Onions!

I decided, given the real though unlikely possibility of Mr. Chili’s being in New Mexico for the Thanksgiving holiday, that I would put together a mini Thanksgiving dinner for supper tonight. I stopped at the market and bought a turkey breast, some stuffing, a couple of sweet potatoes, and some onions.

A long story short is that my traditional contribution to holiday meals is a dish of creamed onions. Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: “CREAMED onions? Ugh! How VILE!” and, really, I wouldn’t disagree with you if I haven’t had this dish. Honestly, “creamed” anything doesn’t really appeal to me – all I get from “creamed” as an adjective in front of food are horrid flashbacks of nasty, half-congealed things that make nightmarish sucking sounds as they’re forced out of cans. Such was the experiences of my childhood.

This recipe was originally given to me by my adopted mother, who messed with it a bit before giving it to me. I, in turn, fiddled with the recipe a little more, and I think I’ve found onion Nirvana. Trust me when I tell you, this is really very, very good.

Creamed Onions

Preheat your oven to 350. While that’s heating, combine 4 tablespoons of melted butter with 1 cup of bread crumbs (I use store-bought, Italian style crumbs) in a large frying pan and toast until slightly browned and fragrant. Set these aside and then melt 1 stick of butter and sautée 3 finely chopped onions – you don’t want them to brown; only let them get soft and translucent. Sprinkle 1/4 cup of flour over them (I use a small colander to make sure there are no lumps) and cook 3-5 minutes, stirring the whole time.

Once the flour is cooked, slowly add 2 cups of milk or cream (I do half milk and half whipping cream – I only eat this once or twice a year, and going low-fat seems a rip off). Season with salt and pepper, transfer to casserole, cover with crumbs, and bake 30-40 minutes or until the onions are thick and bubbly and the crumbs are crispy.

I make this a day ahead, skipping the baking step. The whole thing cools on the counter until it’s really cool (otherwise, condensation collects on the lid and the crumbs get mushy) and I stash it, covered, in the fridge. The next day, the casserole  gets popped, UNcovered, into the oven until it’s heated through and yummy. Then, my aunt-in-law, my twin brother-in-law, my daughter and I fight over the stuff at the holiday table.