Deviled Eggs

The kitchen sprang to life.  One woman disappeared behind the refrigerator door and emerged with a ham under each arm; the other woman produced two zipped containers of china dishes from the server in the dining room.

Should we use the silver? she asked.

I think so, said a third woman.  Why not?  It’s Easter.  She was older than the other two, and still seated at the table.  Once in charge of preparing the meal for the family that would soon come together for the holiday, she watched as the other two busied themselves.  Just keep us company, they said.

Tables were set for eleven, rolls sliced, pickles and olives arranged in bowls for snacking.  Recipes were consulted, ingredients combined, and before long hot dishes were bubbling in the oven.  Vegetables were chopped for a salad; dressings were found and shaken.  Soon the whole house was infused with the aroma of home-cooked comfort food – ham and potatoes and green beans.

What will we do with these?  asked the first woman, whose tasks were completed.  A plate of dyed hard-boiled eggs lay on the counter. Each was dyed a bright color: pink, yellow, orange and blue.  A few had a marbled effect. 

I don’t know, said the second.  Just leave them there for decoration.  They’re so pretty, but no one will eat them.

How about deviled eggs?  they both wondered as they regarded the plate.  They hesitated.  Making deviled eggs was not a strength of either of these two women.  They remembered the last attempt.  It was not wonderful.

Can I do something? asked the third woman, again.

Yes, said the first.  Can you make deviled eggs?

Of course, said the third woman, getting up from her chair.  It took her some time to rise and come to the counter.

As the second woman assembled and prepped the ingredients her grandmother needed, her mother retrieved a bowl and asked her mother-in-law if she needed anything else.

Just a mixer, she said.

The two youngers watched their elder add dressings and spices to the yolks, then mix them together using the small hand mixer.

They tasted the filling and proclaimed it perfect.

As Mom got to the next task of filling the emptied egg whites and I sliced some olives and located the paprika for garnish, Grandma turned toward the sink and washed and dried the dishes that she used.  Mom and I stayed out of her way as she made her way around my kitchen, her role as head holiday chef reinstated.

Those deviled eggs didn’t last long this Easter.  They were, hands down, everyone’s favorite part of the meal.

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4.) Write a post inspired by the word: Eggs