Eight years ago, my first taste of America was not through iconic dishes, but a whirlwind tour of New Jersey suburbs. Driven by an acquaintance eager to showcase his nation’s greatness, I was introduced to landmarks like the Woodbridge outlet mall and a Dunkin’ Donuts. While my guide beamed with pride, my enthusiasm for iced coffee and doughnuts remained lukewarm. It wasn’t until I encountered a mountain of vibrant red onions at Wegmans that something shifted. In that moment, amidst the organic produce, my initial detachment began to fade, replaced by a burgeoning connection to this new land, surprisingly sparked by what would become, for me, The Best Food.
You see, I am what you might call a profoundly picky eater. A label more often associated with toddlers throwing tantrums than adults navigating grocery stores. My vegetarianism is limited to a mere trio of vegetables, and dairy is a cautious affair, with yogurt remaining firmly off the menu. The cloyingly sweet scent of a banana is enough to send me politely fleeing. For someone with such a restrictive palate, finding joy in food might seem like a challenge. Yet, within the humble red onion, I discovered not just a tolerable ingredient, but the best food tailored perfectly to my unique tastes.
My journey with this crimson bulb began in childhood. My mother, juggling childcare and studies, found solace in the simple fact that I, much like my grandmother, would readily eat plain roti accompanied by finely diced red onions, seasoned with salt and a splash of lemon. This simple dish became a cornerstone of my early diet. Later, during my years at boarding school in India, Thursday lunches were a weekly highlight. Alongside rajma chawal, we were served paper-thin slices of salt-marinated red onions. These pungent slivers were more than just a side dish; they were a comforting constant, a taste of home amidst institutional food, solidifying red onions as the best food in moments of homesickness. It’s important to note, however, that my onion adoration is strictly confined to the red variety. White and yellow onions, along with Cipollinis, simply don’t measure up. They lack the sharp, invigorating bite of their red counterparts, making them, in my picky opinion, pale imitations.
In my early twenties, living in a basement apartment with a makeshift “kitchen,” my culinary creativity, albeit unconventional, truly blossomed around red onions. Limited to a mini-fridge, a rickety table, and basic utensils, I invented entire meals celebrating my favorite vegetable. Imagine thick slices of salted red onion dipped in Maggi Hot & Sweet Tomato Chilli Sauce, sandwiched between buttered white bread. Or consider the guilty pleasure of red onion wrapped in a Kraft American cheese slice. Olive oil and labneh also became willing partners in my red onion feasts. Even at Indian restaurants, much to the bemusement of my American friends, I would request a side of onions, green chilies, and salt, happily crunching away on raw onion slices throughout my meal. For me, these weren’t just quirky eating habits; they were celebrations of the best food I knew, a testament to the simple yet profound pleasure found in embracing one’s unique palate.
For a picky eater navigating a world of diverse and sometimes overwhelming culinary options, finding the best food isn’t about exotic ingredients or elaborate dishes. Sometimes, it’s about the simple, sharp, and satisfying bite of a red onion. It’s a reminder that the most comforting and delicious food is often the one that speaks directly to your individual taste, no matter how unconventional it may seem.
