Cooking Our Way to the Olympics: Part I

Even with a ridiculous antenna hanging out of our fire escape (we've attached embarrassing icicles of tin foil that hang halfway to the floor below) our apartment still gets almost no TV reception. After a confusing Superbowl game in which 40 or so players and their tracing shadows danced around the screen and there was general hysterical confusion, we decided there was no way we would enjoy the olympics in the traditional sense.

Leave it to us. After extensive Internet research into the cuisine of Turino, Italy, we settled on a couple recipes that we could use to explore its cuisine. After a few failed attempts at homemade pasta (notably, carrying the dough in a bowl on a crosstown bus, only to catch the opening ceremonies on a friend’s TV and proceeding to make a terrible, embarrassing dish of gluey flour), and after realizing there was no way we could afford to buy white truffles (which are a common addition to many of their dishes), we’ve learned a thing or two about patience, persistence, and why it’s worth spending two hours to make one successful piece of ravioli.

We’ll be publishing our attempts in two parts, today and tomorrow. We hope you have a good laugh at us.

Part I: Zuppa di Cipolla al Vino Rosso

(Wine-Laced Onion Soup)

4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
8 medium yellow onions, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup dry red wine
8 cups chicken broth
8 thin slices French bread
2 cups freshly grated Fontina Cheese

Of course, your memories of onion soup are likely French (yes, memories
have nationalities), and rightly so. Originally, at least according to
mythologies which proliferate in late-night Parisian cafes, onion soup
was the result of some leftover onions and flat champagne that King
Louis XV threw together after a joyous late-night in eighteenth century
Paris. Today, cooked-down onions in some kind of broth with chunks of
rustic bread or croutons, a wonderful, aromatic but mellow cheese, and
the whole thing stuck under a broiler to created bubbly, toasted
cheese--this is what we imagine.

The Piedmonte region of Italy is closest to France, and the Italians
have inherited this recipe and made it their own. While the French
often use beef stock, this recipe calls for chicken--but essentially,
it is very similar. Special attention is paid to caramelizing the
onions, contributing a lacy sweetness. We found our guide to the
Italian translation on RusticoCooking.com, and set about a few days beforehand to begin slicing the onions--the recipe required eight of them. Wear goggles.

Put them in the pot with half a stick of butter, and no more--too much
and they won’t develop a deep brown color, and will instead simply turn
soft and clear. We made this mistake and the recipe turned out fine,
but it could've have been even better. The onions themselves will seep
liquid, providing more buffer and preventing any burning.

We cooked ours for around 25 minutes, but it will depend on your heat
and the size of your pot. They should cook way down and develop a brown
color. Don’t stir excessively, once every five minutes or so.

When you’re happy with them, pour in the red wine and scrape the bottom of the pan for any brown bits stuck to the bottom.

When the wine is reduced and soaked up by the onion (about five
minutes), pour in the chicken broth and turn the heat to high, bringing
it to a boil. You’ll see little parts where the chicken broth goodness
collects. Also, your clothes, couches, rugs, and wallpaper will smell
like sauteed onions. Reduce to a low-medium setting and cook for 25-35
minutes.

In
the meantime, you can toast the bread slices and grate the cheese. Put
the bread into the bowl, then 3/4 of the cheese. When the soup’s
almost done, turn on your broiler. Ladle the soup into the oven-proof
bowls, topping with the remaining cheese.

Put your bowls under the broiler for 3-5 minutes, until some of the
bread toasts and the cheese gets bubbly. If it blackens ever so
slightly, it’s actually pretty tasty.