His Satanic Ova


Whenever someone proudly serves me bland deviled eggs I get a little passive aggressive about it. They're called deviled eggs because of the spice, because they have kick. A spoonful of yellow mustard just does not cut it.

We celebrated my brothers' thirtieth birthday this weekend and I decided to make some eggs. I figured I had a large audience for egg shenanigans. And experiments...

First, I baked about 66 eggs in the oven at 325 Fahrenheit for 30 minutes on a wet towel, because Alton Brown told me to. About 40 of those eggs survive to be filled. Why only 40? Because of this:

I tried that and actually managed to remove the moon from inside the egg. The rest of the egg disintegrated. The egg next to it wasn't even cracked. WTF?

Anyway, after getting all my eggs cut up and a filling made (mostly Dijon mustard and egg moons), I put a little dab of wasabi paste in half the eggs. That's how I roll. It's like Easter!

Then I made bacon. I filled the eggs only to the brim so they were flat, and fried some of them in the bacon drippings. These were pretty good:

Half of them had sriracha on them, the other half had paprika. My mother tried a paprika one and was pretty impressed. Then she tried a sriracha one, thinking it was ketchup, and gave me dirty looks. But she kept eating them!

I could do better though. I still had bacon. I had diced it before cooking and now I mixed it with bleu cheese and a couple of raw eggs. I piled this on top of the normal filling on my remaining eggs and put them in the oven for 20 minutes. Long enough to set the egg, and melt/brown the bleu cheese.

The result was fan-fucking-tastic:

My uncle doesn't even like bleu cheese. He loved these. I have won at deviled eggs. I am your king.

I'm never making these again. It was a lot of goddamned work. I needed a nap afterwards and my back hurt.

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