Soul Satisfied

My dad's from Iowa. He proudly claims his roots in the literal "black gold" of the state, the rich agricultural soil which makes it such an amazing place to grow and to have grown up. When he was a boy, my dad would work at his uncles' farms in the summers. It's where he learned to work hard, to follow the seasons, and to drink coffee (since the only other morning beverage option was apparently milk straight from the udders).

Both my mom and my dad love and loved gardening, so my whole life I've watched their example of how to tend, plant, weed, water, harvest. I don't have a green thumb myself, so it's rather baffling that I ended up living on a farm, although of course this is certainly part of my dad's Iowa legacy as well.

My dad continues to garden here at the Allegro property, and we all reap the bounty of his family tradition of working the land. This past summer he planted the vegetables for a "salsa garden," yielding many quarts of the homemade condiment. At the end of the season, when he closed out his garden, he pulled out the remaining onions and braided the greens, putting them down in our cool cellar. I kept my eye on them. I wanted soup.

I've been a vegetarian since college, mostly because I don't enjoy meat. There are a few meats which I occasionally do eat, however--namely, smoked salmon on bagel night and French onion soul, which is traditionally based on a beef broth. It's so richly satisfying.

I knew the process would take hours AND that every one of them would be worth it. I used this recipe from The Pioneer Woman, in which she uses both beef and chicken broth. I particularly like having the onions cook partially in the oven as well as on top of it; it means a bit less baby-sitting through the caramelization process.

I used a mandoline to fine-slice all the onions, a satisfyingly dangerous process for which I have learned to wear a cut-proof glove.

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I'd planned ahead and asked Dylan to make baguettes for our soup topping; I know it can be a multi-day process, and he's been baking so much he's more than up to the task.

Yes, melty ponds of Gruyère. Yes, homemade crunch of bread. Yes, house that smells like wine, onions, and love. Amazingly satisfying, and as humble as my dad. A toast!