I don’t cook. I don’t boil. I sometimes steam, occasionally nuke, and I do chop (I make a great crudité) but what I do is order or visit friends who do cook.
So, when I was invited to Easter dinner and my contribution to the meal was assigned as deviled eggs, also known as eggs mimosa (even if I have never heard them called eggs mimosa I like that name) I new I was either going to succeed, end up ordering them from a restaurant, or hopefully be forgiven as the source of the food poison.
I looked up the basic recipe and as simple as it seemed I immediately saw my first problem - I don’t have a pot to boil these eggs in. No worries, the deli around the corner (and even my gym café for that matter) sell hard boiled eggs to the protein packing patrons of Chelsea. So I will forgo the pot and buy the eggs already hard boiled…or will I? That seems like cheating. No, I will MAKE from beginning to end deviled eggs. It’s not near the accomplishment of making every recipe in Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking but I’m committed and I would be happy if Amy Adams played me in the movie.
So first step – find a kitchen. I made an emergency call to one of the few people I know who has a kitchen with things like counter space and ovens. The bonus is it’s luxurious enough for more then one person to fit in at a time. I explained my predicament and I bribed her with the promise of an afternoon of cheap wine and all the left over deviled egg ingredients she could eat and with that a bargain was struck and the time set for my arrival – well lets be clear…I also asked if she had any ground dry mustard, I only need a ½ teaspoon. The other ingredients on the list I could possibly…maybe…occasionally see actually using in the future, but not the mustard. Lucky she has some (I told you her kitchen was great).
And with a kitchen and pot secured I headed to the grocery store. I was there less then 30 seconds when I remembered why I don’t go in grocery stores. Is there ever a time of day when its not packed? Or is it simply that the isles are so narrow and the place so stuffed with twelve versions of everything that it feels crowded? No matter, I will rant on the nutritional value of chocolate cheerios another day. In this moment I tell myself to take a breath and ask myself, if I were white vinegar where would I be?
Vinegar – found. Salt and pepper – I can steal my roommates so I don’t need to buy that or maybe I have enough of those little packets that come with take out, I’ll have to check my junk drawer? Paprika, I had a fleeting memory of seeing paprika once in my cupboard, behind rice cakes and numerous boxes of tea. I wonder, how long has it been there? I never bought it. I suspect my previous roommate bout it but that may have been sometime in the 90’s. Either way, I think I have that. Eggs, the recipe called for eggs that are a week or two old, so I proceed to annoy every single person in the refrigerated section by pulling out and looking at the dates of every carton. Ya, the poor stock guy was watching me as I undid what he had probably spent most of the day doing - sorry. I thought the older eggs would be to the front, but nooo I found just one carton buried in the back and it’s only a week old so they will have to do, (note to self: I need two weeks lead time the next time I try this, if there is a next time, or I have to garbage pick when the grocery stores toss the expired stuff, maybe that’s why these eggs are called deviled?).