On Spiders?

an introduction and a very good onion and rosemary tart

The other day I caught a spider. Let me rephrase: last Thursday, I caught a gigantic spider. Gigantic? It was pretty big, or at least it looked too big for the two of us to cohabit. I was sitting on the sofa minding my own business (being on my phone) and there the spider crawled through the living room. I’m not scared of spiders, but I experienced frustration. I instantly thought that I should get rid of the spider — this is my flat, a space that I pay to rent and therefore benefit from its shelter. What if the spider starts laying eggs in my socks? This has happened to my friend recently, she told me about all the baby spiders she caught walking up her bedroom wall one evening. This isolated spider started to feel like the beginning of something bigger, potentially, and I thought enough. Enough sharing, this is my flat. I stepped into the kitchen, grabbed the empty container from the olives I had snacked while cooking dinner (orzo with yellow courgettes, shaved ricotta on top) and I returned to the living room with a plan. I would trap the spider inside the container by placing it on top of the intruding arthropod, I would slide a bit of cardboard that I had found inside the recycling bin underneath it, and I would walk to the window and release the spider. I made a point that I should keep the window closed for a little while afterwards. I was thinking about how short  ‘a little while’ can be when I stepped back into the living room and noticed the spider wasn’t there anymore. 

Now, this is when I started being scared. I was aware of this gigantic spider, my ankles started itching, but I didn’t know where it was. I contemplated the option of hunting for the spider; the flat isn’t big, it’s a bit messy, but nothing insurmountable. I didn’t search for the spider though, instead I sat back on the sofa and I returned to what I was doing, or I should say a facsimile of what I was doing before. There I was, fearful and therefore distracted by my own fears. I reassured myself that I’m not scared of spiders — I’m not! — still, my brain grew fuzzy and I started peeling a tangerine into small bits. I became apprehensive of the unforeseen, paralysed by a situation I had lost control over: the spider’s whereabouts, the ownership of the flat where I live, the room in which I spend most of my time, and over the utility bills that are increasing and increasing and increasing, my opinions and insecurities crawling. I spent some of the leftover evening thinking about the spider, then I forgot and I remembered again when I was about to go to sleep. I woke up with a fright, convinced that I was falling off my bed, and I thought about the spider again, wondering if it was resting somewhere, inside my built-in wardrobe perhaps, or maybe it was watching me. I eventually fell asleep and I can’t remember what I dreamt of that night. 

I haven’t seen the spider since, but I haven’t forgotten about it either. I often look at the spot on the carpet where I last caught sight of it. 

Maman, Louise Bourgeois (1999)

Enough, it’s time for me to be honest with you. There was no spider. If you’ve clicked on the ‘Subscribe’ button already or if you’re planning to do it, then thank you and here is a loose agreement between author and reader of The Onion Papers. There was no spider this time, but there could have been one and, often, there is something else simmering in the background. Albeit the ecosystem of my London flat, there are the text messages I misread, the language of newspaper headlines and articles I despise; the lexicon I practise inside my kitchen in London, the looks a stranger gives me on the Tube and the messages I don’t send. All the things I observe and decrypt and the stuff I read between the lines, sometimes objectively but subjectively most of the time. 

I have been thinking about this newsletter for a while, an earnest wish to write more and many worries about form and time. I thought hard and little came out of the exercise, other than crafted reasons not to launch this Substack, so here I’m writing to make the jump. One take-away, however, is that I dislike the word ‘newsletter’ when it comes to my writing here. I don’t want to commit to sharing news constantly, but I can digress. I can observe and explore what I see and digress: The Onion Papers will be my pantry for some of this, a space to host some intuitive writings and reflections. You’ll find me swirling around language and you can expect essays about culture, reading and writing – digressions from what I see and eat – and a monthly almanac. It’s free to subscribe and I’ll publish notes as I go. 

As often when I set out to write, it takes some time before I realise that I’m writing something else indeed. This wasn’t really about spiders in the end, but shall we start with slicing the onions thinly and lengthwise? 

Onion and rosemary tart:

200g white flour (it’s likely that you’ll need extra when you work the dough)
90g salted butter, cubbed
1 egg yolk, white preserved for dough rescuing
3 large onions, peeled and cut lengthwise
1 egg
2 (generous) tsps Dijon mustard
2 tbsps crème fraîche
A handful of fresh rosemary
Salt and Pepper
Olive oil

Start with making the dough: pour the flour into a large bowl, dig a hole in the middle and add the butter, egg yolk, three tablespoons of ice cold water, and salt. Start kneading at playtime and go ahead with adding more flour if the dough is too sticky. You’re after the smell of homemade modelling dough, and here I find it helpful to add a splash or two of egg whites so the dough comes together into a homogeneous ball. Dust with extra flour, cover with a kitchen towel and let it rest for one hour. 

On a low heat, sweat the onions with a generous amount of olive oil and a sprig of rosemary. I don’t salt the onions here, but that is the product of my complex relationship with salt (one for another letter) and you should do as you please. What you cannot do is leave the side of the pan or the onions will burn and spoil the sweet taste of the tart. Stand by, stirring often and adding a few tears of cold water if they start sticking to the pan. This is a good exercise of patience for the stubborn and emotions-avoidant Capricorn that I am. My onions were ready in fifteen minutes. 

onions, fifteen minutes later

Preheat the oven to 180C fan. In the meantime, in a separate bowl, mix the eggs, mustard, crème fraîche, salt and pepper. Leave aside. Stretch and fit the dough inside the baking tray of your choice. Pick the bottom with a fork.

Spread the golden onions at the bottom of the tart shell, then pour the creamy mixture on top. Sprinkle rosemary leaves and slide the tart into the oven. First timer rings at twenty minutes, check-in, another fifteen minutes. I push it for an extra three minutes, so let’s say 38 minutes total. 

I love it cold and the morning after: sweet but with a bite. 

Margaux

a very good onion and rosemary tart