YOU WANT EGG ROLL
Several years ago I was member of a group which decided to have a "pot-luck" annual celebration dinner. You do not need to know this, but the only thing I EVER did in the kitchen area is wash dishes--by hand. I do not like dishwasher appliances, they are SUCH a waste of water and power (hot water)! I did watch my mother--at age 7 (me, not mother!) make deviled eggs. And I fondly recall how the dish on which her eggs were served was the first empty dish at the party.
I literally had to ask what "Pot-Luck" meant, since I thought maybe the one with the biggest stomach won a prize. (Let's see--do I know any prize-winners?--grin! Any prize-winners out there? Bloggers?) Actually, I like the looks of a well-fed stomach. (BRIAN would have a ball with his ice cubes melting and dripping over the skin af a prize winning body-front!) The scene often portends a happy-go-lucky Peep who just doesn't give a DAMMM how they look. And I LOVE that attitude! Note to self: I must write a short piece about Frumpy, Bumpy and Lumpy!
Back to the eggs. The Peeps volunteered ME to buy or prepare an hor d' ourve. I determined to "cook" something. After all I make coffee (while doing dishes!). Upon finding out it required 6 dozen eggs for 144 pieces, I was ready to back out. However, although I don't do our marketing, I enjoy being in the supermarkets. They smell good, and are clean, bright and pretty. Something comforting about being around all that food, even though some of the names I've never heard of, before nor since.
6 Dozen "large" eggs...HEY! WHOA!!! THESE aren't "large"! When we sold eggs on the farm 60 years ago, these would have been labeled SMALL. What happened, did the large eggs shrink? After filling my hand basket with six cartons of Extra Large eggs, it was time to search for the Helmann's Mayonaisse. And the mustard--bland, yellow. I had trouble finding plain old mustard, there were too many choices of colors and flavors.
Oh Yeah! Don't forget Paprica and salt and pepper. Well, as I found out later, we had at home enough already of the condiments to last until September 2085 AD.
So, with everyone gone, I alone in the kitchen, became chef-of-the-day. With cookbook in hand I timed, boiled, poked with needle (ouch), salted, did all the right things. Then I set up a sort of assembly line for the fine art of pealing the eggs, separating the yokes, beating, stirring, tasting, adding this-and-that. Each yoke I looked at as a baby being aborted...How cruel are we to just EAT these embryos! Well, I ate enough of them that I should be living in the chicken coop.
Well, "Serve chilled" were instructions. So I packed them with ice. It worked, but there WAS an easier way, I found...like the modern refrigerator?
The only injury I sustained was a sore back, from bending over the sink (NO--NOT vomiting--Sheeeesh!) for several hours...pealing the eggs. OH! Yesss, almost forgot, I ended up with lots of tiny pieces of egg shell embedded under my finger nails. These finger endings became quite sore, and took several weeks to heal.
Didja ever try to play the violin with shell-embedded fingers? It is neither easy nor fun....
Bottom line was that "my" deviled eggs were the most popular item on the table that night! Even the toothpicks were gone! And I ate about 12 of them. Is that a half-dozen? Has "twelve" become "six"? Oh, my! Well, when I remembered each egg was cut in half...YEP! One half-dozen eggs for steveroni.
Note: That was my only cooking experience in 70-plus years. And this is my FIRST-and-LAST entry in the "Food Section" of our blog world.