So I’m making deviled eggs for today’s dinner, cooked the eggs to perfection and they peeled like a well-seasoned stripper; put the yolks and some vinegar and mayo in a bowl and commenced to mash together with a fork. Mmmmmm…smells good, but I probably should have used a small mixing bowl instead of this soup bowl that was handy…AW SHIT!!! Broken bowl and egg yolks all over the floor. The new batch is now on the stove, but I’m saving the whites because one never knows what deviltry lurks in boiled eggs.
I wouldn’t normally get upset over something like this, but my one claim to fame all my life has been an extraordinary hand-eye coordination ability. I just don’t drop things, and my reflexes have always been amazingly fast. I just can’t seem to compensate for arthritic thumbs. I guess if this is the worst that the day has to offer, it will all be good.
A whole egg may not have been a problem; yolks + mayo + broken glass = huge problem.
Second batch survived, so it’s all good. Except the wine is vinegar, so it’s a good thing I tasted it before serving to my cousin, who is a connoiseur. Luckily, I have a good bottle of Barolo in the rack.
Devilled eggs was the one of the only things my long-departed Caribbean grandmother could make. I never got how she did it, but fifty-something years of making them had perfected whatever it was she did.
Do you use a piping bag for the yolk mixture? She did.
No, I just pile it in with a fork like my mother did. There are tons of recipes out there, but I just mix a capful of cider vinegar with the yolks from six eggs, a bit of salt and maybe a taste of horseradish, then add mayo until it gets creamy. Nothing fancy, but people seem to like them.
Oh man, I feel your pain. One year my mother came to help out with the kids when my wife went home for a family emergency. It happened to be at Thanksgiving. So I’m doing my usual thing of simmering the giblets with veggies to make my stock for the gravy: for three hours they’re simmering in herby contentment on the stove.
I walk into the kitchen just in time to see my mother dumping the pot into the sink. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? I shriek. Why, I’m just draining the giblets, dear. Why? :smack:
Fortunately, I’ll eat anything I cook. It’s not ‘bad’; just not nearly as good as it should have been if I hadn’t been butter-fingered. I don’t know what I’d have done if anyone was over today.