French Onion Soup Bliss

Last week Mistah and I were at the grocery store and I noticed a sale on onions: buy one 3-pound bag, get one free. I love onions as much as the next person -- I start most meals with a glass of chardonnay, a head of garlic, an onion, and NPR -- but does anybody need *that* many onions? Still, they were free. And I love free. "Sigh," I said, "if only Dad were around to make us French Onion Soup."

My Dad became a cook after he recovered from kidney transplant surgery. He spent many of those convalescing days in front of the tv, and was drawn to the cooking shows; he became Rachael Ray's biggest fan.  She ate at the end of every episode! The food she had cooked during the show! Dad was smitten. (MB said to me then, "I watch cooking shows. But that doesn't mean I cook!") And one of Dad's specialties? French Onion Soup.

But none of this was helping me with my six pounds of onions. Because French Onion Soup is an ethereal thing that Dad made, and Dad was no longer here to make it, and I was bereft.

Still, I bought the onions . . . 

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