The Chinese calendar declares that 2004 is the year of the monkey. Anyone born this year will be intelligent, well-liked by everyone, and have success in any field they choose. Lucky monkeys. The loquacious and red-faced Democrats have claimed 2004 as the Year of Change. Athletes and festival purists may see 2004 as the year the Olympics return to Athens. In addition, most of us have our own personal brands for the year, as in 2004: The Year I Run Three Miles Every Damn Day, or 2004: The Year of the Sex Change. But those have more to do with resolutions than an actual annual manifesto. Thus far, nobody has seemed to get it right, so I’m calling it. This 2004 will be a year of complexity and strong reactions, many will peel away the layers of their lives to find their true essence, we’ll see widespread acceptance and global success, and there just might be some tears in the process. For all intents and purposes, this will be the Year of the Onion.
Such a mundane veg for a potentially fantastic year, you say? Maybe you don’t know how emblematic the onion really is. Rotund and ready to roll, the onion has character, not giving in so easily under the knife. It bites back. Once tamed, though, the onion gladly softens, sweetens, and plays backup to other foods, rarely hogging the limelight in most dishes. Sautéed with a bit of garlic, you have the smell of home-cooked memories hanging about. Like any great work of art, onions have been both maligned and exalted by kings, and misunderstood and appreciated by the masses. And they have stood the test of time to land smack-dab on your hot dog in this great year of 2004.
It is actually believed that we’re coming up on more than five thousand years of love for the onion. Most anthropologists agree that the onion probably grew in its wild form throughout the region from Israel to India, where primitive man presumably first pulled them from the earth. The earliest civilizations knew the value of the onion. Egyptians saw in its multilayered skins a symbol of the universe, peeling back the layers of eternity to find the two stems of life’s beginning. The onion appears in art among the feasts of the gods and was a true companion in the tombs of Pharaohs. In 1160 BC, King Ramses IV was mummified with onions in his eye sockets.
Maybe with the return of the Olympics to Greece we’ll see a return to the old practice of competing athletes devouring pounds of onions, drinking onion juice, and rubbing onions all over their bodies in preparation for competition. Maybe not. High-society Romans were the first to brand the onion as peasant food, going as far as passing laws on certain times of day when it was okay to eat onions. Apicius, the first gourmand, does little for the onion, whereas the foot soldiers of the Roman Army wouldn’t go marauding without them.
Easily cultivated in many climates and soil conditions, the onion spread throughout the world. The genus Allium is extensive and includes garlic, shallots, onions, leeks, chives, scallions, and lilies. Since cultivation began, there have been several different sizes and types bred, which has led to much confusion. If all green onions are also scallions, are all scallions green onions? Onions are best lumped into two categories: the round globe onions with single bulbs and the tubular cluster onions. The latter never form bulbs; instead they grow a cluster of stem bases with long green leaves and are referred to as spring onions, oriental onions, green onions and sometimes scallions. But the term “scallions” can also mean young leeks and sometimes the tops of young shallots. These onions are the oldest and most used ingredient in Chinese cooking and the only onion commonly used in Japanese cuisine.
Papery, spherical, and robust, the globe onions are usually bought mature with the dry delicate skin hiding the pungent flesh. The fresher the onion, the milder the flavor, so an older onion with very dark papery skin will have more kick. The basic grocery store set includes Bermuda onions in white or yellow, the usually yellow Spanish onion, and the red Italian onion. And then there are the juicy, sweet debutantes of the onion world that show up every once in a while to steal the show, the Vidalia (which can, its Georgian creators claim, be eaten like an apple) and the wondrous Walla Walla from Washington. These are great starters for those afraid of the onion’s bite. And how does one tame an onion so that no cook shall be reduced to tears? Simply chill the onion for 20 minutes before cutting to slow down those sulphuric compounds, or if you don’t have the time, a welding mask also works.
The very Zen onion often finds its way into sauces and dishes as merely a flavoring agent, propping up the other ingredients with no thought for self glory. But it is this quality that makes it indispensable. The chicken-fried rice at Kinhdo is the best in the free world, in part because of the healthy proliferation of onions. And then there are times when the onion can unexpectedly take center stage, like when you grab a Polish sausage at the Bulldog and heap it with sauerkraut and onions, just to be close to the gods. Then, of course, one of the best ways to enjoy the delightful nuances of the onion is to find a hearty bowl of French onion soup, slathered with melted cheese and crusty croutons. The Panera chain makes a good bowl, but I’d like to suggest a real special sleeper: Keegan’s Irish Pub in Nordeast serves an onion-rich broth topped with a half-inch of the finest Irish cheddar. Yum! My challenge to you this Year of the Onion is twofold, just like the twin hearts of a Texas Sweet 1015: Seek out the best French onion soup in the city and seek in your inner onion.
Leave a Reply Cancel reply