I was making dinner at work the other day (today, in fact, in a way: Betty has mastered the cunning techno-skill of blogging in advance), preparing to caramelise some onion for a spinach curry, and I had the whimsical urge to do the onion in rings; these kind of urges strike me sometimes, especially at this job I’m referring to. This job generally involves cooking quite off-the-cuff — no recipes, unlabelled spices, experimental gluten-free substitutions, and a grateful and easygoing recipient — which leads to a kind of reckless, devil-may-care approach. With a song in my heart, I sliced those onions real good and popped the rings out into the shimmering oil. So far, no problem.
Here’s the thing, though. You know the saying about unscrambling an omelette? The same does not apply to onions. Pop those rings asunder, swish them around the pot a little, and blowed if they aren’t attracted back to each other. The bally things practically re-assemble before your very eyes. Just stopping them from nesting more than three deep is approximately equivalent to level seven in a game of Tetris. It’s as if you’re continually turning around from the blackboard to find that little Derek has come out of the corner and is once again sitting with the girls. It’s exhausting.
That is all.