Pickled Onion — The Thing on Betty’s Table That Nobody Talks About But Everybody Eats

Drove to Evarts Saturday. Three hours each way, same as always, the road winding through the mountains like it's trying to talk me out of going, and I never listen. Betty was waiting on the porch even though it was forty degrees because Betty believes porches are for sitting on regardless of weather, season, or the opinions of her children. She's eighty-two and she looked eighty-two and I don't like writing that but I don't lie in this blog and I won't start now. Her hip was bothering her — the left one, the one she fell on in the garden two years ago and never told anyone about until Dale noticed her limping at Christmas.

I mowed the lawn, which didn't need mowing because it's March and grass doesn't grow in March in Harlan County, but the yard had branches down from the winter storms and the flower beds needed clearing and there's always something a house needs when the person living in it is eighty-two and alone. I cleaned the gutters. I fixed the screen door that's been hanging crooked since October. I moved a stack of firewood from the pile to the porch so she wouldn't have to walk as far. My back screamed at every task and I told it to shut up because Betty needs don't wait for Craig's vertebrae to negotiate.

She made soup beans for lunch. Of course she did. Monday's beans reheated on Saturday, and they were better reheated because soup beans are always better the second day — the flavors settle, the broth thickens, the ham hock gives up its last secrets. I ate two bowls and cornbread and raw onion and she watched me eat the way she's watched me eat for fifty-three years, with a satisfaction that has nothing to do with the food and everything to do with the feeding. She asked about the disability. I told her. She said your daddy would've filed sooner if he'd had the sense. I said Daddy didn't have the option. She said that's not true, he had the option, he had the stubbornness. Don't be your daddy, Craig Allen. I said yes ma'am.

Drove home in the dark. The mountains were black against a sky that was slightly less black, and I could see the ridgeline against the stars, and I missed it the way you miss a person. I told Connie about Betty when I got home. She said we need to start talking about Betty's future. I said I know. We didn't talk about it. We just knew, and knowing was enough for now.

Betty set that raw onion on the table without a word, same as she’s done my whole life—sliced thin, no ceremony, just there beside the cornbread and the pot of beans like it had always been and always would be. I’ve been thinking about that onion since I drove home in the dark, and I think what I’m really thinking about is how to hold onto the small things she does without making a fuss of them. A jar of pickled onions in the refrigerator is the closest I can get: that same sharp bite, that same quiet insistence that the simple things belong on the table.

Pickled Onion

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 5 minutes | Total Time: 15 minutes (plus 1 hour resting) | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 2 medium red onions, thinly sliced into rings
• 1 cup white wine vinegar or apple cider vinegar
• 1 cup water
• 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon black peppercorns
• 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
• 1 bay leaf

Instructions

1. Prepare the onions. Slice onions as thin and even as you can manage—a mandoline helps, but a steady hand and a sharp knife will do. Pack them into a clean 1-quart jar or two smaller jars.
2. Make the brine. Combine vinegar, water, sugar, salt, peppercorns, red pepper flakes, and bay leaf in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the sugar and salt dissolve completely, about 3 to 4 minutes. Do not boil.
3. Pour and rest. Carefully pour the hot brine over the onions, making sure they are fully submerged. Press them down gently with a spoon if needed. Let the jar sit uncovered at room temperature for at least 1 hour before tasting.
4. Refrigerate. Once cooled, seal the jar and refrigerate. The onions will be good after an hour but are best after 24 hours, when the brine has had time to do its work. They keep well for up to two weeks.
5. Serve. Pile them alongside soup beans and cornbread, on top of a ham biscuit, or anywhere a sharp, clean bite is welcome.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 20 | Protein: 0g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 5g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 220mg