Archives for posts with tag: Onions

The onion and its natural predator.

I think I’m learning things about onions I never knew, at least in terms of how various packagers portray their product.  For one, location.  I’m finally actually thinking about where various vegetables come from.  Given certain stereotypes I learned growing up, one might suspect that Idaho merely grows potatoes.  But alas, Idaho seems rife with onion production.  Good job, Idaho, for breaking through some boundaries.

Also, that eagles want something to do with onions.  I’m assuming that something does not bode well for the onion.  The eagle represented here seems to have that poor onion in a grip with its talons, and given the way the head is bent down, as if going in for some pecking.  I typically thought eagles were birds of prey, (according to popular folklore) but hey, maybe when pickings are slim, they go vegetarian.  Onions would not be my first choice, though.

Then again, we may be going for some national pride connection.  And who doesn’t like, LOVE America?  Communists, that’s who.  But the yellow mountains and red sun do kind of throw me off a little.  Are we on planet Krypton?  Or perhaps its a representation of Jupiter, as the lines in the sphere kind of make a little red spot, like the great red storm on Jupiter.  I’m reaching here, I know.  Sometimes I try to take these images too literally.  I just sometimes find myself wanting to know why, and what the artist was thinking.  Curiosity, that’s all.

Some days I think about the afterlife.  I’m hoping there is one.  And that it’s a sweet one.  For example, I hope there’s a series of giant rooms like galleries, where you can wander around and see how much stuff you produced in life.  I really want to know, when my life is said and done, just how many onions I’ve cut up.  And in the gallery will be a massive mound of onions, all the onions I’ve touched, so I can see just how many that is. Or how much ketchup I’ve consumed, in a large vat.  Or beer, etc.  I think that would be awesome.




Finally, the onion in its natural habitat.

Hmmm.  Something suspicious here.  I’m going to have to wait until work tomorrow to investigate this further, namely that label on the right that due to my awesome photography skills is somewhat unreadable.  But I do believe that looks like the state of Idaho on the label.

Though I could be wrong.  Geography is not my strong suit.  I still cannot locate Potatoes city anywhere (see previous post).

Perhaps though, this blog is finally beginning to uncover something here.  Though I happen to reside somewhere in the Midwest, I would like to point out that certain states are known for intense rivalries.  Growing up in the state of Chicago, I have vague memories of people blatantly hating on Wisconsin.  Particularly in the form of those who drive automobiles, disliking those that drive automobiles from other states.  Then again, that could just stem from my father, who explained everyone else’s bad driving habits by the state license plate on the other person’s car (“oh, they’re from _______, that explains it.”)  Insert any state name there, nobody knows how to drive, according to my Dad (who got a ‘C’ in driver’s ed; we know because we found his old report card.  And he’s a lousy driver.)

Another culprit in the state bashing other states category is the great sport of hand egg, otherwise known as Football.  For instance, the Bears vs. Green Bay, or on the college level, Michigan vs. Ohio St.  People almost shed blood over this sort of thing, and I’m really wondering what was the original cause of all of these rivalries.  Is this some sort of natural human phenomenon, that we’re programmed to have a distrust of our neighbors?  Did one team severely beat the other team, and its been head to head ever since?  Did some Model T driver from one state cut off another Model T from a different state, and thus condemn us all to follow in the footsteps of these ancient prejudices?  Does every state just kind of collectively hate Ohio?  Seems that way.

But I digress.  West coasters, you’ll have to inform me.  Does Oregon consider Idaho to be Eastern Oregon?  Are there state rivalries on your side of the America?  And are these onions being used as a low blow in some classic state vs. state brouhaha?

And I’m finally glad to see some onions presented in their natural habitat, with some tools of the trade thrown in for good measure.  Though the matching blue of what I think is a river, and of the shovel and pick there, kind of makes me cautious.  Shovels aren’t made of rivers!  Again, I’m guessing that’s actually just saving on the ink cost.  And I’m not going to mention any sort of hidden communist agenda, because I really didn’t think that the pick and the shovel resemble the hammer and sickle at all.  They’re blue, anyways.  Sheesh.  That would be Unamerican.

