Onions Are Great

Onions are great. When you hear people turn their nose up at onions, I feel a combination of sadness and happiness, knowing they eat them unknowingly - pretty much every day - as they are 'sneaked' into most savoury shop-bought foods (think crisps, ready meals, combined spices). It's true though, they simply don't get enough respect. This pungent root that can force the hardest of blokey blokes to blubber like a baby (slight exaggeration) as they attempt to slice and dice one for that evening's tea (and let's face the fact, it's normally the first ingredient on the list). 

'Finely dice and gently sauté one medium-sized onion in two tablespoons of olive oil', the recipe says. But that's just the beginning. They set the scene for any savoury meal, the hidden assassin of tasteful delight that lurks in the background, laughing at the onion haters and offering a depth of flavour that just wouldn't be there without it. And there are so many varieties! Over 600 they reckon. But how many do I know? Spring onions, red onions, pickled onions (those tiny, sweet ones), and I've seen a yellow or a purple one in one of these artisan food fayres where everything costs more than a fiver. Yes, even an onion. 

But give me the humble brown skinned onion any time: small ones, medium ones, massive ones. Slice them into rings, dip them in batter and fry them. Blitz them into a puree with garlic, ginger and chilli and there's the basis of a superb curry. Raw red onions in any salad or lightly pickled and eaten in sandwiches or on a taco. Sliced and put into a cheese and onion pie or heck, a bucket of them cooked slowly with thyme and butter, whacked into a pie crust, topped with Parmesan and slowly cooked for the most amazing onion pie ever. Patiently cooked down until golden and sweet, it makes the most unreal soup in the world, French onion soup. Big chunks of raw white onion mixed in with tuna and mayonnaise. Oh, I could go on. But I'll stop here as I've set my daily writing buzzer for 12-minutes today and it's about to pop. 

So, all hail the humble onion, a beautiful, versatile vegetable that is often sneered at and reviled for its stink and tear inducing properties. But I'm not having that. Respect to the layered one. Hold one aloft and make a song up about it, wandering around your local town proudly singing your onion-based tune with pride and abandon. Yes, you may get some funny looks, people avoiding you or at worst, arrest. But it will raise crucial awareness of this wonderful vegetable and soon have everybody agreeing with you; onions are great. 

Kennings

A kenning is a compressed, two-word metaphor used to describe an object, person, or concept, often found in Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse poetry like Beowulf. A common form of a kenning is a "noun + -er word" compound, which describes what something does.  

Lantern

Light bearer
Safety searcher
Nightime twinkler
Portable saver
Bruise reducer
Canny shiner
Handy helper
Candle holder
Slightly yellower
Anti-bruiser

Harbor

Ship saver
Vessel rester
Pier bearer
Boat hoarder
Tourist attractor
Friendly fisher
Chippy founder
Slightly whiffier

Pebble

Nature's gobstopper
Jaw dislocater
Beach dweller
Decent skimmer
Shiny thrower
Toe stubber
Sand roamer
Foot denter
Sun lover
 

Pistachio Hell

I recently saw an interview with the oft deadpan (and slightly awkward) comedian and actor Richard Ayoade, speaking about his latest book, 'Afterthoughts (or Some Pistachios Won't Open)'. It was the second part of the title that got me thinking, and the more I thought about it, the more I had to get something off my chest.

Anybody that has sat with a bowl of otherwise innocent roasted pistachios (salted or not salted, that's your preference) might understand the utter frustration that comes with coming across the first stubborn pistachio. I mean, pistachios are tiny, sweet, creamy, utterly delicious little seeds of green. One of these protein and nutrient-dense 'natural wonders' that influencers (oh God, don't get me started on bloody influencers) are telling us are one of the foods they are ordering us to eat more regularly, claiming that the flesh of the seed contains miracles that can apparently help with everything from lower blood pressure or helping you to sleep. 

What doesn't come with a pistachio is a health warning: Some pistachios won't open therefore pistachios MAY break fingernails, MAY cause tension, MAY make you feel pathetic and useless and MAY spoil your weekend night in. There you are on a Saturday night, silently prising the shells apart whilst drinking a beverage of choice watching Saturday night TV. Five pistachios in and you come across the first unopened pistachio. You put it aside in the 'to be returned to' pile and continue happily on your pistachio munching journey. In record time (I mean, pistachio picking can reach a frantic speed as the hungry brain tried to compensate for the fact that unlike peanuts, you can't just throw a handful into your gob), you reach the end and turn your attention to the 'to be returned to' pile.

The first one is a bit tricky, you haven't even removed your eyes from the screen, just fingers frantically picking and attempting to find an opening. You move onto the next one and repeat. By the third one, they've got your attention and you bring it closer to your face (which has started to go a bit red and pinch-mouthed). You can see the tiniest of gaps and with great effort, prise a thumbnail or two in and try to wedge it open. The face goes a bit redder so you throw it down (yes, throw, patience starting to run a bit thin) back into the 'to be returned to' pile and attempt another, only to be greeted with the same impossible gap. This time you put a bit more effort in and the gap slightly widens but with that, your fingernails threaten to break as the sting of fingernail removal hits you. That one gets thrown down too. Onto the next, rinse and repeat. You might somehow manage to get one open but at great pain and as you munch on it, it's slightly bitter with the taste of success not helping. You feel a bit sad and rubbish as you give up on another one and the next thing you know, you've got a good handful of pistachios that you can't open ready to either be chucked away (they aren't cheap) or broken into with a hammer (and if you try that method, I've another article I can write on it). By this stage, your face is really red and your mouth is so huffed it resembles a cat's backside. Your family are confused and aren't sure whether to speak to you or not. Weekend evening well and truly ruined.

Maybe I'm taking this all too seriously. Maybe I am a nut opening wimp and not one other person has ever experienced this and a bit confused with all the fuss. Well, Richard Ayoade clearly has. And if you've never had the unfortunate experience of an unopened pistachio, you won't have that foreboding feeling of dread of what is to come and therefore - and quite rightly - questioning my sanity. 

So take this as a strict warning if you do get influenced and reach for a bag of pistachios rather than crisps this weekend. The pistachio may look innocent but in that tiny seed contains enough evil to make a grown man cry, to make fingernails scream, to make faces go red and mouths rather pinched.