Being a Woman is like Making French Onion Soup

This essay won 1st place in the Wow! Women On Writing Creative Nonfiction Essay Contest (Quarter 3, 2021), about which the judges said, “A timeless masterpiece that speaks to all of us, and wonderfully creative.” Read the essay below and an interview with me on The Muffin Blog.

Being a Woman Is Like Making French Onion Soup

by Meghan Robins (recipe from Joy of Cooking)

It starts with crying.

Thinly slice:

5 medium onions

No matter how strong or resilient or tough as nails you might be, cutting that many onions will make you cry. Deal with it. Embrace it. Just cry. In fact, I recommend making French onion soup when you’re feeling strange because then you can let it out. Let your strangeness out, without having to explain why.

Heat in a soup pot over medium-low heat:

2 Tablespoons olive oil

While the oil heats, continue slicing perfectly (or imperfectly) julienned onions. If you can complete this task before the blurry vision and uncontrollable tears set in, great. If not, don’t worry. A woman knows how to push through her emotions to get the job done. Dinner must go on.

Melt into the pot:

2 Tablespoons butter

Still wiping tears on the back of your sleeves, holding a knife dangerously close (but quite under control), you listen to the spits and farts of melting butter. A gorgeous smell wafts upward. Take a deep breath here. Take this moment, while staying ever so cautious of the looming shift to burning. Splash in more olive oil to cool the temperature and preserve this moment, this smell, for just a second longer.

Add to the pot:

Prepared onions

Pinch of dried thyme

A pinch of time. Let’s all sit on that idea for a moment…

Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally and keeping an eye on the onions, so they do not scorch. As soon as they start to brown, about 15 minutes, reduce the heat to medium-low and continue to cook, covered, stirring until they are a rich brown, about 40 minutes. Stir in:

2 Tablespoons dry sherry or Cognac

Who measures sherry by the tablespoon? My soup deserves much more than a jigger. In fact, so do I. I rarely keep sherry or Cognac, so I opt for a bottle of white wine. If I’m out, then I reach for the dry Vermouth. And if I’m going to reach for dry Vermouth, I’m making myself a Manhattan.

Add one bay leaf

A symbol of glory and achievement. Your wreath of laurels. Joy of Cooking does not include a bay leaf in their recipe. French onion soup does not need a bay leaf. You do not need a bay leaf. Yet I add one. Why? Because I have already achieved so much. I’ve cried (onions). Forgiven myself (butter). Breathed deeply (pinch of thyme). Cared for myself (Manhattan). If you add a bay leaf, as I often do, it is simply a symbol of your womanhood. Your reward for forgiving yourself, for just being who you are.

Increase the heat to high and cook, stirring constantly, until the sherry has evaporated. Stir in:

3 ½ cups beef stock

Bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, for 20 minutes. Season with salt & pepper to taste.

The calm before the storm has passed. Your life (partner, kids, work, landlord, weather, whatever…) bustles through the door, brandishing iron and protein, a brash energy that conflicts with your newfound calm. The onions, which browned beautifully on their own accord, suddenly become immersed in a flavorful bath. Their hard work of patient, slow softening disappears, overpowered by the stronger beef flavor. But that’s okay. You are a woman. You knew this would happen.

Place 8 ovenproof soup bowls on a baking sheet. Ladle the hot soup into the bowls and top each with:

1 to 3 slices French bread, toasted

3 tablespoons grated Gruyere or Swiss (1 ½ cups total)

Broil until the cheese is melted and brown.

After one hour, your whirlwind of emotions is tucked neatly to bed under a layer of bread and cheese. Nobody knows that you added a secret ingredient of forgiveness. It is likely that nobody cares. But I care. I know that at least for today, I have taken the time to forgive myself. For what? I don’t know. But I know I needed to cry. I know I needed to feel nourished. I know that every day I need to feel grateful that I am a woman.