My Aunt Judy asked that I write about a food that has caused riots between my brother and I on certain holidays…Deviled Eggs.
Yeah, we’re classy like that.
My (maternal) grandmother makes these little wonders of culinary delight. And if you ask her for the recipe, you’ll get an answer as clear as the reason Arizona doesn’t participate in Daylights Savings Time. Because, quite simply, there is no recipe. She just throws stuff together, never the same things or same amounts. And they’re always delicious.
I’m sure my arteries years from now will tell that story far better than I will.
When Judy made this unbelievably insane request for a post about Deviled Eggs, I thought this was going to be hard. And, perhaps, she had gotten into the vodka again. But, as I considered it, it occurred to me that everyone has a Deviled Egg in their family.
We all have some food or dish that, on the surface, may seem ridiculous that it’s so popular or anticipated at family event, but in reality is the stuff memories are built on.
Husband will tell stories of getting ready for Passover dinner at his grandmother, Nana’s, house and the “boys” fighting over the burnt end of the chateaubriand. They always lost because his grandfather, Botsie, was going to get it. Period. At least while he was alive. He will also tell you that even after he died, the boys waited a few years before beginning the quest for the end.
So, I have Deviled Eggs and Husband has burnt up meat. What’s yours? And what’s the story behind it?