How Do I Make French Fried Onions

Okay, friend. Let’s talk about the real star of the table. The one that turns a sad green bean casserole into a crunchy, golden miracle.

I’m talking about French fried onions. Those crispy, salty, ridiculously addictive little rings you buy in a can. Sure, you can buy them. But making them? That’s a flex.

Why should you even bother?

Because the store-bought ones are fine. Fine. Like a handshake when you wanted a hug.

Homemade French fried onions are life-changing. They’re crispier. They’re more onion-y. They don’t taste like a cardboard tube that was briefly near a sprinkling of salt.

Plus, you get to feel like a genius when you pull them out of the oil. That’s a good feeling, right?

What you need (the stuff)

Don’t panic. It’s only three things. Well, four if you count the oil.

Onions. Yellow or white. Not red—those get weird and bitter. Slice them thin. Thin enough to read a newspaper through them. Okay, maybe not that thin. But close.

Buttermilk. This is the secret weapon. It tenderizes the onions and gives the coating something to grab onto. No buttermilk? Add a tablespoon of vinegar to regular milk and let it sit for five minutes. You’re welcome.

Seasoned flour. All-purpose flour + salt + pepper + a pinch of cayenne (if you’re brave). Want to get wild? Add garlic powder or smoked paprika. We’re not judging.

Oil for frying. Use something neutral. Vegetable oil, canola, or peanut. Not olive oil. That’s a deep-fry disaster waiting to happen.

The process (the messy part)

Step 1: Slice and soak.

Peel your onion. Cut it in half from root to tip. Then slice it into thin half-rings. Cry. That’s part of the ritual. Embrace the tears—they add flavor (just kidding, but it sounds cool).

Toss those rings into a bowl. Cover them with buttermilk. Let them soak for at least 15 minutes. Longer is better. Overnight makes them absurdly tender.

Step 2: Heat the oil.

Pour about two inches of oil into a heavy pot. A Dutch oven is perfect. A deep cast-iron skillet works too.

Heat it to 350°F to 375°F. Too cold, and your onions get greasy. Too hot, and they burn before they cook through. Get a thermometer. Or drop a flour grain in—if it sizzles immediately, you’re golden.

Step 3: Coat and fry.

Grab a handful of soaked onion rings. Let the buttermilk drip off a tiny bit. Toss them into the seasoned flour.

Use your fingers to really get that flour in all the crevices. Shake off the excess. You want a dry, shaggy coating—not a clumpy paste.

Drop them in the hot oil one by one. Don’t crowd the pot. They need room to dance and get crispy. Fry for 2–3 minutes, until golden brown and singing.

Fish them out with a slotted spoon. Lay them on a paper towel. Season immediately with more salt. While they’re still hot. That’s the chef move.

The big secret (shhh)

Most recipes tell you to fry them once. That’s fine. But twice-frying is the cheat code.

Do the first fry at 325°F for 2 minutes. They’ll look pale and sad. Let them cool completely. Then fry again at 375°F for 1–2 minutes. They turn into glass shards of joy. So crispy you can hear them in the next room.

What do you do with them?

The obvious answer: green bean casserole. But don’t stop there.

Crush them on burgers. Sprinkle them over mac and cheese. Use them as a crunchy topping for baked potatoes. Or just eat them by the handful standing over the kitchen counter at 11 p.m. No judgment. Promise.

Common screw-ups (and how to avoid them)

“My onions are soggy!” Your oil wasn’t hot enough. Crank the heat. Or you crowded the pan. Fry in batches, friend.

“The coating fell off!” You skipped the buttermilk soak. Or you didn’t shake off enough liquid before flouring. Wet onion + hot oil = a naked, sad ring.

“They burned!” You walked away. Don’t walk away. Deep frying is a commitment. Like adopting a puppy, but with more oil splatters.

Can you make them in an air fryer?

Yes. But they won’t be the same. I said it.

Air fryer onions are good. They’re crunchy. They’re healthier. But they lack that deep, glorious grease kiss that only real frying provides. Try it if you must. But you’ll know. I’ll know.

Final pep talk

Look, you can buy a can for two bucks. But making these yourself? That’s a love language.

The smell of onions hitting hot oil. The sound of that first crunch. The look on your family’s faces when they realize you hand-breaded every single ring—priceless.

So go forth. Slice through those tears. Get a little flour on your shirt. You’re about to be the hero no one asked for, but everyone deserves.

Now go fry something. And maybe pour yourself a coffee first. You’re going to need the energy.