A culinary homage to the fox kin witches
This recipe is a sincere tribute to the pragmatic, unpretentious spirit of the moor. When the fox kin witches of the moor haul a pesky nuisance out of the wet grass, they make no ritualistic fuss about it—the creature simply goes straight into the cauldron, no frills attached, like a “rotten onion.”: Lid off, tomcat in, lid on – done.
This soup captures that raw, unvarnished warmth:
A heavy, malty black beer cuts through the natural, almost assertive sweetness of the slowly caramelized onions with a tart, honest bitterness. It is all crowned by a thick layer of cheese, melting into a golden shield that traps the heat inside the clay mug.
INGREDIENTS
1 kg yellow & red onions (sliced paper-thin – a veritable mountain of tear-shedding)
2 tbsp butter or vegetable lard (for the honest wanderers by the fire)
1 tbsp flour (to dust and bind the flavors)
250 ml dark black beer (or a heavy porter – as deep and bitter as a bad oath)
800 ml robust vegetable broth (the nourishing base)
2 bay leaves (freshly picked in the forest’s shady thicket)
1 tsp dried thyme
1 stale baguette (or Fian’s dry root bread from the day before)
150 g flavorful Gruyère (grated – a protective roof against the autumn chill)
PREPARATION
The Slow Passing (Conquering the onions)
Melt the butter (or lard) in a heavy cast-iron cauldron. Add the massive mountain of onions. Let them cook very slowly and patiently, stirring occasionally, for 25–30 minutes until they collapse and form a soft, deep golden-brown mass. Be patient—in Mistwood, haste is the first step toward stumbling.
Binding the Elements
Dust the soft, sweet onions with the flour and stir vigorously for a minute so the flour combines with the fat, ensuring a rich, thick consistency later on.
The Bitter Awakening (Deglazing)
Pour the dark black beer into the cauldron. Use the hissing sound as your cue to scrape up all the delicious browned bits stuck to the bottom of the pot with a wooden spoon—that is exactly where the soul of the soup resides. Simmer the beer until it is reduced by half and the liquid has thickened and smells malty.
The Broth of Silence
Add the vegetable stock, bay leaves, and thyme. Place the lid on the pot, reduce the heat, and let the mixture simmer gently for 20 minutes. Allow the flavors to meld together in secret.
The Protective Shield (The Cheese Crust)
Ladle the piping-hot soup into ovenproof earthenware bowls. Place a thick slice of toasted bread atop each portion and cover it so generously with grated Gruyère that the bread is completely hidden.
Place the bowls under the broiler* until the cheese bubbles and turns golden brown, forming an impenetrable, fragrant shield.
Serve hot—and burn your tongue on the very first spoonful—true to the spirit of the Moor’s merciless kitchen.
For real-life grilling – away from the unpredictable ash and embers of a tavern- a high temperature of 220°C to 230°C (pure top heat or the direct grill function of your oven) is best. The goal is to subject the cheese to relentless, rapid heat from above so that it melts quickly and forms those wonderfully crispy, golden-brown bubbles. The soup underneath should simply remain hot and not reduce further or, even worse, make the bread soggy.
A little survival tip for the kitchen: Don’t leave the oven during these minutes! Under the grill coil, the transition from “perfectly golden and shiny” to “charred and bitter as a broken oath” can happen faster than a hungry wolf can bite.
Fian
