In our family, it only takes one mishap - or miscue - or misspoken word - and your reputation is sealed forever. This was no more evident than yesterday afternoon, while I was preparing for Thanksgiving.
Let me preface by saying that I make the MOST DELICIOUS DEVILED EGGS IN THE WORLD.
Yes. In the world. Period.
They are creamy. They are tasty. They are the stuff that dreams are made of…and when I bring them to family events, there can be fistfights over who gets the last deviled egg. Take today, for instance…there are fourteen of us sitting down for dinner, and I have twenty-four stuffed pieces of heaven. If we do the math, that means that a lucky ten of us will get TWO of these delicious delights, and four unlucky souls will be left with only one. It will be interesting to see us all eye each other warily as we sit down around the table, wondering who those poor four souls will be.
My kids once asked me why they were called "Deviled" eggs - and I told them it was because they were so sinfully good.
We were at a family picnic back in 1993, when my oldest son, Brad, was all of four years old. He had finished his plate, and had gone back for a coveted second deviled egg…which he carried, precariously, on his paper plate, as he made his way back to his seat. Little did he know that what happened next would seal his fate in family lore.
For some reason, Brad zigged…and the deviled egg zagged… the egg flew up into the air, did a complete 360-double loop, and then landed…creamy side down…in the grass.
Brad looked at the egg in stunned silence for a second, and then erupted. Yes, he erupted into an epic meltdown that only a four-year old can master - the likes of which are still heard around the world.
"I DROPPED MY EGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!" he wailed, with tears flowing. And they flowed. And they flowed. He cried a river, believe me.
The rest of us were sympathetic to his plight, as there were no more eggs to be had…all of us were sympathetic, that is, but the dog, who had now discovered Brad's egg, and what was a little bit of grass on the tongue when a creamy morsel of heaven was to be had??!! Of course, after we expressed appropriate noises of sympathy, we all cracked up (no pun intended). You would have thought he'd dropped a priceless Faberge egg, the way he was carrying on…it was rather amusing.
After that day, I told the kids they were called "Deviled" because they were, indeed, slippery little devils.
The "Bradley and the Egg" story is pretty much retold every time our family gets together and has deviled eggs. It will live in infamy, and will probably be retold to Brad's grandchildren, a hundred years from now.
(And let me just interject that this was not to be the ONLY time Brad has dropped his food. About four years after this, he was carrying a full plate of spaghetti - smothered in tomato sauce - when he zigged, the pasta zagged, and every bit of noodle and sauce slid off the plate, did a complete 360-double loop, and landed with a resounding PLOP on our wooden floor. The laws of physics amazed me on that incident, as we were still finding spaghetti sauce years later in places we never thought possible. In fact, although we haven't lived in that house for four years now, I imagine the current homeowners sitting around one night, saying, "Wait…what?? Is that spaghetti sauce on the CEILING??? How the heck…???!!")
Yesterday, I slaved in the kitchen for hours…part of which was spent on producing my labor-intensive, but masterpiece, deviled eggs.
My creations from yesterday…aren't they DIVINE??!!
When I was finished with them, I asked Brad to carry them down the stairs to our basement refrigerator, where they will be stored until time for dinner today. As he was heading down the stairs with them, Hubby says to me, "Are you sure that's a good idea???"
At first, I couldn't figure out what he meant. And then it hit me.
Brad. Carrying food. Not just carrying food - but carrying my twenty-four pieces of treasure.
What had I been thinking??!!!!
Running to the basement stairs, I hollered, "Brad, don't you DARE drop those eggs!!!!!!"
He comes back up the stairs, shaking his head and sighing…"Geesh. That was twenty years ago!!! When will you let me live that down??!"
In our family?
Never, Brad. Never.