This is how it goes around here:
Doug: "Oh, are you going to make some boiled eggs?"
Me: "Does it look like that is what I'm doing?"
Then he says "Hey, would you make me one?"
And I say "What is wrong with you? Is your arm broken?"
or "Who was your servant this time last year? Oh yeah, that was me!"
or some equally sarcastic, smartie pants response.
Then Doug says: "Never mind, you don't know how to boil an egg, anyway."
or "You'll just mess it up 'cause you don't know what you are doing."
This very conversation took place in our kitchen the other morning and I informed him that I have been boiling eggs since I was ten years old.
I cook my eggs exactly ten minutes from the time they begin to boil. Ideally, I like a teensy bit of orange color right in the center, but I don't want any mushy, gooky, yucky, runny stuff in my eggs. Gag.
Then Doug has this whole routine about how long you leave them in the water, then you plunge them in cool water then hot water, oh, I don't know. I don't pay enough attention or listen to his whole spiel about the perfect way to make a boiled egg, because my way works just fine, thank you very much! perfect!
I take my eggs off of the heat, drain the water, run some cool water over and drain again. Then I peel them. If I can't get them to peel easily, then I run a little water over them as I peel. Whenever we couldn't get an egg to peel when I was growing up, Mother would say that it was "too fresh." "Too fresh?" How can an egg be too fresh? What we ate growing up came from the grocery store. I buy mine from the egg lady. (A colleague at the university.)
The other morning Doug saw that I had little pats of butter (actually, mine was Brummel and Brown yogurt spread) on my eggs and he said he had never heard of that. I swear sometimes, I think the man was raised by wolves. Doesn't every one put butter on hot boiled eggs? You pick it up to take a bite and the butter runs down your arm?
Growing up, my mother would bring her eggs home and just leave the carton on the kitchen counter. I don't ever remember her putting them in the frig. And no, I never died. Never even came close. First of all, there were five of us and a dozen eggs (or even two dozen eggs) never lasted too long at our house. And they sure aren't cool in the hen house.
Now, y'all know that ever word of this is true, don't you? I'm not eggs-agerating one 'lil bit!