I know a girl who loves onions.
Once she said she wanted to bake an onion pie, but she wanted me to make the crust since I’m good at that sort of things. I bought butter and flour, but we got drunk and forgot about it.
She puts onions in everything, I told her if I put onions in her coffee she would drink it and say it was the best coffee she’s ever had. She wrinkled her nose and giggled with her tongue out.
I don’t know why I’m thinking of her now, maybe cause I just cleaned out some yellow onions that had gone soft and brown in a paper bag. I don’t think any onions got the chance to grow soft at her place, she would buy a bag of them and they would be gone within a week.
She would put three different kinds of onions in an omelette she would make for me while I was half asleep on her sofa telling her about my latest heartbreak. And she would scoff and say I was too good for them, and she would tell me that they didn’t really want me anyway. And I would lie and say that I know, but in reality I never told her I think they were too good for me, and I never really wanted them anyway.
Sometimes it was me cooking for her while she was sitting on the sofa looking cold and hurt and I would ask which onions to put in the pot and she would answer all of them. Red, yellow, spring onions… And she would eat some, then leave it to get cold and eat it later. She loves cold food almost as much as she loves onions.
I don’t know why I’m thinking of all this now. Maybe because I’m sitting here talking to my lover and smiling and thinking, maybe you were right, maybe I’ve found someone who loves me as much as you love onions, and cold food and lynx ears and forks.