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Humble Onions Shine Brightest as French Onion Soup - 01/20/24


Onions may be the most used and versatile ingredient in our kitchen. They create the base of sauces and stews. We add them to stir-fry and curries. Onions support braised dishes, roasted meats and sausage rolls. I love a perfectly crisped onion ring and still eat them as I did as a kid - breaking them open and slurping out the sweet ring of onion and then dipping the crisp jacket in ketchup or mayo. Onions are always in my kitchen - cooking onions, red onions, green onions, and shallots just hanging out, waiting steadfastly to be transformed into something delicious.


I come by onion appreciation by emersion. 


My grandfather dedicated large swaths of his garden expressly to growing onions. Rows and rows looked like a giant had run through the garden, trampling his crop. The image was accurate. Grandpa was a formidable man and spent hours purposely crushing over the onion tops, leaving them to lay on the dirt. It was a trick, he said, that forces the plants to devote growing energy to the bulbs rather than the stocks, resulting in blue-ribbon onions. 


An onion fresh from the ground is dense and weighty, with tightly packed rings and skins fused to the surface, requiring patience to peel them free. You can get them like this from the farmers' market throughout the summer and fall, but they are scarcely found so firm and fresh at the grocer. The ones at the supermarket seem always on the verge of sprouting. 


Grandma routinely tossed whole peeled onions in with the Sunday beef roast. When the roast was ready, the onions were creamy and sweet with a jam-like flavour and a deep caramel colour. I like them this way. I whip them into the mashed potatoes or spread them on buttered toast. Mother’s favourite lunch is a grilled onion sandwich, studded with just enough cheese to keep the onions and bread welded together. She loves them like her father used to - crisp and raw with their sharp flavour notes still intact. Grandpa adored a fresh tomato and onion sandwich with thick slabs of Spanish onion sprinkled with salt and pepper. 


My favourite onion dish is French onion soup.  It is a special treat and a glorious way to enjoy onions. It is a dish that most clearly demonstrates the magic of cooking. 


You peel and slice roughly ten onions and cry for an hour if the onions are strong. The house fills with a pungent air. Add those onions to a heavy-bottom pot with olive oil and a French-inspired dollop of butter, and you begin to work some magic. Gentle heat and frequent stirring for the next hour transform the vaporous pile of onions into a silky pot of onions, the colour of tea with a flavour that is sweet and addictive. The air in the house turns savoury. Your eyes stop burning, and your stomach starts to rumble with anticipation. I have to control myself at this stage. It’s tempting to hunch over the pot with a fork. Stir in a couple of tablespoons of flour and deglaze the pot with a hefty lug of red wine. Add 6 cups of beef stock. Season with salt, pepper, a bay leaf and a teaspoon of dry thyme or a few fresh sprigs if you have some handy. Cover the soup and let it simmer for a while. Half an hour minimum. In the oven, toast slices of baguette you have drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper. Grate a fabulous punky cheese. Smoked emmental or gruyere are solid choices. Remove the bay leaf and thyme sprigs from the soup and ladle steaming portions into bowls - French onion soup pots are ideally suited if you have them. Top the soup with toasted slices of bread to cover the surface and pile on a generous handful of shredded cheese. Blast the soup under the broiler just long enough to melt and bubble the cheese. If your bowls are not ovenproof - skip this step and allow the heat from the broth to melt the cheese. You’ll miss the browned-up bits, but it will still be delicious. 


Tuck in. Mind the bowl - it will be blazing hot. I like to press the floating croutons and cheese deep into the soup. 


Eat slowly and revel in the magic of simplicity. Time and heat can transform even the harshest ingredients into a delectable offering. At the risk of sounding philosophical - life is much the same. Most of our searing events and feelings transform with time and patience. 






** I made the recipe from Simply Symon Suppers - loosely recapped in this story

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