It’s a lovely accent to a Vietnamese soup to sprinkle a bit of fried garlic upon it. Since we both enjoy it, I keep a jar of it on the shelf above the stove. One little jar lasts forever packed in its olive oil so I maybe make it once a year. This morning was that once. I bought a crooked elbow full of garlic cloves and spent this morning shucking, washing and chopping them. I heated the pan full of olive oil and suffused everything in the house with the pungent odor of alliums. It wasn’t until after I had finished cooking the garlic and walked into the living room that my eyes really started to water. I’d been using my onion goggles while cooking and taken them off when done, so I hadn’t realized quite how thick the air had become. I’ve opened the doors and windows and lit a few candles and things should return to order shortly. Meanwhile, I have a fresh batch of fried garlic.