The Art of Devilled Eggs

I don’t mean to brag too much, but I am quite well known for my devilled eggs.  Those tasty mouthfuls of cholesterol.  Creamy, sweet and tangy at once, with just a touch of crunch.

MmmmMmmm.  For those of you not in the know, devilled eggs is a cultural phenomena; a symbol of the American South right up there with grits, collard greens and corn bread.  For those of you who turn your nose up and don’t like devilled eggs, all I have to say to you is “Go home, Yankee.”

Devilled eggs is perhaps my signature dish and compete only with my peach cobbler, thank you very much.  People beg for my devilled eggs.  I get invited to cook outs before the cow is dead, just to make sure that I clear the calendar and am free to bring a plate of devilled eggs.

As a matter of fact, my devilled eggs are in such high demand at my friend Samantha Jeanne’s annual hillbilly birthday drunkfest that she invested just last year in a nifty purple plastic devilled egg plate so that I don’t have to keep carrying the glass plate my Mama gave me up to her house every year.  Two bucks and it comes with a snap on lid. 

God, I love Wal-Mart.  I live right smack between two Super Wal-Marts and I have to tell you that what I can’t find in one store, I can find in the other.  I’m not too crazy about the fact that the kitchen gadget area is all the way across the store from the food section though.  Like at Thanksgiving I was doing this swoop-down-and-grab-the-stuff-I-forgot-when-I-was-here-

yesterday routine and realized I didn’t have any butcher’s twine to tie up old Tommy turkey.  So here I go, pushing the cart of food through the baby clothes and men’s underwear to get all the way over to the kitchen section of the store.  You know, that’s just not right to have the men’s underwear right beside the baby clothes.  I tend to be of the opinion that if men knew how to keep their underwear on more there wouldn’t be a need for such a big baby clothes section and the blasted butcher’s twine wouldn’t be sold out before I hauled my buggy all the way over to the kitchen department.  Yup.  Sold out.  I used some lightweight fishing tackle and it worked fine just the same...

I know you think I’m kidding about my friend Samantha Jeanne’s annual hillbilly birthday drunkfest.  It really does happen once a year, mainly because her birthday happens once a year.  My devilled eggs are so popular that fights break out in the chow line because everyone is always in a hurry to get some. 

I’ll never forget the time that Samantha Jeanne’s buddy, Jimmy, tried to sneak in behind my back and steal the plate out of the refrigerator before the chicken was cooked, as if I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.  To tell you the truth, I don’t, but I did see his reflection in the window.   But I chased him down through the yard and grabbed them back before he stuffed too many eggs in his greedy little mouth.  I wasn’t mean to him or anything. I just slapped him and grabbed the plate. I never really hit Jimmy too hard anyway.  Even though he’s kind of blind in the eyes, he always looks right straight at me with that misty blue stare and says “You’re so cute.”  I do appreciate that so I try not to leave bruises or anything when he pilfers eggs.

Now, making devilled eggs is an art.  It just raises the hair on the back of my neck to see people ruin out of ignorance and lack of care a perfectly good batch of devilled eggs.  There is nothing more disgusting than taking that first bite of an egg and getting a mouth full of mushy mayonnaise.  And just don’t even try to talk to me about using mustard.  That’s just wrong.  I know I sound harsh, but if you’re not going to even make an effort to get it right just leave the egg laying under the chicken.  So here’s what you do:

After you’ve stood at the sink for about an hour cussing and carefully peeling eggs a little at the time, slice the eggs in half lengthwise and go ahead and place on your egg plate. You may want to keep a few paper towels handy to wipe up any water left on the eggs.  I hate it when it’s time to fill the eggs and there’s a puddle of water under each egg half.  That’s just sloppy.  Now, plop out each egg yolk into a bowl.  Now comes the elbow work.  With a fork, start breaking up the egg yolk into a crumbly state.  Don’t mash them; crumble them.  They’re not pimples; they’re egg yolks. 

Now going back to Samantha Jeane’s annual hillbilly birthday drunkfest, I need to tell you that I like to make the eggs right before the chicken goes on the grill.  That way they’re fresh and tasty.  It’s also a good way to attract men.  Yes, sirree, Bobby Ray. There is nothing more that attracts a man to your presence than to see you in the kitchen putting a lot of care and love into something that you’re going to let him put in his mouth.  Especially if the cook is on her third Michelob Ultra and is feeling pretty hot and flirty in a low cut sweater.  Uh huh.  Just give it a try sometime.  You’ll see what I mean.  You’ll have ‘em lined up leaning on the counter, mouth open and drooling with eyes glazed and fixated on that fork.  Take command of that fork, girlfriends.  Make it clear who’s the boss of this egg. That’s right.  You’ll have yourself a date before the chicken hits the grill, and if you drink another two Michelob Ultras you simply won’t care that he’s got nose hair and is missing 3 front teeth. 

Now, you’ve got the yolks crumbled and it’s time for the chemistry lesson to begin.  Let’s begin by slowly drizzling some sweet pickle juice into the yolk mixture.  Keep an eye on this.  It takes some practice to get a feel for it.  The juice is what adds tangy flavor.  This is a step most people just don’t get so be careful.  Once the eggs are almost wet, spoon in two or three spoon fulls of a good sweet pickle relish.  Stir.  Plop ONE spoonful of mayonnaise into the bowl.  Start with one spoonful.  If you’re devilling a lot of eggs you may want to use a second spoonful.

Now, I have to put my foot down here.  Use Hellman’s or a good full strength mayonnaise. Don’t you dare use any of that crappy “lite” or “reduced fat” junk.  This is a dozen eggs for God’s sakes.  This is no time to be concerned about seven generations of heart disease.  Mix it up…salt and pepper.  Taste.  When it’s perfect, take a teaspoon and fill each little egg half.  Don’t lick the spoon and put it back in the bowl to dip more yolk mixture in front of people.  That’s nasty.  Last comes the crowning glory, paprika.  You really do need to be somewhat artistic to get this right, I need to warn you.  Start with a light sprinkling over the eggs.  Over the years I have perfected what I call the “Rhoda Palm Tap”, which spreads a nice uneven but balanced sprinkling of paprika over the eggs.  Now your eggs are done and you can go outside with all the other drunks.

It really is that simple, but does take some care, patience and for the love of honey, some restraint with the mayonnaise.  Your reward will be huge.  The moans, the elation, the eyes rolling into the back of the head.  And that’s before you even go on your date with the guy with nose hair and missing 3 front teeth.

Enjoy!