“An onion can make people cry, but there has never been a vegetable invented to make them laugh” — Will Rodgers

Many people have asked me, “Where do you get ideas for things to write about?” The simple answer is that these things just pop into my head outta nowhere, but it’s more than that. My mind, like anybody else’s, is not merely an empty container where various thought randomly drop in. It’s more like a garden where thoughts, ideas and imaginations grow based on the quality (both good and bad) of the soil that produces a worldview, along with the expressions of that perspective. The condition of the soil determines what will grow from that soil. Soggy soil is good for some plants while drier soil is good for others. Certain plants thrive in slightly acidic soil while others thrive in more of the alkaline variety. Some plants like soil with more phosphorous, some with more nitrogen. And so on.

Over the decades, I have fertilized the soil of my mind from many sources. I have always been a “reader,” a devourer of information. Growing up, when the other kids wanted to go outside and play games, I was much more inclined to go inside and read a book. Although, when somebody wanted to go play “Pummel” or “Throwingrocksatcars” or “Train Track Chicken,” I was always up for that. (I hope my Mom isn’t reading this.) I soon found myself reading above grade level, developed a larger vocabulary, which led to developing and articulating thoughts and ideas that ended up isolating me from schoolyard peers. For example, during 4th grade Current Events, where students would bring in a newspaper or magazine article and tell the rest of the class about it, I was bringing in stories from the New York Times (a former newspaper) and The Smithsonian magazine while the rest the kids were bringing in clippings from the local paper, Chinese menus, and People magazine. This resulted in me being labeled as a “nerd.”

Somewhere along the way I discovered Mad Magazine. For those of you who do not remember, or never experienced this man-made force of nature, Mad Magazine was an irreverent monthly magazine led by William Gains and his “usual bunch of idiots” who hammered and blatantly called out the various social norms, politicians, and the entertainment industry through biting satire and caustic parody. The beauty of Mad Magazine is that they did not accept any advertising. Because of this, they were not beholden to any cooperate interests trying to control their content. In other words, they published whatever they wanted to and were not afraid of offending anyone, holding themselves to their own standard of being an “equal opportunity abuser.” Nobody was safe. Conservatives and liberals, farmers and industrialists, Hollywood and independent productions, were all subject to being targeted by the guys at Mad. Most of all, they were hilarious!

A few years down the road, I discovered The National Lampoon. The ”NatLamp,” as it became known, was birthed out the Havard Lampoon by Doug Kenney and his band of refugees from Cambridge (after they gave us Bored of the Rings and had to find a real job after graduating Havard.) NatLamp picked up where Mad left off but geared toward young adult reprobates rather than juvenile delinquents. Their satire was significantly harsher, but man it was awesome! NatLamp eventually begat “Saturday Night Live” (a former comedy show), Off-Broadway Plays (Lemmings), a nationally syndicated radio show (The National Lampoon Radio Hour) and a string of blockbuster movies (Animal House, Vacation, European Vacation, etc). Like Mad before it, NatLamp was a No Holds Bared equal opportunity abuser, and nobody was immune to being targeted. And like Mad, it was hilarious.

Eventually both these publications went out of business and I found myself in a void of satire, parody, and basic ridiculousness. So I decided to do something about it, and created “The Irrational Affairs Desk” at my collegiate newspaper. I won’t get into the details, but I remain astounded, to this very day, that a very “proper” institution like my alma mater allowed me to get away with the things I wrote.

Fast forward a few years and on one fine May morning. As I was walking down Rivington Street in Manhattan, I stumbled (literally “stumbled”) upon this headline: “Archaeological Dig Uncovers Ancient Race of Skeleton People.”  Another headline read “Winner Did Not Know It Was A Pie Eating Contest.”   This, my friends, was my introduction to “The Onion.”  To contradict Will Rodgers, an onion can indeed make you laugh. I don’t want to endorse or condemn any existing publication, but I will say that The Onion continues in the tradition of Mad Magazine and The National Lampoon, and if you want to check them out, you can find it online.

But I digress.

I’m not here to talk about other publications (Elisha’s Riddle is the only one worth reading these days, so you should concentrate on us. imjustsayin’). 

I want to talk about Onions.

The real ones, the ones you find in the grocery store.

Onions are part of the Leek family, Allium ampeloprasum to be specific. Leeks, onions, scallions, garlic, shallots, they are all genetic cousins. They are easy to grow, they develop quickly (often with several crops a year), and can be stored a long time without refrigeration. They are a primary aromatic foundation for sauces ranging from Normandy to Manchuria, and have been imported and incorporated into the foodways of every continent. You really cannot build a cuisine without them.

