The root of all sweetness

I think that we all know, either explicitly or implicitly, that vegetables have sugar in them. "Sweet peas," "sweet corn," we speak of tomatos being sweet, and so forth. But the big question is: can you guess what vegetable has the highest sugar content of all of them? And no, it's not sugar beets.

Did you guess onions? If you did "you know your onions," as they used to say (what does that mean, by the way, and why don't we say it anymore?). Onions have the highest sugar content of all vegetables. It's not apparent when you taste them raw, or even cooked quickly, because those sulfur compounds block the flavor. You have to get rid of them first, and then you have to break down the big carbohydrate molecules to reduce the sugar. So, long, slow cooking, will give you a wonderful product - something akin to an onion marmalade. We're gonna make it today, because it fits in with the current pizza series, in a wonderful French variation on it, and also stands on its own.

This is a "recipe" that really reflects how I like to cook. Few ingredients, not that much work, and a really fine product. What you will need are three pounds of onions - the simple yellow ones, a quarter cup of olive oil, a teaspoon or so of salt, and if you have them, a few sprigs of thyme.

Peel the onions, half them, and cut them into fairly thin, half moon slices. You will be amazed at how much volume this takes up. You're going to be more surprised later, but we'll get to that.

When you've finished slicing the onions - and it will take a while - heat up the quarter cup of olive oil, and add the onions and the salt, as well as the thyme. Soon, you'll get a sizzle. Lower the heat to half of the maximum volume, stir, and cover the pot. Set your timer for 45 minutes, and come back every fifteen minutes or so, and stir. (This is something good to do when you're reading the paper, or watching tv, or doing something that does not involve full attention. I do NOT recommend it if you're making love, practicing music, natting lace, or something like that).

After that 45 minutes with the cover on the pot, you will be amazed to see how much liquid you have, and how much the onions have shrunk in volume. Now, you're going to keep cooking for another 45 minutes, with the top off, at the same level of heat. Some interesting things are going to happen. First, all of that liquid is going to go off, and the onions are going to shrink some more. And after about a half an hour, you're going to have to start doing some work. During the last fifteen minutes, you should be stirring those onions, leisurely, but keep them moving. The reason for this is that most of the water has gone out, they are going to begin to carmelize and get nice and sweet, but if you don't keep them moving, they WILL burn. And your pot will NOT be easy to clean (ask me how I know. I'll tell you).

After this second 45 minutes, you're going to have just over a cup of very reduced, very brown, very wonderful, tasty onions. That's right , just over a cup. From three pounds of onions. You have what is at heart, the "essence of the onion." Taste a strip. Good, huh? Makes you want to have a hamburger. We'll get to that.

If you want to make this even more intense, get a quarter cup of cheap balsamic vinegar, add that, and cook until the liquid evaporates. Now, you'll have even darker, even sweeter onions. This is up to you. I don't do it.

So, what do you do with the onions? Well, bluntly, anything you want. How about some toast with the onions and a slice of cheese on them? Perhaps you made some lamb chops and you want a "little something" to dress them up? Remember that hamburger I mentioned? Or a steak if you're feeling flush? They really seem to go well with heavy duty starches, and with meat. I really want them to work in risotto, but I haven't been pleased.

But since we're talking about pizza: the French have a wonderful dish called pissaladere. It's made all over France, with different dough bases. Some use puff pastry, some use a pie crust, and some use a yeast dough remarkably like pizza. Let's try it.

You do need the full, double recipe of pizza dough we made in the last blog. Do your best to stretch this out over a 13x18 baking sheet (for the numerically frightened, that's a standard baking sheet). If you don't get it to stretch all the way, relax. This is peasant food, and you're going to cut it into pieces. After you've stretched it as much as you want, get some anchovy paste and smear it over the dough.

Ok, stop saying "EWWWWWW" I used to do that, too. But one day, I bravely bit the bullet and spread the paste all over the dough. It does NOT taste fishy, but it DOES give a wonderful "back" to the dish that is very, very pleasing. There's probably something going on here with that fifth element of taste that the Japanese discovered some time ago, but I'm not going there with this. I cook. Anyway, leave it off if you really don't want to, but try it, please? Just squirt some out of the tube and spread it thin. Then, spread all of those onions over the dough. Now, you need some olives. Traditionally, the dish calls for nicoise olives. They're good, but the onions are so sweet that I like the balance that a more bitter olive, like oil cured black ones gives. Be as free or parsimonious with the olives as you like, and press them into the dough. We're cooking European style here, so we're keeping the pits in. Warn your guests.

Now, put that construction into the oven, at 500, for about twenty minutes. It will puff up some, but not a lot, and brown, but not a lot. Let it cool, cut it into squares, and eat it hot, if you must. I LOVE this at room temperature though, especially with a glass of champagne or something apertiffy.

So, if the pissaladere sounds too challenging, just make the onions, and use them on something else. We have a new friend coming over for dinner on Thursday, and I'm excited. I'm going to make the onions and put them over shoulder lamb chops.

Hey, no reason not to have a new friend start saying "DAYUM you're an awesome cook?"