I’m thinking about making devilled eggs today.
This is worth noting, if only because I normally don’t begin making them until summer officially begins for me, on or about the last day of classes of the semester. Which is still—sigh—about a month and a half away. However, I’m feeling the pull. Plus it’s Oscar night, and my parents are having a party. They have several RSC actors in town and I’m supposed to bring something. Eggs might be just the ticket.
I’ve always associated devilled eggs with summer. There’s something very warm weather about them that reminds me of cocktails at the Cape and our cookouts here, when we light up our little twinkly Xmas lights on the back porch and sit out listening for owls once it gets dark. Lately, however, my devilled eggs have gone national: for a summer book program at the New York Public Library, they asked for my recipe as a tie-in to my books. I don’t really have a recipe, per se, so this was a little difficult. And besides, good devilled eggs are like the perfect cup of coffee: everyone has their own idea about what is required.
I guess the real reason I’m feeling this today is that I really, really want it to be spring. I’m tired of cold weather, of turtlenecks. (I plan to burn every one I own the first day it hits ninety degrees here, I swear.) My tulips were coming up, finally, and I was so happy, but then we had a freeze two night ago and now they’re all defeated looking. Why does it seem like this winter has been going on for ages?
Maybe if I make devilled eggs it will set things into motion. Nudge that thermometer up. Coax spring a little closer. Can’t hurt, right?