.
Giving up, I asked the cashier after I was done: "Papalo!" she exclaimed, smiling brightly. "It's seasonal!"
Seasonal? In today's frantic global scramble, with cargo airborne everywhere and instant culinary gratification?
What a treat! Something to look forward to every summer!
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Where to get papalo in Orange/LA county:
The place that served it to me is called La Cemita Poblana and it's in Santa Ana. A cute little cottage with outdoor-only seating, cheerful service, and aguas frescas served in small-bucket and large-bucket sizes only, dinner for two won't run more than $20 (and probably much less).
Otherwise, if you're more of a kitchen-adventurer than a restaurant-adventurer, I hear it's available in the produce section of Mexican markets.
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