I love hard boiled eggs. Sliced with a pinch of salt, deviled, in or on a salad. It’s pretty much always been this way, but there was a time when I bought my hard boiled eggs pre-packaged. The blasphemy of it. Think about it, though. I remember there often being hard boiled eggs around at my parents’ house, in droves at Easter and not infrequently year round. Did you have a separate hard boiled egg holder in your home refrigerator growing up? Well, we did, and it was very technically labeled. Or not labeled at all, so you better have been listening when you opened the refrigerator door and Mom nonchalantly announced “the carton/bowl on the left are hard boiled.”
Flash forward to two days later and 14-year-old me is whipping up a batch of fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth, Toll House recipe chocolate chip cookies (I miss gluten?). You know what happens—or what doesn’t happen. A fresh egg plopping out of its shell doesn’t happen because it’s been boiled. Ughhhhh. Much preferable, however, to the reverse scenario when going in for the aforementioned egg snack, and instead of hitting on the cooked egg, I smash it against the counter and raw egg guts run everywhere, including off the counter and onto my socks. “I told you the ones on the left are hard boiled.” Well someone’s done gone and switched the cartons, now, haven’t they?