“Fast” is a relative term. We’re all on a planet rotating at 1,040 miles per hour, which is rotating the sun at 67,000 miles per hour, which is rotating the center of the galaxy at 483,000 miles per hour. In that context, it’s fair to say an old man wearing a hat driving a Buick is “fast.” Or say the men’s bathroom line at an REO Speedwagon concert is “fast.” Or even to call a soup-and-salad combo that takes nearly three hours to complete “fast.”

Einstein’s Theory of Relativity proved that, as you get faster, time slows down. He must have made The Food Lab’s “Fast” French Onion Soup (Page 226), because time comes to a screeching halt while you’re waiting for the damn onions to brown. Even when you fill the time trying to make Green Bean Salad with Red Onion and Hazelnut Vinaigrette (Page 792), you still find yourself staring at the little hand on the clock as life passes you by.

I recently took some Buzzfeed quizzes. They told me I was a Carrie, a Ross, a Davos Seaworth, a Blue Power Ranger and a someone named Christina Yang. The “What type of lunch food are you?” quiz told me I was a sandwich, and definitely not a soup-and-salad combo.

Soup and salad seems too simple and light to count as a complete meal. What is there to it? You take hot water, add some leafy green bits and slap on an $11.95 price tag. You’re done, and now getting rich off of people who are lying about watching their figure.

After this experience, I can tell you it takes a lot to make soup and salad—emotionally, financially and ingredient-wise. The investment starts at the grocery store. Step one: take out a small loan. Since you won’t be buying meat, which is bountiful and full of natural flavor, you’ll be purchasing roughly 75 different necessary ingredients—they add up. Next, loudly sing Steve Perry’s “Oh Sherrie” while you aimlessly wander the aisles looking for cooking sherry. People will help you. Finally, look to the sky and declare to the grocery store gods, “Why are hazelnuts so damn expensive?” and buy almonds instead. Then cry in your car.

I prepared all of the individual ingredients, starting with the salad dressing. I’m not really sure why I started with the salad dressing. In hindsight that seems like a bad plan, considering the French onion soup took well over an hour.

I sliced the red onions, which made me weep Lebron-James-esque tears. After I stopped crying, I was in an emotionally raw place, and chopping nuts just seemed too labor-intensive. So I came up with my own plan. It didn’t work well, and my kitchen was soon covered in almond shrapnel.

Smashing the almonds with the side of the knife blade was a rousing success, but much less satisfying and certainly not Snapchat-worthy. I combined the nuts and all the liquid ingredients with shallots (my favorite onion) and tarragon (my favorite Pokémon). I added some oils whilst whisking and bam, salad dressing. Cooking is magic, and I am the Goblin King.

On to the star of the show, (Not-So) Fast French Onion Soup.  I started by slicing onions. To make a good French Onion Soup you need enough onions to ruin a roommate’s Tinder date. I continued slicing onions until the sun exploded, turned into a black hole and sucked me and all of earth into the singularity.

I need a sharper knife or faster hands. I have blisters at the bases of my fingers, and think I feel a case of carpal tunnel coming on. Either way, at the end of Chop-A-Thon 2016 I was left with this mountain of pungent yellow goodness and a pool of tears large enough for baby dolphin to call home.

I melted some sugar and then my little onion babies got an all-expenses-paid vacation to the bottom of the pot. I stirred and waited. Next, I stirred and waited. Then, I stirred and waited. I added some baking powder and salt. Following that, I stirred and waited. Then, I waited and stirred. Finally, I stirred and waited. “Fast” my ass.

Brown gunk (AKA onion poo) built up at the bottom of the pot. To keep the deep and rich onion-poo flavor, I needed to continually stir the discharge back into the onion mix and add water—until the entire thing turned into a brown, stringy, onion-poo stew.

Then chicken stock (which was down last week during the global market crisis but is making a nice rebound) and sherry (which tastes like wine brewed in a bathtub in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean) get added to the pot.

Then you wait. Then you boil the green beans for your salad. Then you die. Then you’re reincarnated as a lobster. Then you cool the green beans. Then you get caught by a longshoreman. Then you dry the green beans. Then you get cooked and eaten by a couple who ordered the Surf n’ Turf combo at a Longhorn Steakhouse. Then you add the red onions and dressing to your green beans. Then you’re reincarnated again. Then the soup and salad are almost ready.

The most important ingredient in French Onion Soup is not the soup. It’s the volcanic eruption of molten lava cheese on top. I have selected a fine gruyère (a pretentious and haughty Swiss cheese) to top my date-ruining onion-poo stew. I didn’t know how much cheese to add so I did the right thing. I poured it all on. A trip to the broiler adds the finishing touch—brown cheese bubbles.

Working my way through The Food Lab is about learning, and this week I learned that soup and salad isn’t easy. In fact, it’s way too hard. The soup is wonderful, and with enough onion-y goodness to keep any coworkers from talking to me tomorrow. The salad is pungent and biting, with even more onions—so I shouldn’t have to deal with people over the weekend either.

Over 2 hours of full-on, in-the-kitchen work is just not worth it. I’m proud, and I’ve developed a newfound respect for soup and salad but when put to the question, my heart hasn’t changed—I’m still an entrée man.

Unfortunately, me and my apartment smell like an onion tornado. So no one’s around for me to tell about it.

Recipe: 4/6
Did I do the Dishes? Yeah…I had some time.

Enjoy? Follow Craig Cooks Crap on Twitter or Facebook to stay up to date on what Craig’s cooking.