Lady Marmalade and burnt onions

A few years ago, our local gym had a swimming pool. Although small, it was good enough for a few dozen lengths before work. Those were the days when I spent my time mainly at Portofino and usually, after a gym session, found myself at my desk munching on a bowl of Fruit & Fibre for breakfast. 

One morning, while I splashed my way across the pool, leaving behind me a foamy tsunami, I accidentally bumped into a female swimmer. 
I took my goggles off and began thinking of an apology before she blamed me for wetting her hair. I expected the usual reprimand: “I do the breaststroke so that my hair doesn’t get wet and you come barging in like a hippo…”
How wrong I was!
She smiled as she recognised me without my chef’s hat and said: “Ah! Just the person I needed. Can you please tell me now? You know, the onion marmalade that you serve with your pâté, how do you make it? I just love it!”
Recovering from the shock, I made my way to the edge of the pool. She followed me.  
I half-joked: “I suppose you don’t have pen and paper on you?” 
I looked around at the swimmers within earshot and, in a hushed voice, began revealing the far-from secret ingredients. Red onions, garlic, butter, oil, caster sugar, bay leaf, red wine, Port…
She was all ears. 
Gesturing, I began chopping the virtual onions, garlic, and frying them slowly in butter and oil. Tossing them in the frying pan, then adding the sugar, herbs and wines…
When I finished explaining the recipe, I promised to publish it on our website.
She said that she herself made lots of chutneys and relishes. I said that I loved green tomato chutney.
“I use my husband’s leftover green tomatoes from his greenhouse for that. Absolutely delicious!” And with that, she lowered her body back into the water and swam away.
Now that the pool has gone, I find myself sharing recipes in pubs, supermarkets, trains and buses, just about any place where people meet. 

Talking about food, even more than cooking it, can be so therapeutic. As I may have mentioned in the past, I find that when I am cooking for myself, I often go for the quick, tried and tested dishes that take no more than ten minutes to concoct. I call this “filling station food”. Tasty stuff that doesn’t require much preparation. But, when it comes to cooking for other people, I tend to spend hours in the kitchen. 

Talking about a dish brings back memories not only of the food itself but of the occasion when it was enjoyed. It could’ve been a simple pizza in a Naples back alley or a Chateaubriand in a posh Paris brasserie, a Pad Thai at a street food stall in Bangkok or just our mother’s hot hearty soup on a cold day. 
Putting on my cowboy psychologist hat on, I believe that food can play a significant role in the power of suggestion. Passing a restaurant and getting a whiff of burnt onions usually takes me back to a happy barbecue with the family. 

So, next time you’re feeling blue or nostalgic, burn yourselves an onion and see what happens.