Right now I’m shuttling back and forth between the computer and the kitchen, making hard-boiled eggs, but not remembering how long they need to boil for. I think it’s 12 minutes?
I just took them off (I made 8), drained the scalding water (I tested it, it’s scalding), and am cooling them now in a pot of ice water (along with my partially poached hand). Hard-boiled eggs, are a tough thing to make, and will bedevil just about anyone, especially me.
My mission was to get Christine to make them for me, but man, I don’t know, sometimes she’s just really difficult when it comes waiting on me hand and foot like that. It’s not like I was even all that interested in the tastiness of deviled eggs, so much as I just really want the luxury of personal servant. But one can’t have it the way they want it all the time, I suppose.
I just pulled the eggs out of the cooling water, and turned them into a big yellow bowl with a paper towel lining, because I figured I should get them dry before the big operation. That’s a step I invented myself.
Turns out in my hastiness I accidentally locked the bathroom door from the inside, which contains the washer and dryer with the latter containing Christine’s outfit for the day, some dress she apparently “really wants to wear”. Currently, I’m hearing all about it, and it’s a rather exquisite torment, let me tell you, but my eggs should be just about ready now, so brb.
I got the bathroom door unlocked, after many failed stabbings from Christine and Danielle (our nanny) with a bobby pin. It earned me some insults and vulgarities, because apparently I’ve just been sitting here ignoring their struggles, and focusing too much on my big project, the deviled eggs, when I should have helped them out sooner, seeing how it was “all my fault”. I told her I was boiling eggs.
The first egg didn’t shell right, so I’ve stuffed the rest in the freezer. I’m a little frustrated, because that specimen is now unrecoverable, but I’m holding on to hope for the others. Losing a boiled egg, I mean why does this always happen to me? Makes me wonder if I was born under a bad omen, or something. It’s like the worst thing that could ever happen. How long should I give it, do you think? Five minutes? Ten, or is that too long?
The deviled egg is a symbol of boldness and strength–I mean it’s a Roman invention (I’ve had some time to do my research, these past three minutes).
Got the eggs back out, and the shelling was successful. I mean I lost two, but there are five survivors. One came out strangely green, however, and a few others suffered a mild mutilation here and there, but they’ll make it to serving table, by and by.
The next step, I think, is to mash the five egg yolks with one whole avocado. The precise reason for this is that I don’t do regular mayo, because soybean oil is insalubrious. But I’m waiting on that because I can only do one thing at a time in the kitchen before I get tired and need to sit down for a rest. But I see now that Christine posted some nastiness about me on Facebook, so maybe I’ll respond to that. The comments are pretty funny already.
If you want to friend request Christine, you should do it, and then chime in and defend me, and maybe even like my comment because here is what she said: “Pat Flynn is the most unhelpful person in the world”, along with this: “Hey man, he deserved it. The man jams a door that doesn’t even lock and won’t get off his butt to help me because I’m ‘so much better at this sort of thing. So we struggle for 15 minutes until he just waltzes over and opens the door in two seconds. Fuuuuuuuuuuming’, and this: “Haha shut up Rick, he tried getting me to make deviled eggs for him “real quick” this morning and when I said no and told him how to do it instead and that I was trying to make HIM independent, he was none too happy.”
So I responded with this: “Maybe some truth is needed here; so far this place is absent of it. The account is this. I requested deviled eggs, in the fashion of a gentleman, not for breakfast, but for a midday snack. The preparation of boiling eggs will bedevil anyone, especially me, so I sought assistance in the capacity of an expert (Christine). She rejected me, in a manner unbecoming of a lady. Next, it was bathroom time, which is customary at this time in the morning, but the eggs were already brought to a boil, which caused hastiness on my effort.
I exited heedlessly, concerned about overcooking my specimens, which has happened to me once or twice before, and subsequently ruined my day. The door, apparently, was locked. I didn’t know it was locked, usually I don’t lock the door when I use the bathroom, seldom do I even shut it, because it prevents me from looking out the window.
I tended to my eggs and wrote an email while Christine and Danielle offered many failed stabbings at the doorknob with a bobby pin. By and by I was offered a moments leisure, came over, and made the necessary correction. The door was unlocked, and everyone went away good and satisfied.”
The mashing is complete, but the avocado (I used a whole one) was far from being perfectly ripe, so we’ll see. I added paprika, too, but just a few shakes because it wasn’t organic, which means it’s probably poison and will kill me.
I’ll let you know how they are tomorrow.
– Pat
PS – Tomorrow is the live training for the 14-Day Kettlebell Fat Furnace (my most aggressive fat loss protocol). I’m offering times to attend at 1pm (eastern) and 8pm (also eastern). Both are over-registered by a couple hundred people, so it’s going to be a real big party. This means register now, if you haven’t, and show up early (10 minutes should be fine) to secure your spot.
CLICK HERE to register for the 1pm time slot.
OR, CLICK HERE to register for the 8pm time slot.
Sorry, these won’t be recorded, but you can always get the Fat Furnace “treasure map” HERE and get started right away.
A minimalist wouldn’t devil his hard boiled eggs. The best way is to bring them to a boil, take them off the burner, cover and let sit for 17 minutes.