The World Runs on Onions

There are many great discoveries in human history.

Fire.

The wheel.

The internal combustion engine.

And then there is the moment someone put an onion in a pan and realised that food could smell considerably better if you stopped being impatient.

This, essentially, is the soffritto.

In Italy, it is usually a simple combination of onion, carrot and celery, gently cooked in olive oil until the kitchen begins to smell like something worth eating.

It is the beginning of ragù.

The beginning of sauces.

The beginning of stews.

The beginning of an enormous number of meals that would otherwise be considerably less interesting.

But here's the thing.

It isn't just Italian.

Almost every serious food culture on Earth has looked at a pan, some fat, and a handful of aromatic vegetables and thought 

"Right. Let's make this taste better."

The ingredients change.

The fat changes.

The cooking time changes.

But the idea remains remarkably similar.

And frankly, this is one of the great things about food.

Countries can disagree about almost everything, but give them an onion and some hot fat and suddenly everyone becomes rather more reasonable.

France: Put Butter on It

The French version starts in familiar territory.

Onion.

But then comes the butter.

Of course it does.

The French see a perfectly respectable ingredient and immediately ask whether it could be improved by adding butter.

Usually, the answer is yes.

French cooking puts enormous emphasis on butter, sauces and slowly developed flavours, so the aromatic base becomes softer, richer and more luxurious.

The onion takes centre stage while the celery and carrot become less important.

It is less about throwing everything into a pan and more about building the foundations for the sauce that is about to follow.

This is French cooking in miniature.

Nothing is ever simply cooked.

It is developed.

Nurtured.

Encouraged.

Possibly given a small glass of wine.

Spain: Bring Out the Tomato

Cross the Pyrenees and things become more colourful.

The Spanish sofrito brings onion and garlic together with tomato, and sometimes pepper.

And unlike the Italian approach, the tomato isn't merely invited to the party.

It is expected to stay until the end.

The vegetables cook slowly, the tomato loses its water and everything gradually turns into a concentrated, intensely flavoured mixture.

It becomes the foundation for rice dishes, stews and countless other Spanish recipes.

This is particularly clever because you can make a large batch and keep it in the fridge.

Then, when you've come home late, opened the fridge and discovered that your only available dinner is half a chicken and something that may once have been a courgette, a spoonful of sofrito can rescue the situation.

Which is more useful than most kitchen gadgets.

Louisiana: The Carrot Gets Fired

Then we arrive in Louisiana.

And somebody has decided that the carrot has had a good run.

In Cajun and Creole cooking, the Italian-style combination becomes what is known as the Holy Trinity.

Onion.

Celery.

Green pepper.

The carrot is gone.

Dismissed.

Replaced by a green pepper that brings a more vegetal, slightly grassy flavour.

This mixture becomes the starting point for dishes such as gumbo and jambalaya.

And suddenly the humble aromatic base has gone from Italian grandmother to Louisiana swamp warfare.

The technique is different too.

The vegetables are softened but don't necessarily get cooked into complete submission.

They still have a job to do later.

There is a roux.

There is stock.

There is meat.

There is seafood.

There is heat.

Quite a lot of heat.

The Holy Trinity is basically the point where vegetables are given a passport and told to report for duty.

China: Forget the Patience

And then there is China.

This is where the entire European idea of cooking slowly becomes slightly embarrassing.

In much of Chinese cooking, garlic, ginger and spring onion are thrown into a wok containing oil that is already extremely hot.

And then everything happens almost immediately.

Seconds.

Not minutes.

Certainly not the sort of leisurely cooking time required to watch an onion slowly turn translucent while you stare into the middle distance.

The wok is screaming.

The aromatics hit the oil.

The fragrance explodes.

And then the rest of dinner goes in.

Garlic.

Ginger.

Spring onion.

Heat.

Action.

Done.

This is the starting point for an enormous number of stir-fried dishes, including Kung Pao Chicken and Mapo Tofu.

And it makes perfect sense.

If you're cooking at very high temperatures, you don't want your garlic sitting around for ten minutes contemplating its future.

It will burn.

And burnt garlic is one of those smells that can empty a kitchen faster than a fire alarm.

Four Countries. One Idea.

So you have Italy.

France.

Spain.

Louisiana.

China.

Different ingredients.

Different fats.

Different temperatures.

Different amounts of patience.

But fundamentally the same idea.

Start with aromatics.

Release their flavour.

Build the dish from there.

The Italians take their time.

The French reach for the butter.

The Spanish add tomato and reduce it until it becomes concentrated.

Louisiana swaps the carrot for green pepper.

The Chinese turn the wok into a small domestic volcano and get the whole thing done before you've had time to find the soy sauce.

And perhaps that is what makes cooking so fascinating.

We like to think that cuisines are completely separate things, divided by borders, languages and centuries of tradition.

But underneath all of that, there are remarkably similar instincts.

Take something fragrant.

Add fat.

Apply heat.

Make it smell fantastic.

Then put something else in.

It's almost embarrassingly simple.

And yet from that basic principle come ragù, gumbo, jambalaya, stews, sauces, stir-fries and thousands of other dishes.

So the next time you hear someone dismiss soffritto as merely "some chopped vegetables", remember this:

It isn't the vegetables that matter.

It's the beginning.

Because before the meat.

Before the sauce.

Before the wine.

Before the pasta.

Before the enormous bowl of food that you absolutely did not need but are going to finish anyway—

There is usually a pan.

And something sizzling in it.

Human civilisation, it seems, runs on onions.