Bolted Cilantro

Inevitably, when enough time has passed for me to forget the last time I tried growing cilantro, I’ll grab a tray of seedlings from the garden store and feel immediately proud of my foresight and thriftiness. Think of all those bunches of lifeless cilantro I’ve had to exhume from the depths of the fridge crisper bin after having only used a small handful for some fresh salsa or to finish a grain salad. Cilantro in the garden, ready on standby. Brilliant. 

Fast-forward a month or two, after I’ve missed the two-week window when the cilantro is tender and leafy, and after the occasional 70 plus degree day which will happen regardless of what month it is here in Southern California, and the stalks starts shooting upward, the leaves turning feathery and wispy.

This last January, inspiration struck again. After eyeing my local planting calendar and seeing that the season was right for starting herb seeds in the garden, it was time to do it the right way. I grabbed a packet of cilantro seed, bolt-resistant, no less.

Seeds were sown, watered daily until they germinated, thinned to leave only the heartiest seedlings spaced 6-8 inches apart. Gardening! Then a heat wave hit in mid-March, and we headed to the beach to escape temps which touched the low-90s. If only the cilantro was so lucky.

Now here we are two months later, and I’ve bought two bunches of cilantro in that time to make two sauces - a chimichurri, then a green harissa. I’ve had to relegate the rest of those bunches to the worm bin (at least it’s feeding the garden!). The bolted cilantro outside has all flowered, with some of the older pollinated blossoms turning to coriander. 

I’ve thought about pulling it out and making room for some basil, eggplant, maybe a zucchini. But as I stand next to the waist-high clusters of delicate white flowers, morning coffee in one hand, hose in the other watering the garden, I inhale their intoxicating scent… intensely floral with a clean, citrusy edge. I may have had visions of a steady supply of cilantro – the salsas, the sauces, the dressings of spring. But the plant knew what it wanted to be. I grabbed a handful of flowers and started the masa.