Musings on Chopping an Onion

Diary of a Witch Doctor, Week 6th May 2023

Today I learnt to chop an onion.

It’s safe to say I’ve chopped an onion or two in my time. Chopped pretty well, I might add, with the loss of only an occasional fingernail.

So what led to this insight?

Lately I’ve been pondering routines. Thinking about all those things I do without thinking about them. Things like chopping an onion. Something I do automatically, my thoughts elsewhere.

It’s routines which get me out of bed when I would much rather remain wrapped in my doona, ignoring the world. Turn the coffee machine on so it warms up as I walk the dogs. An espresso on the upstairs verandah, put on a load of washing. Small things giving a scaffold to the hours I never knew I needed.

Routines and rituals support a numb mind. But now I need to wake it up, to break routines, to do something a little different every few days, no matter how small.

I’ve begun cooking again, using the wealth of wealth of cookbooks which adorn my kitchen. I’ve perfected my ice-cream and sorbet making (so much so I broke my ice cream maker!). I make my yoghurt and, occasionally butter. Today I started on my own sourdough - the starter is in my greenhouse, hopefully growing. Each meal I try to incorporate something from the garden, and I’m slowly emptying my freezer of all the detritus hiding in there.

So, on pulling down one of my favourite French cookbooks I let it fall open at random – to the page on mastering the technique of how to slice various vegetables, including onions. The important part lies in not slicing off the root end. Following the diagrams I cut the onion in half, through the root. Then I lay the onion with the flat surface down, holding the root-end in my hand. I made vertical slices from one side of the onion to the other, but not cutting through the root so as to keep the half remains intact. Then I made horizontal slices, once more towards the root but not through it. Then, perpendicular cuts across the onion and voila! Dices of onion, done quickly before the tears appeared.

Before I had always cut off the root end. Force of habit, really. One small change, and it was so much easier.

And then, of course, I made focaccia. Because it’s 21ºC in Florence and sunny, while in the valley autumn barely was and winter rapidly approaches. One can but dream.

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