This morning, I met an old foe for a rematch. It was a tough fight. She fought as best she could, but ultimately, I chewed her up. I did not spit her out.
That's right. I ate another hard boiled egg.
I'm taking any and all advice you'll give me on how to eat these things. Last time, I did it my husband's way: whole egg, sprinkle of salt, three bites. Today, I took advice from some gal pals and cut the egg up (my goodness the yolks are beautiful when properly cooked--I feel like I've accomplished something in having two sets of eggs now come out with perfect golden yolks). Once it was in quarters, I sprinkled it lightly with salt and dashed on a little hot pepper sauce. It was a pretty plate, actually, until the egg and I went to battle.
I stabbed her with my fork. She tried to choke me, but I was stronger than that. She tried to intimidate me by letting the yolk separate from the white, which flopped unappetizingly around my plate. I ate it anyway. Poor egg. She was a worthy opponent. (Is it weird that I keep referring to the egg as a she?)
It's still going to be a while, I think, before I see hard boiled eggs on a breakfast menu and think, That sounds amazing. I only shuddered once, this time, while chewing the first bite, and my gag reflex remained calm. I'm getting over the psychology of it, I think--I eat eggs all the time. I like eggs. Hard boiled eggs are no different. They're good protein. They make a fabulous breakfast-on-the-go (well--not the first day you make them, but when you keep a few stashed in the fridge). I almost think I need a mantra.
Hard boiled eggs: yum! Hard boiled eggs: yum! Hard boiled eggs: yum!
We'll see how I do next time.
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