I remember this dish when growing up in Haiti.

When we didn’t have any dog or cat meat left over, gramma would walk over to the local park to pick fresh local onions. She would slice them thickly and warm them under the sun. Moments later we would all gather around the pan in the park while she yelled “onions, onions, git your onions”….I still remember the stories and laughter we shared as the plate’s contents were consumed with great vigor.