A Jam I Want To Be In

Now, I know I wax poetic about caramelized onions ALL the time, but come on! Aren't they just one of the most brilliant, perfect things ever invented? And, besides, we should all constantly marvel at how completely odd I am about onions, and this will remind us how interesting my infatuation is. Remember my weirdness? How scared I am of raw onions, but how much I love them when they make their way into cooked-ness? How I have a rawness exception for scallions, and spring onions, and ramps and leeks? How I would eat caramelized onions by the spoonful, but wouldn't eat a raw (white, yellow or red) onion if you paid me a million dollars? (Okay, okay, so I would do it for a million. Quickly, sadly, and wincingly for a million dollars, as long as I could see the money while I was suffering.)

So here's the thing. First, who on earth has time to caramelize onions every single time they want to eat them? (For me, this tends to be every single day.) Second, who else loves the frighteningly expensive but amazingly divine roasted garlic onion jam by Stonewall Kitchen? I fell in love with this product about a year ago. And I know eight bucks isn't all that much, but when it turns into a habit, things change.

If you're one for savory jams (think jalapeño jelly-ish), then you'll like this. A lot. It's incredible on sandwiches, and added to nearly anything you're cooking in a skillet, and when it meets up with goat cheese or brie or blue cheese or white cheddar....watch out! It will blow your mind. I went through many jars of this stuff, the whole time thinking I really should just make this. And then, poof! In a magical culinary coincidence, I came across a recipe for an onion marmalade, and I knew it was time.

This marmalade is amazing, although it is, admittedly, a bit different than the jam in the jar. It's less gelatinous, and a bit less sweet, but it has similar flavors, and its applications are nearly identical. I actually think the marmalade is much more versatile -- it always felt a little odd spooning something of that consistency into the pan with my vegetables, or working it into meatballs, or slathering it onto chicken -- probably because of the aforementioned gelatin addition. I ended up altering the original recipe quite a lot. In fact, I won't even cite the origin of this recipe, because I really did flip it on its little oniony head.

The marmalade keeps in a jar in the fridge for a few months, but I doubt it'll be around that long! And the time you'll save by having these onions made already! You will be so happy. Put this stuff on pizza, work it into salad dressing, add to your roasted vegetables, or to any sauce that you have going on the stove. Use on potatoes or bread, in a soup or in a sandwich. Use as a condiment, use as an anything! Add it to your bubble bath, stir it into your cereal. You can't go wrong!

Now then. I'm so excited for you to have this marmalade in your life, so hop to it. There's nothing to be afraid of! Not even for me, the weird-with-onions girl.

Onion & Garlic Marmalade
makes about 2 cups

3 large onions, chopped or minced (You can use any variety, although I prefer yellow onions for this.)
1 head of garlic, peeled and sliced (And, yes, that's one head. Not one clove!)
balsamic vinegar
red wine (optional)
black pepper
salt
water

In a deep cast iron (or simply non-reactive) skillet or dutch oven, heat a few tablespoons of olive oil. Add onions and a teaspoon of salt, and toss to coat. Cover and cook for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until golden brown.

Add 1/4 cup of water, garlic, 1 teaspoon pepper, 2 tablespoons balsamic, and a few tablespoons of wine (if you're using it).  Cover and cook on medium-low heat for 40-80 minutes, stirring and poking at it every once in awhile. Add water as needed. You'll want that original water to cook into the onions so that when you add more water, it'll be sizzly and steamy and it'll help you get all those delicious browned bits from the sides of the pan. You'll want to go through this process several times.

Wait patiently for your onions to get soft and dark brown and sweet! Taste as you go, and add salt, pepper, or balsamic as needed. I sometimes add in a tablespoon or two of dark brown sugar, too, to aid in the caramelization process. Some people like to make their marmalade super sweet, and if you are one of those people, feel free to keep adding sugar.

When it's done, leave it in the pan for a bit to cool down. Spoon into a jar, seal tightly, and store in the fridge. That's your jam!

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The Sneaky Beast

Dear Spring: I'm really, truly sorry. I know you've been tricked. And you're angry, I know! But I understand. I'm angry too! As the winter cold just keeps blasting in for one last hurrah after another, it remains soup season here in Chicago, at least for as long as my spring fever will let it.

But here's the thing. As I tackled the blowing, whippy, freezing winds out in the world this week, I was surprised to find myself not caring so much about the weather. Whaat, you say? Well, it was so cold and windy and 40-degrees-ish, but, for crying out loud, it wasn't 10 degrees, there wasn't a foot of ice on the ground, and my boots were already sleeping soundly in their box in the closet. And, sheesh! The hosta is up, the dogwoods and lilacs are blooming like mad, and the baby leaves are poking out, fresh and shiny and alert with greenness.

And, besides, I was only cold because I refuse to wear a winter coat after April 1, and I was cold because, well, it was cold, but I felt good because I knew this was the tail end of winter. Or at least it's supposed to be the tail end, and, as a Midwesterner Who Lives By A Lake, I find solace in that. That, and, well, I always feel so sad when soup season draws to a close.

I tend to always think that THIS summer will be my soup summer, but once the actual warm weather hits, I would rather drink pool water than struggle through the once-comforting-now-unbearable warmth of soup. So, I will enjoy these last days of 40 degree weather, thinking forward to Real Spring and Real Summer, and I'll maybe even cram in one more soup before I pull out the sunscreen and the beach bag. In the meantime, Spring, you should just maybe enjoy a nap while winter wraps things up around here. Get comfortable. But not too comfortable, alright?

Easy, Breezy Cream of Red Pepper Soup
This recipe is from my friend Aimee, who makes really good soup and really good everything else. It's perfect with a grilled cheese sandwich and some really good pickles.

3 red peppers, seeded and sliced
1 big onion, diced
2 pears, seeded and chopped
4 cloves garlic, sliced
4 T olive oil
1/2 stick butter
vegetable broth
flour
1 C milk

Sauté peppers, onion, pear, and garlic in olive oil until soft and slightly caramelized. A dutch oven works well for this. Add a splash of red wine or red wine vinegar if you feel like it! Add fresh rosemary, too, if that sounds good. The flavors of the vegetables and fruit will really carry this soup, so you won't need lots of other flavors -- that's the magic! Add a few cups of vegetable broth and simmer for about 10-15 minutes. Cool it off! (This is important! Aimee, who invented this soup, wrote the following disclaimer on the recipe, and it's important and true: COOL IT OFF! Please do this a little. If it is boiling hot when you purée it, then it will sputter out and you will go blind and die! I know this from experience. Please believe me.)

Now then. Purée it in a blender. If it's still warm, and your blender has an inset cap, leave it cracked open a little bit to let some of the steam out. Melt 1/2 stick of butter in the pot, add a few tablespoonfuls of flour and whisk until thick. Add milk slowly, whisking until it thins out, and then cooking at medium heat until it thickens up a bit. Add red pepper mixture and heat, stirring. Add 1 cup sour cream and whisk. And there you have it! Your soup! Top with croutons, scallions, hot sauce, or anything else that you fancy. Like puppies and rainbows and 80-degree days.

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