I have found over the years that quite often what we call “High Cuisine” is a gentrification of “Low Cuisine” or “Peasant Food,” which eventually morphs into the Proletariat menu.

Let me explain.

We all know “French Onion Soup,” a crock of onions and beef broth with some croutons and heaps of mozzarella cheese melted under a broiler, right?

WRONG!!

I will not even begin to elaborate on the abomination of fake Italian mozzarella is doing on a “French” soup.

French Onion Soup began as many foods do, in the realm of the poor and the impoverished. In this case, medieval serfs who were not much more than impoverished stoop laborers and destitute dirt farmers.

You took a bunch of onions, cut them up, slowly cooked them down over coals until they were almost nothing (yet had sweetened in the cooking process), added some water to thin it out enough to feed more people, and if you were lucky enough to have some stale bread, you threw that in too. If it was early spring or late fall, and you were somehow able to make friends with your feudal lord’s butcher, you might be able to talk him into giving you some of the bones from the slaughter, and throw them in the pot to give your soup a bit more flavor.

Over time (lots of time) this evolved into a complex process of roasting bones and other vegetables to make a stock, then adding the stock to the onions along with a bunch of herbs, while using some Sherry to finish the dish. You then garnish it with a slice of a baguette encrusted with broiled cheese from the French Alps. Welcome to the world of “High Cuisine,” a place where the peasant food was refined to the point where it was not only unaffordable, but unrecognizable to them that’s created it.

What goes up, eventually comes down — and French Onion Soup is no exception to this rule.

Eventually the Bourgeoisie and the Proletariat behind them wanted to get them some of the good stuff, but it was too costly to produce. The Free Range Market stepped in, and now in diners everywhere we can get us some sautéed onions in broth made from beef flavored paste, served with prepackaged croutons and fake mozzarella cheese.

There you have it, the evolution and subsequent devolution of cuisine. This cycle happens in various forms, all the time. But since we are talking about onions, here is another variation of the theme.

Did you ever hear of a thing called Word War Two?

When the German army rolled into France they installed an occupation government, The Vichy, that plundered the French in horrible ways. Even worse, this government was populated by collaborators who sold out their friends, family, and countrymen. France was so devastated that to stave off starvation, they ate a watery gruel made from onions, a potato or two (if they could find them), and just enough milk to give it some color. This was served cold, as cooking fuel was a luxury. This soup was called “Vichyssoise,” in honor of the Vichy government who caused this to be. Two generations later, Vichyssoise is found in some of the finest restaurants around.

So, what has this got to do with anything?

After Israel hightailed it out of Egypt, and found themselves wandering around the wilderness in circles, they quickly forgot where they were not too long ago . . . the miracle of the sea parting, the miracle of the water from the rock, the miracle Manna Papa had given them. They had also come to ignore the physical manifestation of the Holy One in the pillar of cloud by day and pillar of fire by night. They began to yearn for the “…onions and cucumbers…” (among other things) they left behind in Egypt. They became nostalgic for the food of poverty, the food of bondage, the food of oppression, the food of slavery. The preferred cold comfort to change, despair to opportunity, bleakness to hope, security to freedom. Freedom can be frightening, the unknown even more so. In times of transition, it is possible, even likely, that we can blind ourselves to the Glory of God even when He is blatantly right in front of us, in plain view, doing awesome things that clearly benefit us.

Don’t judge those guys. They don’t have the benefit of knowing then what we know now. And when Papa does his next awesome thing in our lives, it will not look like anything He did before so it will be as new and as weird to us and what Israel experienced was new and weird to them.

Faith is risky business. It involves trusting the unknown, taking a leap off a cliff without a net. It is the opposite of reason.

Anti-Faith is far less risky. Anti-Faith is distrust and fear, and the consequences can be devastating. 

The moment of faith is different for everybody. Most people have the moment many times in their lives; some just a few. Sometimes entire nations need to make collective decisions when faced with their moments. The only common denominator is that it’s different each and every time. 

I can’t tell you what to do when you are facing your moment, but I can tell you this, faith is like a muscle. It only strengthens when you exercise it. And yes, there have been times I have not exercised my faith, or just chosen the path of cold comfort. Despite these poor decisions, Papa has blessed me with many more opportunities to trust Him. Sometimes I have, and sometimes I have not, but the opportunities just keep on coming.

Do not be discouraged if you find yourself on the wrong side of a faith moment. Scrape off your shoes, dust yourself off, and get ready for the next time. You will get it right eventually. Then, after that, it gets easier as you go along. 

You got this!!

So…

Many people have asked me, “Where do you get your ideas for things to write about?”

I dunno.

Sometimes I just talk until I say something.

Thanks for letting me take up some of your time.