onion

biologically the crown jewel of the allium cepa family, and evolutionarily a defense genius in the most literal sense of the word. the sulfoxides released when its cells are broken down stimulate our tear glands and make us cry our eyes out with a gas called "propanethial s-oxide" whose name we can't even pronounce; it's actually a chemical warfare agent. the scientific world explains this as a survival strategy the plant developed against herbivores. but alas, behold the strange creature called man: we took this bitter tuber that's been trying to poison us and bring tears to our eyes all throughout evolution, and made it the unshakable foundation of every meal. we're probably the only species that interprets nature's "stay away from me" message as "i absolutely must kill this in butter."

from a philosophical standpoint, the onion is the most flawless metaphor for existence and truth. to understand it you peel it layer by layer; at each layer you come across a new reality, and the moment you think you've reached its essence you realize there's nothing left in your hand. just like the human soul or the meaning of life, the onion too has no single "center," it's merely a coming-together of layers. in the end, as the tears trickle down from our eyes at the head of a pot in the kitchen, we comprehend that: life is exactly like this too; the thing that makes you cry the most is actually the thing that nourishes you the most.