Everybody talks about French onion soup -- it comes to mind unbidden on cold winter nights, or in the middle of a bad case of the flu -- but almost nobody does anything about it. My sister Lee is a notable exception. One day after much wheedling and outright begging I got her to pass along her recipe, modified from a rule in The Joy Of Cooking with her own refinements. She would not actually send me the recipe, thus committing it to writing, but gave it over the phone while I took notes.
Then I did something about it.
To make this soup you first slice up three moderately large brown onions, as thinly as possible -- don't chop the slices up. (Now is the time for your tears.) Put three quarters of a stick of butter into a big pot that can hold six cups of liquor, plus the onions, and melt it.
Now, as my sister explained, in hushed tones, a terrifying game of chicken with the onions begins. Your goal is to sauté them slowly, patiently in the butter until they turn a dark, a very dark brown. When they have turned the darkest brown possible they will be just seconds away from burning and turning black -- at which point all your slicing, all your tears, will have been in vain. The onions will try to fool you, by leaving black deposits on the side of the pot, so you will think they are as brown as they can possibly get -- but they aren't. Not yet -- not quite yet! Bonne chance, mon vieux!
When the onions are browned to perfection, remove them from the heat and add into the pot six cups of beef broth. Beef broth can be over-salty, especially the cubed kind, so it's good to use a mixture of low-sodium broth with the regular stuff. I used two cans of low sodium and one of regular broth. Grind some fresh pepper into the pot.
Simmer this slowly for about half an hour, adding a dash of sherry at the very last moment if you want.
To serve, place the soup in an oven-safe bowl. Take thickish slices from a baguette of French bread, toast them lightly and then float them on top of the soup, grate Gruyère generously over the surface of all this and bake it in the oven until the cheese melts.
Eat it with a strong, simple red wine and feel the flu, the chill of the night, the melancholy of the day recede. Rejoice in the fact that, by following this recipe, you will have plenty of soup left for the days and nights ahead, when it will only taste better.