Cebolla morada encurtida
Thin red onion slices covered in warm sweet-sharp brine, bright magenta and ready to eat in half an hour.
Named from the ingredients as written, including those carried in from sub-recipes. This is not a guarantee — check the labels on what you actually buy, and note that a product’s recipe can change.
Slice each onion half 2-3mm thick from root to tip, cutting with the lines in the onion rather than across them, so the slices hold their shape instead of collapsing into threads.
Pack the slices into a clean 750ml jar, pressing them down without crushing them.
Put the vinegar, water, sugar, fine salt, peppercorns, coriander seeds and bay leaf into a small pan.
Warm over medium heat for 2-3 minutes, stirring, until the sugar and salt have dissolved and steam is coming off the surface.
Take the pan off the heat before it boils.
Pour the warm brine and the whole spices over the onions.
The brine goes on warm rather than cold or boiling. Warm brine slackens the onion just enough to take the vinegar up within half an hour, where a cold brine needs a day to do the same; brine poured on at a boil goes too far the other way and cooks the slices limp, and they never get their snap back.
Press the slices under the surface with a spoon. Anything standing above the brine stays raw and browns.
Leave the open jar at room temperature for 30 minutes, until the slices have turned bright magenta right through and slackened without going floppy.
Put the lid on once the jar is no longer warm and move it to the fridge.
Keep them refrigerated and treat them as a fresh food rather than a preserve. Nothing here has been heat-processed and the brine is cut with an equal volume of water, so it is well short of the acidity a shelf-stable pickle needs — a jar of these left in a cupboard is not safe to eat.
Use them within two weeks, while the colour is still bright and the slices still snap.
Spoon them over the shakshuka in this collection, where they cut the sweetness of the cooked peppers.
Fold them through the lemony chickpea and herb salad in place of the raw onion it macerates in lemon juice.
Roll them into the skillet flatbreads with anything rich.
Set a small bowl of them beside the slow-braised beef shin, where sharp acid does more against the fat than another herb would.
Note that the smashed cucumber salad in this collection works on the same principle, salt and acid on a crisp watery vegetable, but is dressed to be eaten the same day rather than kept.
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Sharp first, then sweet, then the onion underneath. Vinegar is the leading flavour and the water is what keeps it from being aggressive — a full-strength brine tastes of nothing but acid. The 20g of sugar is not enough to make them sweet; it is enough to round the vinegar off, which is a different job. Salt is assertive. And the onion itself changes character completely: raw red onion is pungent and hot, and acid degrades the sulphur compounds responsible, so a pickled slice is mild, sweet and faintly fruity where the raw one was fierce. That transformation happens in about half an hour and it is the reason the pickle is worth making rather than just slicing an onion.
Vinegar, sharply, when the jar is opened. Under it, coriander seed, which is the most aromatic of the whole spices and smells faintly of orange. The onion contributes almost nothing once pickled, which is the point.
Slackened but snapping — the slices should still give a clean crisp bite. That combination is the whole target: raw onion is too hard and too harsh, cooked onion is soft, and a half-hour warm pickle is the narrow point between them.
None to speak of, except the crunch, which should be audible. A silent pickled onion has gone soft.
Acid first and immediately. Then the sugar catching it about a second later. Then the mild sweet onion. The finish is clean and short and slightly peppery from the whole spices, which is exactly what a condiment should do — it clears the plate rather than adding to it. Across a meal they stay constant, which is unusual and useful.
Cold from the fridge, straight onto hot food. That contrast is part of what they do — a cold sharp thing on top of something hot and rich resets the mouth between bites.
Anything rich, fatty or slow-cooked, which is what they are for. Cochinita pibil, which is their home. Tacos, pulled pork, slow-braised beef. Fried eggs and shakshuka. Rich cheese on toast. Smoked fish. Burgers. Grain and pulse salads, where they supply both acid and colour. Where they fail is with anything delicate or already sharp.
The easiest thing in the collection after a vinaigrette.
Almost nothing.
A clean 750ml jar, a small pan and a sharp knife. A mandoline if you want perfectly even slices, which is not necessary.
Constantly. Make a jar and it will be gone in a week.
None.
The colour is the test and it is unambiguous: the slices go from a dull matte purple to a bright translucent magenta right through, and the change is visible over about twenty minutes. Any slice still purple in the middle has not been under the brine.
Slackened but still snapping. Floppy means the brine was too hot.
