I was going to make baked potato soup last night when I got home – ambitious of me, to bake 2 pounds of potatoes, then dice and mash them and cook them down into a soup. All this after a good, solid martial arts workout? I don’t think so, scooter. But I told 354 that I would cook supper for him, and like a good, trusting man, he didn’t eat anything so he could have supper when I got home (around 2100 zulu). What’s a girl to do? I suggested French onion soup, his eyes lit up and the deal was done.
Had I ever made French onion soup before? No. (Had I ever eaten it? No.) Was I scared? No! I had recipes galore – Julia, BHG, Cooking, the entirety of the Internet at my fingertips! What was to be scared of?
After two to three hours looking through recipes online and in-hand, I decided. Enough was enough. Enough of the recipes said onions, beef stock, butter, flour and a very, very small amount of sugar, and generally some dry white wine, so I figured it couldn’t be that hard to replicate. And on the whole, it wasn’t. There were pieces and parts of things that I will definitely do differently next time, but the soup itself, like soups should be, was simple.
(Remainder, including pictures, under the cut.)