how to chop an onion

The Chef's hands are working-man's hands. On our first date, I noticed the burn on his finger, the callus at the base of his first finger on his right hand (near the palm), the fact that all the hair on his knuckles is gone. Burned off, you see. I loved his hands, right away. They reminded me of this description Ken Kesey wrote of McMurphy's hands in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, the palm scuffed like a baseball from all the hard work. I remember, when I taught that book, reading that quote out loud to students, guiding them to understanding McMurphy's character. But inside, I was thinking, "I wish I could meet a man with hands like that. Someone who really works. Someone who knows how to use his hands."

One look at the Chef's hands, and I was convinced.

The rest of him ain't bad either.

When I asked the Chef this afternoon how many onions he has chopped over the past twenty years, he nearly did a spit take. His entire body moved forward. "I have no idea how to answer that question. A ton? I don't even want to think about it. I just keep cutting."

I've been cooking for years. I adore food. I have recipes in a book with my name on the cover. But I will never know one-tenth of what the Chef knows about food. He has spent his entire adult life in service to the food, in trying to bring joy to other people's bellies.

When I first met him, I was impressed by how he cooked foie gras, by the pork campagnes he makes from scratch (and last week a customer from France came up to him in tears, and told him it was the best pate she had ever eaten), the meals with fancy names.

But the longer I know him, the more I know that my first impression is correct. The Chef is not a diva. He doesn't like to draw attention to himself. He is as humble as an onion.

And just as complex.

The callus on his finger is raised and horny, as solid as the shelter of his arms. The man has held a knife in his hand -- the edge of the blade butted up against that callus, his fingers gracefully gripping it like he holds my hips -- every day for decades. The knives he uses in the restaurant are not the most expensive on the market, or the flashiest. But holding them feels like breathing to him. When he holds a knife in his hand, he is himself.

"The knife has to be your best friend. If it isn't, it will turn on you and cut you," he said with firm enthusiasm. "Treat it with respect. Keep it sharp. When you have a dull knife, you get cut and you fuck yourself. If you have a sharp knife, you'll cut clean and you'll be happy. The food will taste better for it."

For years, I cut my food with a dull knife. No more.

For years, I cut onions haphazardly, some pieces enormous, the others thin slivers. I thought it didn't matter. I was a free spirit! But after watching the Chef chop dozens of onions, his head bent forward in reverent attention, I realized I was doing it all wrong.

"When you chop the hell out of the onion, you lose all the flavor," he has told me.

And this isn't about looks, or impressing anyone else. One of the reasons I love the Chef? He doesn't give a damn about impressing people or doing anything for show. He moves with pure grace into the kitchen. Chopping an onion correctly? It's for the taste of the food.

"If an onion's chopped uniform, then it's all going to cook the same. If it's different sizes, then the small ones are going to burn, and the largest ones are going to be nearly raw. There is a difference in taste if you do it right."

And so, this afternoon, when he wanted to start preparing for service, the Chef was kind enough to slow down and show me -- and thus you -- one of the most important techniques in great food. How to chop an onion.



"First of all, put a damp towel under the cutting board. This will prevent it from skidding and you cutting yourself."

(He frowns at me when I forget to do this at home. And then he pats my hand and points to it. I love his concern.)

"Slice off the end, but just the end. A lot of people take the core off, but that's a mistake. The core is what keeps the onion together."

(See the photograph at the top for a reference.)

"Sometimes, even in other restaurants, I'll see onions that are all a shambles. And I know they cut too fast, cut too much. Keep the core. That's how you get a good cut out of it."



"Peel the onion, roughly. Don't fuss and pick at the peel. Rip it off. Onions are cheap. You don't want the peel in your food," he says.



"Besides, you can always save the extra bits and peels for stock, later."



"Make fine slices, like this. Just don't go into the core and cut the onion all the way."



"Cut through once, horizontally. But not all the way."



"After you have sliced through the middle, once, start slicing the other way. keep your fingers curled, like a barrier against the knife. Watch the onion pieces fly."



"This is small dice."



"If you want a minced onion, do the same thing. But make three or four horizontal cuts. And then chop."


Trust a man who has chopped a ton of onions.

A few more facts, from the Chef:


"If a recipe calls for one onion, chopped, that's not helpful. It may mean something to a chef, who knows that recipe already, but not to the person who is trying to follow every word."

Hm. I'm pretty sure I've written "one onion, chopped" in recipes here before. No more.

"Rough chopped means hacking up that onion. You can do that if you're going to puree the onion or put it in a stock."

I'm pretty sure I've done a rough chop all my life.

"Don't put onions in the food processor. You're just beating the shit out of them. There goes all the flavor."

I swear, I conceived this post, and took these photographs, before I saw the latest episode of Top Chef. Poor Casey, chopping onions so slowly. That was really embarrassing.

But you know what the Chef would say if he saw that?

"If you watch a cooking show, and someone's been going through an onion fast, that guy has been doing it for ten or fifteen years.

You do that? You're going to cut a finger off. That hurts."


So we shouldn't all try to go fast and be impressive? What should we do instead?

"Practice. Cut up a lot of onions. Take it slowly. You don't want to hurry.

And don't buy the stupid utensils for onions that people buy at cooking stores. Just chop as many onions as you can. If you want to put your money anywhere, invest in bandaids."


How did he learn to chop onions this way?

"My teachers showed us." [The Chef went to NECI, in Vermont.] "They made us chop an onion, and then they'd look at it. They'd say, 'That's shit. Do it over.'" So I did.

"They didn't expect us to be perfect. But they wanted us to pay attention and do it right."

That's a damned fine motto, Chef.


Slow down. Pay attention. Do it right.


And chop a lot of onions before you expect to be any good at it.

Original article