On Onions and Love
How an unknown neighbour's cooking routine has me thinking about connection
The smell of home in Berlin is onions cooking in butter. I can smell them from our kitchen window, the aroma wafting across the courtyard. Is there a better smell? Freshly ground coffee is a great one, as is bread in the oven and heavy rainstorms. In Canada, many of us can smell the snow before it falls. It’s a cold, cottony smell.
When I smell those onions frying in butter, I often stare across the courtyard, wondering who’s cooking and what those onions will become. A soup, perhaps, now that the weather has turned cool and damp. Or maybe it’s the base to a sauce. Regardless, the smell makes me feel hopeful.
When I think of happiness, cosy relations, and autumn afternoons, I often think of a roast in the oven. The faint aroma is moving through the house. Maybe the radio is on with the volume low, maybe someone is reading the paper. Everything feels a bit more relaxed because dinner has been taken care of.
The thing that is so comforting to me about onions cooking in butter (or a roast in the oven) is the promise of future nourishment. There is something positive coming up –we can smell it – and this reassurance feels like love to me. Someone has thought ahead, someone has prepared, someone is making something delicious.
Yes, I often equate food with emotion. When I feel happy, I eat well. When I’m low, I eat anxiously or not at all. The path between food and feeling is well worn for me.
I am also fascinated by the way food brings people together. Sharing a meal or having coffee and a slice of cake with someone can be a portal to connection. Our hands are busy, we’re sitting down, and so our minds can relax a bit. Conversations are often more open when food is involved. Have you noticed this, too?
The bakery at the end of our street is also a cafe, and the wooden tables that line the wide windows are almost always full. Friends, young families, co-workers on their break, older couples, and their dogs (!) meet for coffee, sandwiches, and pastry throughout the day. True, some people sit alone with their laptops, but this is less common than at home. I love the way Berliners make time for these moments: sitting with ceramic cups and plates, rather than rushing out the door with a to-go cup and a paper bag.
Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the need for more humanness in my daily life. I can get caught up in the logistics of work and of parenting; there is a restless urgency to my actions, and my days often feel like a checklist of items to get through. And even though the tasks get done, I don’t feel satisfied. The process is unpleasant, sometimes even frantic. Maybe this is why appreciating food and togetherness is so grounding. We look at one another, we taste our meal, we share thoughts, we pause. Ever since the lockdowns, I’ve been looking for a bit more spaciousness in my days to allow for these smaller moments of connection and joy.
On Monday, inspired by my neighbour across the courtyard, I was cooking onions in butter. It was the base for a red lentil soup that I’ve been making for years. Carrots, parsnips, garlic, and some curry powder were added after the onions had turned silky, followed by rice and lentils and then some broth. Once the soup was done, I got on my bike to pick up M. from school. The dark clouds in the distance didn’t seem threatening, but halfway home, it started pouring.
“I’m getting wet!” M. said, the rain drops tip-tapping on her helmet.
“Me, too! We can do it!”
We pedalled harder and finally rushed into our building. We were invigorated and totally soaked. Once in our flat, we changed into dry, comfy clothes.
“I made soup. Want some?”
She nodded.
I ladled the thick soup into two bowls, the steam releasing the scent of warm spices, and we sat across from each other at the little two-seater table in the kitchen.
“This is good,” she said, her cheeks still red from the cold.
“It’ll warm us from the inside out,” I said.
And it did.
And to think I was just googling “recipes with lentils and squash”...
Beautifully observed and captured. One can almost smell onions and butter. Such a cozy, comfortable and safe feeling! Thank you!!