Deviled Eggs

My wife makes the best deviled eggs. Or, should I say, the only deviled eggs in the family. Her deviled eggs, enhanced with pieces of pickle and mayonnaise grace every family gathering. Her mother made them. They are part of every Southern picnic and I could, and often do, eat four or five, then sneak a couple more out of the fridge when they are leftovers. (If there are any left over, that is.)

I would make my own deviled eggs, perhaps laced with Old Bay spice, or a curry-infused deviled egg with some hot paprika and maybe some slivered almonds for texture. I could make a Southwestern egg, with cumin, ancho chili powder and chopped jalapenos. The mind boggles.

But, alas, my wife owns the deviled egg franchise in the family.  She owns several such franchises and I know that she owns them because of her comments when I make one of her dishes. “You are so competitive,” she says. “You always think your version is best.”

Perhaps I do. Or perhaps I think of a recipe as a great riff. Who doesn’t want to play My Funny Valentine or Down by the River for 10 or 20 minutes. You come in and lay it down and you can almost see the blue and green spots. You can almost hear the crowd roar. “These are the best deviled eggs I ever ate.”

When my father died, my aunt told us we had to serve hard-boiled eggs. Something about life and death. I would have loved them deviled, but straight eggs they were. We ate them dipped in mayonnaise and sprinkled with a little table salt. Designer salts are way past my parents who shouldn’t eat any salt anyway.

Hard-boiling is an art and for deviled eggs, you need good ones. Any liquid in the yolk will be disgusting (tho hidden by the mayo) and overcooked yolks are as tongue-cementing as peanut butter. I have read so much about how to hard boil an egg. My grandmother’s way was a rolling boil for 15 minutes. Not that she couldn’t do something finer—she made my grandfather soft boiled eggs that were exemplars of the genre. Sarah will sometimes forget and let them boil for a while. Me, I bring them to a slow boil, simmer 10 minutes and then cool and peel. I have read, and tried, bringing them to a boil and letting them sit in the hot water for 10 minutes and, quite frankly, half the time, they are slightly past soft boiled.

Deviling, of course, means making it hot. Fra Diavolo adds hot peppers to (usually) a tomato sauce. Joy of Cooking recommends powdered mustard. Me, I am partial to hot paprika, tastier than cayenne and slightly less hot which means you can get more paprika taste without blowing out your taste buds. My wife’s are more piquant, using the slight tang of pickle relish, to offset the blandness of the egg. She manages to find cubed pickle relish, a no-doubt Southern version of pickle relish of which one case probably makes it over the Mason-Dixon line and which she manages to buy half.

So, her deviled eggs are a family tradition and to mess with them is to invite scorn and derision. Still, I would, will, and do make deviled eggs when the spirit moves me, and take my lumps if need be.

“You just want to have the last word.”

“No I don’t.”