(And I hope my blatant sarcasms and critiques aren’t coming off as condescending, or being ill-natured.  I truly do appreciate all of the artwork I come across in my daily workings.  And yes, I know Chicago isn’t a state.)


Luck be a lady tonight.

Boy, did I get lucky with this post.  I’ve been on a dry spell with a series of mundane produce packages that I could barely ante up the will to photograph, and then bamn!  the Hi Roller walks in the door like he owns the place, and suddenly everything is coming up aces.  And I thought my luck had run out; I came this close to calling out the new line cook as a cooler, but that was just a bluff (she’s got a mean poker face, that one).  Sometimes all it takes is just one more roll of the dice, and you’re looking at sevens.  No matter how you cut the deck, this brand delivers.  Double down on that bet, folks.

I cannot stress enough just how awesome the art of onion packaging is.  This makes me wonder just how fierce and competitive the onion industry is.  Has the competitive market on onion production forced such creative designs as a means to sell their product?  Onions are pretty much a staple in any kitchen, so no matter what, somebody’s going to need them.  Do these designs actually give the company an edge?  Honestly onion brands tend to rotate every other week or so.  Or do they just hire awesome marketers?  The answers, I do not have.  But I do always look forward to the next bag, hoping for some grand design.  Thanks onion people.  You do all right by me.

On this glorious election day (I hope you got out to vote.  Really, it is kind of important), my campaign promise is this: “No onion left behind.”  Not even the one that sometimes slips out of the bag and rolls under the table, sometimes left there for days if someone doesn’t sweep up right at night.


Elementary, my dear...

I know that the Halloween is tomorrow, and I tried real hard to find something related, to get into the spirit of things, but unfortunately this was the best I could come up with.

For one, I don’t see many pumpkin boxes in my line of work.  Namely because restaurants don’t really serve pumpkin on a regular basis.  Not to mention that I’m fairly sure the boxes that pumpkins arrive in would have to be rather large and ridiculous (think refrigerator size), if necessary at all, and storage of said product would probably be an impossibility, due to spatial limitations (which is probably why many grocery stores simply leave the pumpkins in the outside displays).  Perhaps I’ll ask the local grocery store how they receive them.  Then again, I probably won’t.  I have to work tomorrow.

Here we have the pride of the Watson family.  Upon first seeing this particular brand of onion, I immediately conjured up images of goth people thanks to the all black background.  There’s just something drab and foreboding about it.  Then I imagined the family as Gothic vampires, generations of Watson’s with a deep, secret family history.  Onion growers by day, but in the darkness of night, they harvest onions… and blood.

Which is probably no where near the truth.  (Apologies to any members of the Watson family).   But it is very nearly Halloween, and I’m grasping at straws here to keep this blog awesome and up to par with the times.

Other tidbits of note here:  Four generations of family; four perfect looking onions.  I see what you did there.  Although something about the sheen on the onions looks a little odd, because these onions are definitely not all in the same photo together.  Consider where the light source is.  And I’m having trouble deciding if the onions in the picture are in fact one onion, duplicated through the magic of Photoshop.  Also, the font isn’t as nearly Gothic as one could hope for, but the font color does kind of fit in with the Gothic color spectrum.

Anyways kids, enjoy free candy day.  And remember that the scariest thing about Halloween isn’t that malicious people are trying to poison candy, or the scary costumes, or the things bumping in the night.  It’s that Halloween always reminds me that I really should be all about arranging that trip to the dentist.  Have fun!

