There are some times in life when crying is unavoidable, and for me, most of those have to do with onions. I have tried every, single trick in the book, and nothing works. Yes, goggles while cutting. Yes, gum. Yes, cutting under water. Yes, I cut myself while attempting the latter.
I don't just tear up, either, or get misty-eyed. I cry. My nose runs, my whole face turns a super pretty color of red, and my breath hitches. It gets so bad that during my senior year of college, my housemates would come running to watch the spectacle of me preparing dinner. I WAS the entertainment.
My eyes have grown no more resilient since then, but I have learned to delegate the onion cutting. Colin's eyes are not much stronger than mine, so when we prepared this French onion soup, it was an onion eye massacre. Then that night I finished When Breath Becomes Air, and I just gave up on keeping it together. I'll admit that I've grown soft in my old age, but this book would've brought even my stronger, younger eyes to their knees. It's worth a read. But not on the train. As I learned the hard way.