BY DAWN REED

The deviled eggs nearly ruined the Thanksgiving feast before it began. The apostle Paul had a thorn in the flesh. I believe I’ve found mine: peeling boiled eggs.

I grew up in a family of delicious meals, holiday or not. Almost every one of them featured a crystal tray filled with beautiful deviled eggs sprinkled lightly with paprika. My aunt Pat made the best ones. She was the standard. Her filling was perfect with no chunks. After many tries and fails, I am finally able to get the filling just right. But in preparation of the last few holiday dinners, I’ve struggled terribly with peeling the boiled eggs. 

Hacks have been shared and friends have given suggestions: Peel the boiled eggs under running water. Add soda to the water as the eggs boil. Add salt to the water as the eggs boil. Allow boiled eggs to come to room temperature before peeling. Do not allow boiled eggs to come to room temperature before peeling. 

Everything has been tried except patting my head with one hand and rubbing my stomach with the other. This is something I should be able to do after living this many decades! 

Due to the stress of de-shelling the eggs, it’s always scheduled for the day before any holiday. With dread last Wednesday, I approached the still-warm kettle. I rolled the eggs around in the water, trying to loosen the shell pieces. Each one came off in microscopic specks. The first two eggs looked like my grand-dog had done the peeling or I had gnawed on them. My blood pressure was rising. How hard could this be? I silently yelled. I scolded myself, prayed, and wanted to sling the eggs in the garbage, wondering if anyone would miss them.