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Home›Fiction›Roasted Onions

Roasted Onions

By Adriana Philips
February 3, 2025
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Four fresh onions on a vintage kitchen table with a milk can, jar, spoon, knife, and cookbooks
Svetlana Berdnyk / Pixabay
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Catherine sat up in the creaking bed and rubbed her swollen eyes. This head cold had made the previous night a hard one to sleep through, and its presence lingered today.

“Achoo!” She sneezed into her hands, got up, and washed them thoroughly in the washbasin, as mother had taught her.

Afterwards, Catherine donned a shawl and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. While collecting river water, the winter wind’s howl around the cabin’s wooden frames reached her. Moos of the cows from her employer’s nearby barn were also heard. Catherine sighed; this January weather proved too much for Lord Gunderson and the staff to work through.

The snowfall met the tall Lord’s knees, and gales toppled over weathervanes. It would’ve been unbearable for anyone, especially for a milkmaid like Catherine. With that, the farm closed yesterday until further notice, and everyone huddled within their own cabins.

Catherine held back a sneeze, setting the coffee and water over the small fire.

It’s my fault for this sickness. I wanted to fill the last bucket of milk before the next snowfall and stayed out too late. No use complaining about it now. If only this would pass.

The ailment didn’t relent to her admission and resorted to creating coughs.

Using a handkerchief, Catherine covered her mouth and rummaged through the cabinets for a remedy to this illness. She could only find honey jars sent from her brother, who worked as a beekeeper’s apprentice in another state and lots of onions from the farm’s latest fall harvest.

Looking at the latter, she remembered something about them. Another milkmaid, Amelia, who studied natural medicines, told her eating these roasted helped when she was sick. Catherine went to the cookbook collection and leafed through a copy of A New System of Domestic Cookery until she found the recipe.

It’s simple enough, and I can add honey if I want to. Let’s give it a go.

She gathered four large onions and put small pats of butter on them and placed them under the still hot embers from the morning coffee brewing. In no time, the kitchen filled with the unmistakable aroma of the vegetables. Its pungent odor made Catherine’s eyes watered.

At least this will help clear my eyes.

Half an hour passed, and soon they were ready. Once off the hot coals, she allowed them to cool before slicing. The smell was potent, and her nose passages cleared. When they were done, she cut them and spread butter and honey over each slice.

Catherine enjoyed every bite. Such deliciousness helped comfort her congested body. The savory flavor filled her mouth, and it created a blessed and tasty medicine. She devoured them all until she was full.

That tasted wonderful! I’ll thank Amelia for this recipe when we meet up again! A loud burp escaped her mouth.

“Excuse me.” She said to nobody in particular. That meal was worth it though.

One week later, the farm reopened, and Catherine felt better than ever. She thanked Amelia, and asked if she could spare some onion seeds.

“After all, I don’t want to risk having a cold again.”


Editor: Lucy Cafiero


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Adriana Philips

An aspiring woman writer with an interest in speculative fiction and mysteries. I have several mini-libraries in my home.

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  • Ivor Steven
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    February 19, 2026
    Thank you very much for reading my poem here on CHW magazine. It was a fortuitous ...

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  • Ivor Steven
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    February 19, 2026
    Thank you for reading my poem here at CHW; I appreciate your thoughtful comments, EugiI

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    Ivor, the photo is perfectly paired with this poem, both reflecting the uncertainties of this era.

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  • Eugi
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    Beautiful said, and excellent rhyming, Ivor. Where do we land where there is peace and light?

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    Beautiful, Ivor!

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