EGGS

I have faced Facebook with its prying question: “What’s on your mind?” and I have come up with very little. But this morning, I am rather totally involved in a question that has haunted me through a great deal of my very, very, very long life.

HOW THE HELL DO YOU PEEL A HARD COOKED EGG WITHOUT PITTING DEEP HOLES IN THE WHITE?

I have read up on this subject frequently. I have followed several hundred suggestions from friends, relatives and people I believe thought up their answers just to watch me go crazy

Okay, why do I care this much about eggs, you may ask. And I will tell you that I am very well thought of at parties where you bring something for the table. I make really fine hard cooked eggs and they are beautiful every single time.

But it is never as easy as it looks.

I have been told that eggs that are a little bit older are more amenable to giving up their skin. So I drive to Ralph’s and search for the oldest eggs I can find. Let me hurry to assure any Ralph devotees that they are perfectly safe, none of those cartons are anywhere near a “buy by this date” notice.

Anyway, I drive home with my eggs, heat them to perfection and start to peel them . Like all eggs, these are deceptive. The first few simply slide out of their skin and you proceed , totally disarmed, to try another – which fights you tooth and nail or cluck and feather.. No more Mr. Nice Egg. No more sliding.. It is a disaster. That slimy film that fits so tightly around the egg is not about to give up easily. The eggs have joined a protest, and, until you’ve seen eggs united to frustrate the chef you have not seen a real protest.

However, guests are waiting to admire your presentation so you stiffen your resolve, go buy more eggs and start over. Sooner or later you WILL accomplish the perfect egg.

Just not today.

Frustrated, you talk to a friend who suggests that somehow or other you managed to confuse old with young. Very young eggs you are told, are eager to give up their shell for your pleasure.

Never one to doubt a friend, you go back to Ralph’s in search of the freshest eggs. To be certain you get the youngest additions, you go right up to the staff person who is filling out the egg section and he hands you a carton marked JUMBO and assures you they are exactly what you need. And how come he’s so sure of that? HIS MOTHER TOLD HIM SO, and she never had ANY problem.

I hope to avoid that helpful young man because I don’t want to be the one to tell him HIS MOTHER LIED!

Since these monumental failures, I have tried peeling the eggs while running hot water over them, but some Girl Scout type got on my back because I was wasting water. “Besides,” she said, “It’s while they are under COLD water.” I stopped immediately, not because she said to, but rather because it didn’t work. Frankly, I would have drained a whole damn reservoir if it had.

Not one to accept defeat gracefully, I consulted my favorite Guru and mighty philosopher, my nephew, Dom Bonaduce and he said, “If at first you don’t succeed, do something easier. “

I looked at the bowl filled with yet to be shelled eggs. I sighed, picked up one and started over. But this time with the idea of something simpler. Egg Salad! You can chip the living daylights out of the whites and no one will know that wasn’t your original plan.