Paul had been requesting French onion soup for, I don't know, about 2 years? And I kept putting it off, partly because I knew there were so many different ways to make it and I had no idea which to try first. But Paul was pretty adament about trying Thomas Keller's version in the Bouchon cookbook. Two things about this recipe stood out at once: there's no alcohol involved in the cooking--no wine, brandy, or sherry, which nearly every recipe for French onion soup calls for (he does call for sherry vinegar at the end, but that's different).  And the onions for the soup cook for 5 HOURS.  Much, much longer than your typical formula for caramelized onions. But these are not your typical caramelized onions. Oh, no. These are onion butter.

All it takes it about 8 large onions, a stick of butter, a little salt, 5 hours, and a heat diffuser, aka simmer mat or flame tamer. Above is the one I got off amazon.com for about 10 bucks. The heat diffuser is a little disk that you place directly on your burner (gas, electric, ceramic, whatever) in order to evenly distribute the heat, so you don't get "hot spots" in the pot which lead to burned food.  Only with a heat diffuser, and a very sturdy pot, can these onions even withstand the torture of 5 slow, hot hours. Being in the pot without a heat diffuser would be like going on a five-hour bike ride in Joshua Tree National Park and putting sunscreen on only half of yourself. Hot spots.

Start out by slicing about 8 large onions, or 7 quarts' worth. Throw them in a big heavy pot (this is our 8-quart Le Creuset) set on top of the heat diffuser and turn the heat to low. Toss in a stick of butter and a tablespoon of kosher salt. 

The onions will give off a lot of liquid and start cooking down quickly. You'll need to stir them about every 30 minutes or so. This is after about 1.5 hours...

and this is after hour 4.  If by the fifth hour they aren't dark brown and wine-scented, turn the heat up a bit and stir them more frequently. They'll color up and become the richest little devils you've ever tasted.

Like so. The amazing thing is that what started as 7 quarts of onions is now a mere 2 cups, but the same amount of butter is still in the pot.  It's gotten acquainted with the onions and melded together so what you have now isn't really onions. It's like flavor magic.  Truly, these do taste like they were cooked with a bottle of red wine.  At this point, do whatever the heck you want with them. I'm no one to boss you around.  But here are a few suggestions:

Use them on a pizza. We made this one with 5-hour onions, smeared around sort of like a pasty sauce, sauteed squash, prosciutto, and smoked gouda. Oh. My. Goodness.  

Or, use them on a sandwich--they spread like jam once heated up a little bit (if you take them cold from the fridge, they're stiff because of all that butter).  This was the beginning of a beautiful sandwich: 5-hour onions, roasted pork tenderloin, vinegary greens.  Very good stuff.

Or, stick with a more classical use, and make good 'ol onion soup. Thomas Keller's recipe really is pretty simple: Place 1.5 cups of the cooked onions in a pot and sift a tablespoon of flour over them, cooking on low heat for a couple of minutes. Pour in 3 1/2 quarts of very rich beef stock. Add a sachet of 2 bay leaves, 12 peppercorns, and 6 thyme sprigs, tied together inside cheesecloth. Simmer for about an hour or so, until reduced to about 2 1/2 quarts.  Season with salt, pepper, and a few drops of sherry vinegar.  (The complete recipe, including croutons, can be found here.)  You will be very pleased with yourself.

5-hour onions (adapted from Bouchon)

• 7 quarts peeled, sliced onions (about 8 large yellow or white)
• 1 stick unsalted butter (8 tablespoons)
• 1 tablespoon kosher salt

1. Place a heat diffuser over a burner, and a large heavy pot (8 quarts at least) on the diffuser. Melt the butter over low heat.
2. Add the onions and salt, and cook over low heat for 5 hours, stirring every 30 minutes or so.
3. Use as your heart desires.

makes about 2 cups.

A few weeks ago, our neighbor Andy gifted us a huge chunk of fresh tuna right off the boat after one of his deep-sea fishing trips.  I'm talking about 8 pounds worth. I don't remember what Paul and I had planned on eating that night, but whatever it was, it got DITCHED.  We set to work on the tuna right away, because when you have a nice piece of fish that fresh, there's only one thing to do.

Eat it raw.

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I guess you could say I'm a bit obsessed with po-boys lately.  In the weeks leading up to the po-boy festival, I visited a couple of my favorite po-boy spots to reminisce, to remember how good the basics can be.  I had fried shrimp at Parkway and shrimp and oyster at Crabby Jack's, and then those wonderful little odd po-boys at the fest.  I thought I'd had my fill for a while, until Paul told me he'd overhead someone talking about a blackened shrimp po-boy.  My interest was piqued.  Then, he said, "It'd be good with a little bacon sprinkled on it."  Yes, it would.  Then, "And maybe some goat cheese?" I almost fainted.  Yes, blackened shrimp with bacon and goat cheese would be good--very, very good. If it sounds bizarre or even blasphemous to load a seafood po-boy down with extras like bacon and cheese, consider the Peacemaker, that ultra-delicious po-boy of fried oysters, bacon, and American cheese. Sounds crazy, but it's fantastic.  If American cheese can't hurt a po-boy, then for sure goat cheese couldn't.

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Although we had a relatively mild July here in New Orleans, August is really digging its hot little heels in.  With a little over a month of dawn-to-dusk swelter in store, I thought I'd offer up some cooling treats (and words) to keep us all going.

In New Orleans, summer means cold sweet things.  Get to Angelo Bracato's and dive into some gelato!  Even a bracing espresso goes down easy after a scoop or two.  I resoundingly recommend the apricot gelato, followed closely by their heady version of zabaglione.

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I've been thinking a lot about sustainable kitchen practices, by which I mean not just the foods we're eating and cooking, but how we're shopping, planning (or not), growing, and storing.  For years, I've been a big believer in planning an entire week's meals as a way of saving money.  But sometimes I think that holding too fast to a planned menu can actually cause food waste; if you purchase what you imagine to be a week's worth of food at one time, but you end up not needing that much, what do you do with the excess? And what happens if the meals you planned to make don't store well once prepared?  I don't have easy solutions to these questions, other than trial and error, and an idea that's new to me: maybe a little less planning is a better way to go.

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The past few weeks have been full of changes.  The weather is a given, but also the pacing of the days, workloads and attitudes toward workloads, and self-designed ideas about life in general.  Fall tends to have this effect on me regardless of what's going on in the world.  This fall I'm busier than ever, but I'm choosing to regard the busyness as a gift instead of a headache.  Living in this city is also still quite a challenge--almost too much of one at times--but I'm learning to be patient with it.  Sometimes it feels unknowable.  It throws so many parties for itself, how do you ever get a chance at some quiet one-on-one?

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Creole tomatoes are in their green state these days, which is fine with me.  For one thing, I know that the ripe red creoles are just weeks away; for another, I love fried green tomatoes.  Love them.