Every Friday, and sometimes on Thursdays, we’re mixing things up with a different kind of food writing. More specifically, food poetry to be read slowly, over your morning coffee. Today, onions get the royal, poetic treatment.
Around these parts, we like to put our produce on a pedestal. If you know us well, you know that we’re not kidding: we get down and dirty with a different variety each week, we elevate them to new heights, we make fancy the tired and abundant squashes of August.
Onions get the limelight for today, not from us, but from Pablo Neruda. We’re pretty proud of our content, but no one has ever word-smithed onions quite like he has. If they weren’t already, he made the familiar allium beautiful and lyrical and, our favorite part, have bellies of their own.
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