Another Day, Another Blogger
This post was going to be about dog hair, but Blogger has instituted a change of plans. Instead of letting me upload a picture of the huge pile of dog hair that was the result of not having Swiffered the hardwood floors in the front room of our house (which also comprises the hallway, and thus accounts for about 2/3 of the house's square footage) in about a week and a half, which I took specifically for the purposes of posting a blog about how much dog hair I Swifffer up on an average occasion, Blogger, uncharacteristically, is acting like Blogger. Just for the hell of it, lemme try it again. Excuse me, will you?
Nope. Nothin'.
So instead I am going to blog about making deviled eggs.
Now, I know deviled eggs are not a Southern thing, but I was raised to think they were. Whatever the case, I have always been fond of them. But, given that they are the sort of thing that people bring to parties in order to show off, I never thought of myself as the sort of person who would make deviled eggs.
A few years back, while we were having our traditional Friday "brunch" at my seasonal gig, which consists of people bringing anything from crackers to cassaroles (and anything in between) and laying it out on a table, where we readers serially return to nibble, on getting the last deviled egg in a batch, it suddenly occurred to me to feel guilty about every single deviled egg I had ever eaten. (It didn't last long, and it was a hell of an interesting sensation.) After all, I had never made so much as a single deviled egg, never even helped anyone make them. Shame on me!
Some weeks later, and I am thinking it was like two, I was sitting at the desk mid-morning, thinking it was just a little too late to go out for breakfast, when it dawned on me that I had eggs in the fridge. Heck, I could make eggs!
Or I could devil them.
Sure, I thought. Why not, I thought. So I looked up a basic recipe on the internet, cut down the ingredients accordingly, boiled one egg, split it, and started deviling the yolk, which is chiefly a process of adding mayonaisse and mustard and stuff. Midway through the process, it dawned on me that I had dill relish in the fridge. Now, not all deviled eggs do, but I know I have had deviled eggs with relish in them before. And, trust me, unless you have ever had dill relish, it is not what you are thinking of. Almost all other relishes are made of sweet pickles or gherkins (however you spell that). This stuff is really nice, punget and a little salty and redolent of garlic and dill weed. So I added it. And the mustard I used was Grey Poupon, which I swear by. Finally, at the end, I figured what the hell: I garnished the eggs with some chili powder I had just bought the week before.
Terrif!
And so I christened them BEdeviled Eggs. Get it? BE-deviled? I think it's funny.
Anyways, we are on the cusp of a family function, celebrating the proximate birthdays of several of the ladies in our clan, and late last week my Mom called to ask me to bring the bedeviled eggs. (She doesn't call them that. Silently and without regard refuses to. I never asked her to.) So yesterday I ran out and grabbed a carton of 18, on the grounds that it would be pleasanter to boil them early in the day when it was cool (an old Southern cook's trick) and assemble them later in the day so they would be fresh for the 6 o'clock do. So this morning I got up and boiled the eggs, drained and cooled them with cold water, placed them back in their carton, and put them in the fridge.
Not five minute later my Mom called to say that our party for the evening had been reduced from (she had led me to believe) two dozen to about ten. (Although, when she gave me the roster of those not attending, it put the lie to her request that I make, and I quote, "a whole bunch of deviled eggs.)
So I will hvae 36 pieces for ten people. Can't do anything else, once an egg is cooked it's cooked. Besides, I really have to make them. They are bedeviled eggs, and I have 18 eggs, which is 6+6+6. Which I will be turning into 36. Thus: the bedeviling of the beast!
I think it's funny.
Nope. Nothin'.
So instead I am going to blog about making deviled eggs.
Now, I know deviled eggs are not a Southern thing, but I was raised to think they were. Whatever the case, I have always been fond of them. But, given that they are the sort of thing that people bring to parties in order to show off, I never thought of myself as the sort of person who would make deviled eggs.
