You'd never know it now, but I was a terribly picky eater as a kid. If a food was green (with the exception of canned green beans), I refused to let it anywhere near my mouth. My parents' own eating habits coalesced nicely with my culinary aversions, so there was little drama during snack or meal times.
That being said, I knew good food when I tasted it. My tastebuds were ravaged on a weekly basis by the likes of Hamburger Helper, Little Ceasar's pizza, and McDonald's kid's meals. Despite the usual household diet, I could still pick up intricate, delicate flavors whenever we dined at quality restaurants. One such flavor profile was that of a French Onion soup served at a now-defunct restaurant in east Orlando. Marino's was a comfortable sit-down place owned by a rather large European family. I wasn't exactly an avid anthropologist at five years old, but my guess is that they were from Italy. Other hints as to their possible origin were manifested by cool accents and raven hair- oh, and a menu replete with pasta dishes. My go-to selection for our monthly visits? Lasagna, from the children's menu.
I had a plan, though. My mother always ordered their fabulous French Onion soup. This ain't Campbells' one-dimensional, over-salted monstrosity. You could practically see the cow used for the broth. From the wisps of steam, you could hear the onions sing of their sweet flavor. The toasted slice of French bread made for a happy little raft, languidly floating atop a sea of deliciousness. I routinely managed to coerce Mom into sharing the soup with me every time, and secretly looked forward to consuming the rich concoction more than the entree or dessert.
I've heard the so-called food experts on television say that French Onion soup is outdated, that it was an over-hyped dish whose heyday was over in the 80's. This leads me to believe that, 1) they're more concerned with popular trends than they are with the timeless integrity of good food, or 2) they've embarrassed because they've never made an edible pot of the stuff, so they're gonna pick on the poor little soup to make themselves feel better.
I was a naughty girl last week. Although I buy the vast majority of my animal protein from a local butcher, I can't help but poke around the meat case at the supermarket. To my surprise, the grocery store had a few packages of fresh beef soup bones. Unsure of how I'd utilize them, I nonetheless snatched up a package in unbridled delight. Someday, I hope to experience a tenth of that kind of happiness at the prospect of receiving jewelry or flowers. Until that time comes, I'll continue experiencing misguided ecstasy when stumbling across difficult-to-find ingredients. (Footnote: I'm in Alaska, so yes indeed, soup bones can be a rarity.)
Two days later, cooking book in hand, I slouched over the Dutch oven, patiently prodding the beef bones with a wooden spoon. I should have been more irate at my ignorance, but I didn't mind too much that I had a fraction of the meat needed to produce a decent quantity of stock. All in all, I only gleaned about a pint of liquid during the process, but the stock was absolute ambrosia. Worth every penny and every second of my time, period. The ensuing marriage of the aforementioned stock with a glut of caramelized onions induced a deluge of flavor that brought back memories of a happier, simpler time. Isn't that the whole point of home cooking?
The next use of the soup was inspired by the bread-and-cheese component of the standard French Onion soup serving style. Although I'm sure it's been done a million times before and is thus undeserving of a cutesy moniker, I couldn't resist. Hence I stumbled across my new lunchtime favorite: French Onion Soup, Deconstructed!
ZESTY ZAFTIG'S FRENCH ONION SOUP: DECONSTRUCTED
Yield: Two lunch-sized servings
- 1.5 pounds beef soup bones
- 1/4 cup dry red wine
- Water
- 1/4 white or yellow onion, segments removed from layers
- Salt, to taste
- Olive oil
- Red onion (half of jumbo, or 1 small), quartered and sliced
- 1-2 tablespoons butter
- 1 clove garlic, smashed
- 1 sprig of fresh parsley
- 1 bay leaf
- 1 spash of dry red wine
- Salt, to taste
- Tabasco and/or Worcestershire sauce (optional)
- Bread, 4 slices
- 2 tablespoons butter, softened
- Swiss cheese (quality deli-style slices, NOT the processed variety)
For the beef stock:
Heat oil in Dutch oven or large pot. Add bones and onion, searing each side of the meat/bones until deep brown. Using a slotted spoon, remove the bones and onion, transferring them to a bowl. Add the red wine to the pot, stirring until it's thickened. Meanwhile, fill a tea kettle with water and place over high heat to bring to a boil. Put the beef bones and onion back into the pot, reduce heat to medium-low, and allow the meat/bones to sweat for 15-20 minutes. Stir as needed to prevent burning. Add enough water to halfway cover the bones. Lightly simmer partially uncovered for 25-40 minutes, or until all of the liquid has turned to a very deep brown. Strain into bowl or fat separator, allow to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate overnight. Remove solidified fat from top of liquid.
For the soup:
Melt butter in Dutch oven or large pot over medium-low heat. Add onion, stir well to incorporate with butter. Cover pot and cook for 20-35 minutes, stirring frequently. Heat beef stock on stove or in microwave. When some (but not all) of the onions have gone carmelized and gone limp, add the spash of wine, quickly stirring it into the onions. Add the hot beef stock, salt, garlic, bay leaf, parsley (and sauces, if using); stir well. Allow to simmer on medium-low heat for 20 minutes. If the liquid is too thin, cook longer to allow to reduce. If the liquid is too thick, add boiling water until it reaches the desired consistency.
For the sandwich:
Butter two pieces of bread, placing butter side-down onto hot skillet. Top with Swiss cheese. Top cheese with second piece of buttered bread. Cook until bread is golden brown. For presentation, trim the crusts and cut sandwich into wedges.
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