Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Is it wrong to want Deviled Eggs at Christmas time?

Didn't sleep well last night. Watching the Christmas Light program for two hours while wedged into the love seat with daughter #2 left me with a strained back and pain in every joint of my body. Getting old stinks. Feeling pain stinks more.
Anyway, I was up half the night trying to find a comfortable place anywhere in the house for my aching body.
And thinking about deviled eggs.

I could make them easily enough. Right now, actually.
Hard boiled eggs, mayo, two kinds of mustard, sometimes horseradish...done.
But that would require me to go downstairs and start the process.
I'm still sore and miserable.

So, I guess there will not be deviled eggs today.

But why am I even thinking about that?
And since this is the time of good cheer and love and all that, and the birth of Jesus, how come I'm even thinking of something with the word "devil" in it?

Bring me back to the 1950s.
My mom getting ready for one of the few big parties they ever held.
Trying to make hors d'oerves (I can't ever spell that word) with Ritz crackers and assorted gooey things to put on them.

My mom, I do love her so, but she really wasn't an imaginative cook. Or a really good one. So, for her, Ritz crackers had Kraft pimento cheese spread thinly on them, or caponata from a can of Progresso stuff, or some of that deviled ham spread with the little red devil rampant on the paper cover.
This fits right in with the deviled eggs I have been craving!

It's not the devil bedeviling me into coming over to the Dark Side, it's a fond memory. I learned how to make deviled eggs at her side.

People partied differently back then. There were lots of mixed drinks going around in appropriately shaped glasses. Hi Balls came in tall glasses with little sleeves on them so the hand could grip the icy glass better. Every house had a cocktail shaker. Vermouth was popular, I don't know why. Four Roses was in every house for parties. I don't even know what kind of whisky that is, but my parents did. Beer flowed gently. People dressed to the nines. Men in suits and women in dresses with wide skirts and small waistlines. Nobody wore blue jeans. There was a sort of elegance, but not really. Not compared to the parties rich people had.

Ritz crackers, Kraft pimento cheese spread in a little glass container, caponata and deviled ham. Not even a cheese plate and most certainly, no veggie platters because nobody had ever heard the word crudites. God forbid!

But deviled eggs were just fine.

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