A few years back, while we were having our traditional Friday "brunch" at my seasonal gig, which consists of people bringing anything from crackers to cassaroles (and anything in between) and laying it out on a table, where we readers serially return to nibble, on getting the last deviled egg in a batch, it suddenly occurred to me to feel guilty about every single deviled egg I had ever eaten. (It didn't last long, and it was a hell of an interesting sensation.) After all, I had never made so much as a single deviled egg, never even helped anyone make them. Shame on me!
Some weeks later, and I am thinking it was like two, I was sitting at the desk mid-morning, thinking it was just a little too late to go out for breakfast, when it dawned on me that I had eggs in the fridge. Heck, I could make eggs!
Or I could devil them.
Sure, I thought. Why not, I thought. So I looked up a basic recipe on the internet, cut down the ingredients accordingly, boiled one egg, split it, and started deviling the yolk, which is chiefly a process of adding mayonaisse and mustard and stuff. Midway through the process, it dawned on me that I had dill relish in the fridge. Now, not all deviled eggs do, but I know I have had deviled eggs with relish in them before. And, trust me, unless you have ever had dill relish, it is not what you are thinking of. Almost all other relishes are made of sweet pickles or gherkins (however you spell that). This stuff is really nice, punget and a little salty and redolent of garlic and dill weed. So I added it. And the mustard I used was Grey Poupon, which I swear by. Finally, at the end, I figured what the hell: I garnished the eggs with some chili powder I had just bought the week before.
Terrif!
And so I christened them BEdeviled Eggs. Get it? BE-deviled? I think it's funny.
Anyways, we are on the cusp of a family function, celebrating the proximate birthdays of several of the ladies in our clan, and late last week my Mom called to ask me to bring the bedeviled eggs. (She doesn't call them that. Silently and without regard refuses to. I never asked her to.) So yesterday I ran out and grabbed a carton of 18, on the grounds that it would be pleasanter to boil them early in the day when it was cool (an old Southern cook's trick) and assemble them later in the day so they would be fresh for the 6 o'clock do. So this morning I got up and boiled the eggs, drained and cooled them with cold water, placed them back in their carton, and put them in the fridge.
Not five minute later my Mom called to say that our party for the evening had been reduced from (she had led me to believe) two dozen to about ten. (Although, when she gave me the roster of those not attending, it put the lie to her request that I make, and I quote, "a whole bunch of deviled eggs.)
So I will hvae 36 pieces for ten people. Can't do anything else, once an egg is cooked it's cooked. Besides, I really have to make them. They are bedeviled eggs, and I have 18 eggs, which is 6+6+6. Which I will be turning into 36. Thus: the bedeviling of the beast!
I think it's funny.
posted by Bobo the Wandering Pallbearer at 1:09 PM
5 Comments:
I like it! Bedeviled eggs makes me think of Peggy on "King of the Hill" making "spapeggy and meatballs".
My husband makes excellent deviled eggs. Even his vegetarian niece asks him to make them!
Don't worry, I think it's funny, too.
I don't eat eggs. I especially don't eat deviled eggs. That ought to prove something. If not, then, to hell with the whole thing, in a manner of speaking.
As my wife mentioned, I make deviled eggs. Because I like them. We used to spend holiday's at an aunts house, until she moved some years back. She made the best eggs.
Since no one was willing to take up the yoke (groan), I decided to start making them.
Now, however, my family asks for them. Which isn't bad, but it's a little sad that they would never ask me to bake the ham or a turkey. I sometimes feel like it's poor retarded KOM's small contribution. "Isn't it sweet that he thinks he can cook?"
The egg and the devil, sleeping together? I am leery of these eggs...nonetheless, my husband has confirmed that they are delish. Or Devlish (god I am cheesey, even to myself). I will attempt to make this bastard egg/devil child this weekend and see what happens.
I'll let you know how it turns out. Selling my soul for an egg...how low can I go?
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