I regularly dream about the French onion soup I had with my mom while she was visiting me in Paris. I was a relatively broke college student studying abroad, and I mostly lived off of cheap wine and baguettes (as one does). When she came to visit, she took me out to this small, cheapish spot in my neighborhood and ordered a seemingly ordinary bowl of French onion soup. Reader: It was pure cooking magic. It was broth-y velvet with a blanket of salty cheese. It was a perfect meal.
Source:: The Kitchn