When I was little, like all normal children, I hated onions. Well, how little - up to 30 years old. After 30, I suddenly realized that the attitude towards onions is a sign of true adulthood. It's like when you move out from your parents and realize that you have to pay for the apartment, and the money is not taken from the nightstand. The day when you absolutely consciously take an onion to put it in your own prepared dishes can be considered a point from the count of real adult life. Genuine human maturity.
Onions in childhood seem to be a completely redundant element of gastronomic life. I picked out onions from absolutely everywhere, neatly stacking them in a pile on a plate under the disapproving glances of adults who incinerated me for disrespecting the hostess's work. My parents believed that this was my child's: it's clear that kids love chocolates and gum more than disgusting bitter striped tear rings. But my childhood dragged on.
Fight with shawarma
Once I took a shawarma in some railway station eatery, being terribly hungry. I eagerly took a bite of the first piece and realized that fresh onions take up about 30% of the total filling. But there was nowhere to retreat ...
Even though it was not a Michelin-starred restaurant, spitting it all out in front of an astonished audience seemed to me a painting of my own helplessness, not to mention an ordinary indecency. I decided to save face and accept this challenge with dignity. Moreover, I really wanted to eat.
I shrank, tensed, bit quickly, chewed quickly, tears ran down my cheeks, and then I washed it all down with a glass of coffee, exhaled, shuddered and caught my breath and left with my head held high. Like after a fight with the enemy in which I won.
Subtle hints and juicy handfuls
A friend of mine always pesters the waitresses in a cafe:
“Tell me, is there definitely no bow? Are you sure about that? Can you guarantee me this? You see, I have to be one hundred percent sure that there is not the slightest hint of onion in this dish, otherwise I will replace it. "
And I have always been completely on her side.
Another friend of mine loves to plan onions wherever possible. Once we were preparing for the New Year and fiddling around in the kitchen. I made Olivier, she - salad with crab sticks. And suddenly I saw that she was cutting onions... In a sweet salad with crab sticks. The one where crab sticks merge into a gastronomic waltz with sweet corn. Bitter and disgusting onions, the culprit of my childhood tears, spilled into a plate.
- Why, why is there a bow then??? - I whispered helplessly, hoping to have time to dissuade her.
“And we always do this salad like that,” she said calmly, emotionlessly raking a handful on top of the sweet corn.
Of course, I did not touch the salad.
Onion enlightenment
After 30, I suddenly began to cook cabbage soup, soups, hodgepodge and gravy. Naturally, no bow. Once, having cooked into my first borscht, I realized that something was missing in it. Sadly as it was for me to admit, it was the onion that was missing, from which I unlocked to the last. The next borscht I made with onions, and it was as if enlightenment covered me - just like the Indian yogis who are starving and lying on a mat with nails. "It's tasteless without onions.. it's not tasty... tasteless "- rang a treacherous echo in my head.
But to this day, with a shudder, I watch "Frost", where Marfushka under a tree chews an onion like an apple. And in the same way, I close my eyes internally when I see when someone takes live raw rings, cut, for example, on top of a herring, and crunches with relish. I don't think I have grown enough to grow up to French onion soup and deep-fried onion rings.
© Yana Stoyanova
