Trust. Me. On. This. Please.
|Yes, I know one corner is devoid of olives... Was keeping the peace with the picky eater by leaving a "piece" "uncontaminated". Hey, sometimes you just have to roll with it.|
We will totally stay away from the fact that I can't get the word "Pissaladière" out of my mouth. I just don't know how to pronounce it (through "extensive Google-ing" I found that one site suggested "pee-sah-lah-dee-air" - since I am sure I will still butcher it, I will continue to refrain from saying the word out loud. This is my gift to humanity). I shall affectionately dub it "the P word".
|Totally cheated. Six onions. Pretty slices. Yep. There was only one way this was going down.|
|I had a few "Doubting Thomases" about how much these were going to cook down.|
|This picture has nothing to do with anything, but I was hand slicing six pounds of home cured bacon while I was cooking the onions... I am a proud bacon mama.|
|This is about the point where I lost outlets & appliances. Just as I was about to make the dough...|
And well, we won't talk about the corner that was left naked in the name of world peace. Because. Well. Just because.
I really don't think I have to tell everyone whether or not this was good. Because dough and caramelized onions are involved. And how could that not be just swell. Confession: the only oil-cured olives I could get my hands on were kind of suspicious looking. They were in sorry looking jars sitting behind some other olives at a local grocer. So I said "no thanks" and went for the Kalamatas. Not official, true. But in this circumstance - probably the safer option. Safety first, man. Safety first.
Dorie's recipe for Pissaladière appears here on Fine Cooking's website. It is pretty much as it appears in Around My French Table.
|Trust me, there were no leftovers...|