On Matchstick Myths and Mastering the Fine Art of French Onion Soup

I HAVE AN affliction in the kitchen. It’s a toddler-esque aversion to shortcuts, a stubborn “By myself!” attitude towards ready-made food products. Sandra Lee’s “Semi-Homemade” (Food Network) is not the show for me.

It’s not really an attitude forged out of personal convictions—I don’t stand on a high and mighty culinary mountain judging my friends for using canned beans or store-bought yogurt (though I do draw the line at Go-Gurt). There are boxes of macaroni and jars of pasta sauce in my cupboard, prepared mayonnaise and bottles of ketchup in my refrigerator.

But if I can learn how to make something—like chicken stock—then my freezer will be full of homemade chicken stock. Running out of chicken stock means that I will be buying some whole chickens in the near future. It’s just the standard I set for myself since I know I can make it.

Recently I decided to up the ante, purchasing two large beef soup bones at in Kirkland. These went straight into my home freezer, then moved with me to my new house. I took a deep breath, summoned my ambition and finally put some sort of beef soup on the week’s menu.

Amidst unpacking boxes and taxiing children to and from school, I neglected to look up the accepted manner in which to properly make beef stock—I now know it involves roasting said bones before simmering. Instead, I relied on years of chicken stock know-how and plopped those bones in a large pot of water to simmer all the day long.

The result was not exactly impressive. What I took for meaty bits clinging to the bones turned out to be gelatinous mystery chunks, unfit even for chewy bites in a barley soup. I skimmed the fat off the stock and pondered my options.

One of the advantages of moving is going through long-forgotten possessions. I had cracked open my collected recipe cookbook only two days before, absent-mindedly straightening a Martha Stewart recipe card for French Onion Soup that came with my cauldron-sized Dutch oven. My brain went on Guy Ritchie-film overdrive, connecting the recipe card with the 10-pound bag of onions purchased from last week.

Bingo! Time to execute the bistro classic in less than two hours. I checked the list of ingredients:

• 5 pounds of onions—not a problem;
• 3 ½ quarts of beef stock—just whipped that up, obviously;
• 16 tablespoons of butter—uh, thank you, Costco;
• 1 cup dry white wine—the ½ cup left in the bottle that has been “aerating” on the counter since last night’s dinner will have to suffice;
• 6 tablespoons of cognac—fresh out, I’ll have to skip that.

FACING FIVE POUNDS of onions, I honed my blade and readied myself for the battle. I decided to try “Miss Merna’s” (The Help, 2010) advice to avoid the onion-cutting tears and stuck a match (unlit) between my teeth. Let the slicing begin—cue the glint of Julia Child’s knife as she practices her male classmate-shaming technique in “Julie and Julia.”

There were three things I took away from slicing five pounds of onions.

1. It is time for a visit to at —my Global just isn’t cutting like it used to.
2. A match between one’s teeth does not prevent onion-related tears, though it does make the cook look tough.
3. It is best to check the number of portions promised on the recipe before starting—five pounds of sliced onions is a huge pile and is apparently enough for 16 servings.

Ten tablespoons of butter melted in my huge Dutch oven, now looking barely large enough for the mound of onion slices. They sizzled merrily and went from white to translucent in about 25 minutes. And—Holy Matrimony!—the scent of browning butter becoming one with five pounds of onions is heavenly, indeed.

I reduced the heat to medium, continuing to caramelize the onions for another hour. They cooked way down to about a quarter of their original volume. I added my freshly made stock, the swig of cheap white wine, loads of salt since my stock was unseasoned and several turns of black pepper. It simmered together while I rushed to for a baguette and Gruyere cheese. The cheesemonger bantered amiably with me about buying extra cheese for snacking on while cooking.

The soup was finally finished. I toasted the slices of baguette, brushing them with a bit more melted butter. They went on top of the soup and were then buried in a generous pile of grated cheese. I set the bowls on a rimmed baking sheet and broiled them until the cheese was bubbling profusely.

The only downside of French Onion Soup is that you are starving by the time it is finished, but it comes out of the broiler at a scalding temperature forcing hungry diners to wait some more. Just think of it as time to snap a few photos of your creation before consuming a day’s work in 10 minutes.

French Onion Soup (16 1-cup servings)

• 16 TB unsalted butter (2 sticks), divided
• 5 lbs onions, halved lengthwise and cut into 1/4 inch slices
• 2 tsp sugar
• 2 TB flour
• 3 1/2 qts low-sodium beef stock
• 1 c dry white wine
• 6 TB cognac
• 3 TB kosher salt (or to taste)
• Freshly ground black pepper
• 1 long baguette, cut into 32 rounds (3/4 inch thick)
• 12 oz Gruyere cheese, grated on the large holes of a box grater

1. Melt 10 TB butter in a large Dutch oven or casserole pot over MH heat. Add onions, and sprinkle with sugar. Cook onions, stirring occasionally, until very soft and translucent (25-30 min.).
2. Reduce heat to medium; continue to cook onions, stirring frequently, until caramelized and deep brown (about 1 hour), adjusting heat if necessary.
3. Sprinkle flour over onions and stir. Stir in stock, wine and cognac; bring to a simmer over medium heat. Cook, partially covered, until heated through (20 min.). Add salt and season with pepper.
4. Preheat broiler. Broil bread, turning once until lightly toasted—watch carefully so it doesn't burn. Brush each side of toast with melted butter (remaining 6 TB).
5. Divide soup among flameproof crocks or bowls. Place two slices of bread over soup in each crock, and sprinkle 1/4 cup cheese over bread. Broil until cheese is melted and brown around the edges.