Eat, drink, sleep, breathe, sweat, and pee onions

A few nights ago, I made french onion soup in my massive latté mugs topped with toast and melted cheese. . . but due to my impatience and hunger, I didn't fully caramelize the onions. It was taking too long, and I had gotten started late. (I'm recounting this on account of hanging out with Peter and talking about food.) On top of that, none of us had eaten dinner yet. Oops. My flat-mate John, who absolutely loved the soup (even as it was), complained that he smelled of onions with every breath he breathed, that he left restrooms smelling of onion-odored urine, and that everything he wore smelled intensely of onions. This is not surprising, since we each consumed the equivalent of three large red onions, boiled down to a creamy semi-caramelized concentrate. Well, at least he doesn't have to worry about vampires. Oh, wait, that's garlic that's supposed to keep vampys away. hehe. . . the thought of intense garlic saturation is almost funny. Hmmm. . .

I didn't notice any onion aftershocks in my own bodily functions at all. Maybe being Asian has something to do with it. I think the thing that threw me off was that I used red onions, whose color hid the fact that I hadn't sufficiently caramelized them.

Lesson learned: Don't make gourmet food when you're hungry and impatient!

None the less, the soup was very delicious, especially with that difficult to pronounce and impossible to spell French cheese all molten and bubbly on top of the bread topping. . . mmm. . . casomorphins. . . The Cheeseboard sells it affordably. Hmm. . . I still have a mess of onions left; time for another attempt.