In Virginia I grew up eating yellow onions. I remember them as small and in a mesh bag. The ones I buy up here seem gigantic in comparison. My dad also grew them. My mom used them a lot in cooking, in soups and stews, roasts, fried potatoes, etc. And I think on occasion we had white onions, perhaps Spanish onions. My dad loved raw onions on top of his greens. He used to tease my mom by taking a big bite of onion and then trying to kiss her. I wasn’t too keen on raw onions but loved the aroma that filled the air as they cooked. As I grew up and made my way out into the world I was introduced to the great variety of onions and tastes and textures. But again mostly cooked.
Early in our relationship Steve didn’t so much woo me by taking me out to eat. He was more inclined to prepare a meal however humble. A favorite was simply toasted bread, rubbed with garlic, a protein of some sort, maybe his homemade mayonnaise and then toppings. I was used to tomatoes but one day, after a visit to the farmer’s market, he returned with some red onions. As he sliced them, they were beautiful but when he offered me a slice I politely declined.
“Try this,” he encouraged. He made one of his little open-faced sandwiches and placed the red onion slice on top. “Please.”
With a sigh, I did so, and then said, genuinely, “That tastes good!”
He looked at me and said with a weird sincerity. “I love you.”
Steve and I bonded over food and I think that’s why it is so hard to eat without him. I certainly do eat but I find that sometimes, especially when I am home alone, it helps to lean into the creativity and it is in that creation that an appetite forms. So it is to slice an onion and slow roast it so that the aroma fills the air as I prepare another part of the meal. It is to purchase those vegetables that Steve wasn’t so inclined towards, like cabbage versus his much-beloved brussel sprouts, sauteing spinach (he preferred fresh if he must) with garlic and red pepper flakes. Lots of pepper, black and jalapeno, in meals these days where appropriate. I need flavor. I still have a porch full of fresh herbs and they too provide inspiration that leads to creativity.
I did develop an appetite for mushrooms from him. And though in a previous post I called him stubborn for trying to continue thinly slicing his shitake mushrooms instead of a more rustic chop given his physical challenges, I do find myself in a quiet peaceful place when I now thinly slice the mushrooms and, yes, on occasion, I do smile.
In a small frying pan, heat olive oil and butter. When hot, press the potato-radish mixture into the pan.
