Obsessed with Onions

I go through phases when certain ingredients grab my attention to the point that they for a while become obsessions. These may be triggered by food I'm served, by a TV cookery show, something read in a cook book (the most frequent source), or by an aspect of a dish I've prepared, as was the case last week.

A biryani made with loads of onions in the sauce/body of the dish was finished with some caramelised and slightly crispy fried onions on top of the rice. Biryanis, btw, give the lie to an advert about takeaways where a supposed law of the curry is that the sauce always goes on top of the rice. Onions for that dish provided the deeply savoury flavour at the heart of the sauce, whilst onions from the exact same bag gave it a sweeter finish, the same ingredient made entirely different by different cooking methods.

Other things enriched that curry - potato, pumpkin, peas, plus ginger and spices. But it was the onion that caught the palate's notice. No wonder there were riots in India a few years ago when onions were in short supply - what would we do without them? I love raw onion in salads; baked onions; in cheesy potato grattins; onion gravy... but most of all I love fried onions, mahogany to black, the way mobile burger bars get them - you fear for your health on so many levels, but what a wonderful flavour.

On Lancaster market this Saturday I bought a 5kg bag of white onions for £2, ridiculously good value (the delightful examples within are a bit undersize for the supermarkets' cretinous policies). As an aside, my £10.10 worth of fruit and veg purchased there would probably provide the vegetable matter (and much of the starch) to get us through the week if we wanted to be frugal - 3 persimmons, 4 giant baking spuds, 5kg white onions, 2 avocados, 15 clementines, 1/2lb mushrooms, 4 limes, a mango, a papaya, 2 bags of tiny sweet peppers, a big swede, a head of celery and a cucumber. I may have missed something else out [I had as I discovered when checking this - add three pomegranates and the same number of sweet potatoes].

With a stock of sharply tasty onions to hand (they rate about Brief Encounter on the peeling tears scale, happily not The Railway Children ending though) I've begun a campaign to make the best of them. Yesterday was French onion soup, cooked slowly for about 90 minutes. I guess around 30 or so onions went into the pot, cooking down to creamy khaki before being thickened with flour ('Daaarling, nobody uses flour to thicken nowadays' - sod off), perked up with a glass of white wine, let down (physically rather than morally) with some ham stock, and finished with a dog end of a French cheese whose name escapes me grated in. It was wonderful, a gloop rather than a liquid, and begged for a glass of roughish red to accompany it. We had two, one for each bowlful. The Dear Leader (may she rule 1000 years) was gracious in her praise.

That barely made a dent in the onion mountain. Tomorrow (man cannot live by onions alone) will be - so very Northern I want to say 'hey up lad' - tripe and onions. Anyone who has never tried it, I pity you.