King Egg

Europeans love their egg cups.

We found a whole set of blue ones here in our house.

Egg cups are on the buffets of hotels around the continent.

I asked my Norwegian teacher, Janice Soprano, about them and she went on and on about their necessity.

There is even an entire club of people who like egg cups so much that they get together to talk about them when there are no boiled eggs in them.

I just can't get behind it.

I understand that the stated reason for egg cups is to keep soft boiled eggs from running all over your plate.

I just don't buy it.

First of all, who actually knows how to make a soft boiled egg. I suspect I am not the only one who boils eggs and that's it. While I cannot be sure exactly how they'll end up, I can always be certain that they will be boiled. So making a boiled egg and popping it into a holder is just a little too optimistic and pretentious for me.

And really, knowing boiled eggs as I do, I wonder if they even feel comfortable in the spotlight. Maybe it's because I grew up in the generation of ads touting "The incrediable, edible egg." Really, what did the boiled egg do to deserve its own little throne? I wonder if it's not just a little embarrassed.

If I were going to put any egg in a throne, it would probably be the poached egg or maybe Eggs Benedict. I'd give the fried egg a Laz-y-Boy and the raw egg a cradle.

Boiled eggs are just too friendly and egg-of-the-people to be the one for a throne.



Yes, this is our Sunday morning breakfast. Yes, it is possible to count containers and logos. (Normally, I hate that, at least on my own table.) But it was the day after a dinner party. We were tired and yes, that is not the dinner table, it is the living room coffee table. But our guests were gone and there was no one to see. Also, we didn't have any guests, unless you count the little scavenger underneath the table. Also, those are my toes.


And make no mistake, I love boiled eggs.

The day after Husband and I got back from our honeymoon, we went back to Big D's house in Gainesville. And just for kicks, I put back on my wedding dress* before breakfast. Then perused through the refridgerator. After contemplating the myriad of choices, My sister, who was also there, and I boiled eight eggs and we ate them all, with the exception of one, and that was only because Husband asked nicely.

Boiled eggs are good stuff.

Occasionally in bars, especially French bisto sorts of bars, there will be piles of boiled eggs. I guess it's to cut the taste of the alcohol or just to have some good munchies while boozing.

Boiled eggs are also the first step in making deviled eggs, which are Southern picnic food or Kathleen's cook-out speciality.

Also, for such a friendly food, it's just a slightly gruesome way to be eaten. The egg gets put in a special seat, then its top is lopped off and its insides are scooped out. It just doesn't seem nice. Sorry egg.



(I just can't get the hang of the whole lop-off-the-top. I tried. If it were alive, PETA would be marching outside and someone would be screaming "Put it out of its misery.")



(I can use the egg cup as a shell holder, though.)


Husband has no problem with the egg cup. He's got mad egg cup skillz.





*(I thought it was so pretty and you only get to wear it for a few short hours. Also, it just works out better for the whole cost-per-wearing equation. Really, there is a fair chance I would be wearing it right now if I weren't vacuum packed in a special bag hanging in the back of my mother's guest room closet in Gainesvegas. Seriously.)