Cry your eyes out – French Onion Soup

French Onion Soup
Yesterday I came home and popped into my laptop Rossini’s Barbieri di Seviglia (I know, I’m getting stranger by the day) and then set on to search for a classic french onion soup, which I did not have to do for long since Smitten Kitchen, as usual, had the answer for me quite soon. So I grabbed 4 big, shiny, smooth onions and set them on the chopping board. I grabbed the knife, I sliced once, I sliced twice. And then I stopped. What on earth was I thinking???? I’d completely forgotten that onions, or any of their cousins (red onions, shallots, garlic, spring onions, chives, you name it!) will have me in tears within seconds. And I’m not talking about watery eyes or a runaway tear. I’m talking grab-the-tissues-now stuff. I don’t know why so much, but it’s always been that way. I’ve tried super ultra sharp knives. I’ve tried cold onions straight from the fridge. There’s nothing that can help it. In fact, I remembered as I held the onion with great hatred in my hand and cried in between bouts of Figaro Figaro Figaro coming from my computer, when I worked in cooking school and I had to prepare for recipes which included onions, I would always trade with the other assistants for anything else. I’d much prefer to remove the scales from your smelly fish! So why would I subject myself willingly to all that slicing of the stinky critter?? The reason, of course, is that there is nothing quite like french onion soup. Even if I had to eat it with puffy eyes and a red nose. Deb uses Julia Child’s recipe, which she kindly provides with friendly measures. The only thing I changed was the bread, which I changed for American pumpernickel since I didn’t have any other, but it was actually an incredibly good twist. The caraway seeds such a pleasant surprise in the hot, caramelized goodness of the onions.

onions, butter, wine

Slicing onions

Cokking onions

Caramelised onions

Recipe here: French Onion Soup at Smitten Kitchen

Teatime heavenly bites – Butter and sugar biscuit thins

Teatime Heavenly Bites

I confess that I’ve been saving this post because I couldn’t come up with words good enough to describe these biscuits. As I’ve said before, (and have shown in the shameless invasion of cookie recipes in this blog) I absolutely adore cookies, in any form. And while there’s no such thing as the perfect cookie, because the perfect choice depends on the moment, weather, accompanying beverage, and previous meal, these ones are pretty close to being the perfect teatime bite. (Also could be the perfect coffetime bite, but people never say 5 o’clock coffee, for some reason). I love having something to accompany my tea, and I always childishly try to eat it in as small bites as I can, to see if I can make it last until I see the bottom of my cup. These, for sure, will NOT last until the bottom of your cup. They don’t melt in your mouth; they crumble, ever so thin and light. Buttery-sweet-flakey. The vanilla ones are perfect for tea, and the chocolate ones for coffee. But be careful and serve only a bit, or you’ll find yourself having a whole meal comprised solely of these biscuits. To add to their wonderfulness, they keep very well as long as they’re placed in an airtight container, preferably with a sign on the tin that reads “don’t grab anymore, you’ve already had 10!”) .
They’re a variation on the recipe for the traditional french sablés below, of which I baked about a ton for a special order. These are also delicious, but quite heavier and best served with a glass of cold milk.

Butter sables on platter

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