The Terrifying Sound of Slicing Onions.
They haunt me.
I am terrified by the sound of onions being chopped. It isn’t a rational or responsible reaction. This vegetable is a source of goodness in the world. The aroma in its translucent, sauteed form is welcoming and homey.
An onion, by itself, is inspirational. But if I hold one in my hand it unleashes a torrent of want. The sound of a knife slicing through skin, then layer, and its final slap against the cutting board is one that I perform hundreds of times a week. I volunteer at a soup kitchen and this brown-skinned orb seems to be at the center of every meal.
Every week, without fail, they are chopped. They go into soups, burgers, tacos, and varied concoctions. When I think about struggling local families, I hold an onion. If my thoughts turn to overseas wars and families being driven from their homes its wafting smell is where they would like to head. The answer to hungry children is held in this layered orb.
It is possible that many people don’t share the same affection for this colorfully skinned food. The first reaction to it is often stinging tears. There is an intense bouquet that dwells on your clothes and hands after cutting and dicing bushels of them. It wasn’t meant for love at first sight. Its biggest value comes at its final stop.