Cowboys and onions

Once again we have encountered the use of “macho-ism” in the advertisement of food.  And what kind of icon can we also attribute macho-ness to freely, without remorse, and without dispute?  The cowboy.  Imagine, if you will, in your mind, the wild, wild west.  Big, open sky overhead.  A coyote howls in the distance.  Your throat gets dry from the arid climate.  The sun is very nearly always setting, at least that’s how I picture it in my imagination. And picture this: out on the dusty plains, the lone cowboy, atop his trusty stead, riding into said sunset, saddlebags full of … onions.

The cowboy rides hard, covered in sweat and dust-bowl dust, two days growth of his beard, the dry skin of his cheeks wrinkling underneath, and you know he shaves (when he chooses to) with a straight razor.  Why?  Because that’s macho, dammit.  Then there is the triumphant extending of his trusty cowboy hat, a victory cheer, proof of his determination, his manhood.  All while riding the apparently docile steed, whose head is bowed, or is merely grazing upon some unseen yellow grass.  And look, even that cactus is macho.  Check out those manly spikes protruding from the base.  Damn, those look sharp.

I also have to hand it to the bold use of the word macho, all done up in giant letters, with a tamer, more matter of fact, meek looking “onions” printed underneath.  Although the color scheme may be slightly off, if we’re going for stereotypical male macho-ism, but then again there’s also a giant, blue sun in the background.    For the benefit of the doubt, I’m going to say there’s probably a limited number of inks and colors advertisers want to use on packaging, hence the red to pinkish to white fade of the word macho, as well as the blue undertone underneath.  I’m only guessing here, because I didn’t study advertising in college.  I got me an English degree.  Hence why I’m writing this blog, an effort to use my degree and awesome knowledge base so that one day I might put this blog on my resume, in case I ever try to use said degree.

And now we come to the part of this entry that will probably not end up on the resume, by way of being edited out later.  Not sure if this next image qualifies as Safe for Work, but there’s the warning, just in case.  I’ll even try to put in some space between this sentence, and the image, because I haven’t really looked into the fine tuning of the wordpress yet, and how I can use its tools for the power of good.






And here we are.  I decided to consult the oracle of Google Image search to do some research on the different types of cacti, because something about the spikes of death near the base of the cactus in the above image cause me some concern.  Do cacti really grow those things?  As if they weren’t dangerous enough.  But then my discovery of this image on the first page completely derailed my entire thought process, mainly because I sometimes have a childish sense of humor, that manifested because I saw this:




Everybody loves a dick joke

I’ve got to hand it to this (apparent) cowboy (I don’t see any onions or horses around).  A very bold man, sitting very boldly close to a cactus.  Macho.

Pure love.

Ain’t love grand?  I know when I think of romantic musings, I can think of nothing serving as a more apt metaphor, than the onion.  Love, like the onion, has many layers.  Sometimes it starts with the rough-skin outside, those guarded defenses one must break through to get to the richer, tasty depths below.  At first, the outer shell looks so harsh, and inedible, but once broached, one can find those outer bits were merely paper thin.  Peel one layer back, and then discover just that, yet another layer, ultimately more deep and complex the further in you go.  And then, of course, there are the tears.  For what is love, without the pain?  Or the tears of happiness, when love becomes all consuming, and enriching?  And, as the image suggest, the purple hearts (sparks) that fly when two onions discover each other for who they really are, and find the passion within.  Although I’ll refrain from mentioning the gendered standards as presented by this image (the hair bow is kinda cute).  Only because I’m pretty sure onions live without a gender bias, or gender at all.  At least I hope they do.  I’ll have to Google that.  (I’m not a biologist)

I have to give mad props to the packagers of onions.  They really know how to market their goods.  Whether it be the red variety, or the Spanish yellow, the producers of onions at home and abroad, tend to take great pride in their work, and have many fine displays for their produce.  I always look forward to seeing a new brand of onion come into the shop.  I suppose it all depends on the distributor.  We go for weeks on end with the same variety, and then out of no where, a new bag with new art.  I suppose I could go and research how all that works, but for now, I’m content with the samplings I got.  More to come.