This is a refrigerator pickle and not a preserve, and the distinction genuinely matters. Nothing here has been heat-processed and the brine is cut with an equal volume of water, so the acidity is well short of the pH 4.6 threshold below which a shelf-stable pickle is safe at room temperature. Keep it in the fridge, treat it as a fresh food, and do not leave a jar in a cupboard. Two weeks is the outside limit.
Boiling the brine, which cooks the slices limp. Slicing across the onion rather than root to tip, so the slices collapse into threads. Leaving slices standing above the brine, where they stay raw and brown. Sealing the jar while it is still hot, which softens them further. And treating them as a preserve and leaving the jar in a cupboard, which is the one genuine safety issue here.
Limp: the brine was too hot, and there is no recovery. Still purple after an hour: they were not fully submerged, or the slices are too thick. Too sharp: more sugar next time, or a splash more water. Not pink enough: the vinegar may be very mild, or the onions were not very red — the colour depends on the anthocyanin content of the particular onion. Faded after a fortnight: they are past their best and should be used or discarded.
That is the entire purpose. A jar in the fridge is ready for two weeks.
Two weeks in the fridge, and the colour fades and the snap goes after that.
Not applicable.
No.
The brine is the useful leftover once the onions are gone. It is already seasoned and coloured, and it will pickle a second batch, dress a salad, or go into a vinaigrette.
Freely. Keep the equal parts vinegar and water and enough brine to submerge everything.
Cider or red wine vinegar are both good; white wine vinegar is cleaner and sharper; malt vinegar is too assertive. Seville orange juice, or a mixture of orange and lime juice, is the traditional Yucatecan souring agent and makes a rounder, fruitier pickle worth trying. Ordinary white or shallots work and lack the colour, which is half the appeal.
Vegan, vegetarian, dairy-free, gluten-free and nut-free, with nothing to adapt.
Red onions with genuinely dark skins, which have more anthocyanin and give a brighter pickle. Any decent vinegar. Whole spices from the cupboard.
There is nothing to save. Reuse the brine for a second batch of onions once the first is gone, which is free and works.
Very good — it uses a cheap, long-storing vegetable, produces no waste, and the brine can be reused.
About 15 calories a serving. It is onion and vinegar, and the sugar is spread across twelve portions. Nutritionally negligible and useful precisely because it makes plain food more interesting.
Worth it, and it is the single best return on ten minutes in this collection. A jar costs about forty pence, lasts a fortnight, makes almost every rich thing you eat better, and looks like it came from a restaurant. Slice root to tip and do not boil the brine.
Yucatán, in south-eastern Mexico, though the idea belongs to everywhere.
Cebollas encurtidas, or cebolla morada en escabeche.
seh-BOH-yas en-koor-TEE-das.
Pickled onions. Morada means purple.
The Yucatecan version is traditionally soured with the juice of naranja agria — bitter orange — rather than vinegar, which is a distinctively regional choice and gives a fruitier, less sharp result. Bitter oranges arrived in the Americas with the Spanish and were adopted thoroughly in the Yucatán, where they underpin a whole set of dishes including the achiote marinade for cochinita pibil that these onions are almost always served with. The chemistry behind the colour is worth knowing because it is genuinely useful: the anthocyanin pigments that make red onions purple, red cabbage purple and blueberries blue are all pH-sensitive, shifting towards red in acid and towards blue or green in alkali. It is the same reaction that turns red cabbage an alarming blue if it is cooked without vinegar, and the same one that makes these onions pink.
In the Yucatán they are not optional — cochinita pibil arrives with a bowl of them and the dish is considered incomplete without. Beyond Mexico they have become a fixture of restaurant cooking over the last fifteen years, largely because they are cheap, keep for a fortnight, and make almost anything look better.
Every day, and beside anything rich.
Nothing beyond slicing and steeping. The warm-brine timing is a modern refinement of a very old idea.
Vinegar has largely replaced bitter orange outside the Yucatán, mostly on grounds of availability. The addition of sugar is also more common now than traditionally.
Yucatecan versions with bitter orange, sometimes with habanero and oregano in the jar. Middle Eastern pickled onions are often plainer and sharper. British pickled onions are a different thing entirely — small whole onions in strong malt vinegar, shelf-stable, and left for months rather than half an hour.
It is a straightforward vinegar version with whole spices. What it is unusually precise about is the brine temperature, which is the variable nobody specifies and which decides whether the slices keep their snap.
None. Traditional and unauthored.