I have many fond memories of the Easter season during my childhood and even today. Many of them center around chicken eggs.
When I was a little kid, my Mom purchased the coolest gizmo ever for decorating Easter eggs. It was called the Decoregger. I can only describe it as an egg clampy contraption with little markers attached. There was this handle that you could rotate the egg with while the markers made adjacent rings of color around the diameter of the shell. Without a doubt, it was one of the top three inventions of the 20th century behind only the charcoal gray Porsche 911 Targa and the stuff inside Stretch Armstrong.
And eggs weren’t the only things that you could clamp in the old Decoregger. If I remember correctly, baseballs, ping-pong balls, salt shakers, prized family heirlooms, etc. were decorated on that wonderful striping apparatus. If I could have gotten our beloved family parakeet, Don Juan, to shut-up and stop flapping his wings long enough, I’m sure I could have decorated him to look like Toucan Sam of Kellogg’s Froot Loops’ fame. Well, at least his beak anyhow. Ahhhh ... good times.
My present day Easter memories also center around the incredible, edible egg. My wife has warned me against even bringing this up because of the possible repercussions that may come along with it, but I feel as though it is my job as a whiny, blabber-mouthed American to tell you about all of my little problems. You see, I married into a family that, as an Easter morning ritual, creates and eats this breakfast dish called “Goldenrod Eggs.” Everybody on that side of the family just loves them. Me, not so much.
Now I like omelets, scrambled eggs, eggs that are sunnyside-up or over-easy and I even like a hint of hard-boiled eggs on a salad. But Goldenrod Eggs are a different kind of beast. I try to not be in the building when they are prepared but the process somehow involves the pulverizing of the yellow part of a hard-boiled egg and somehow turning the white part into a creamy sauce which you then combine and eat together on a piece of toast. (I am literally cringing as I write this.)
I believe this concoction has an odor so foul that I cannot describe it to it’s fullest in a family newspaper. In fact, the smell and I disagree so much, that I don’t honestly ever remember trying to eat them. I just can’t do it. In many ways I am like the main character in Dr. Seuss’ “Green Eggs and Ham.” Along with his rugged good looks, I also possess a similar quality in not being able to consume certain kinds of egg dishes. They may not be green, but I will not eat Goldenrod Eggs on a boat, with a goat, not in houses, nor with mouses. I will not eat them Sam-I-Am.
However, most everyone I know who has tried Goldenrod Eggs thinks that they are the most scrumptious, mouth-watering treat that Easter morning has ever known. Most everyone I know is wrong.
A couple of the people who think I’m crazy about my aversion to this delightful indulgence happen to live in my house. My wife gets up extra early on Easter morning to make the noxious mixture for herself and my son. I usually wake up as the toxic fumes fill the house, and I jump out of bed fully expecting to find a functioning sulphur mine operating in my living room.
Evidently those two don’t notice the nasty stench wafting through the air. I find this to be very peculiar because on a semi-daily basis, solely for scientific purposes, I have recreated the exact same odor an hour or two after most every meal, and they call it disgusting. What’s up with that?
Right now, my daughter and I are the only ones in the house who are totally revolted by the putrid smelling breakfast. However, I’m afraid that she is young and weak and will eventually bow to the forces of the dark side. All my wife has to do is serve them on a “Hello Kitty” paper plate and the balance of power will be destroyed.
After writing this column, I realize that as I enter my in-laws’ house Sunday night, for what is usually the most delicious, best smelling Easter supper that you can possibly ever imagine, there is a really good chance that I will find out that Goldenrod Eggs are not just for breakfast anymore. You see, my beautiful, smart, good-smelling mother-in-law not only possesses an incredible talent to cook, but she also has a really keen sense of humor, and I can almost guarantee you that there will be a special dish prepared just for me and my big mouth.
Oh well. Bon appétit.
You can contact Wallace at firstname.lastname@example.org. You can follow him on his blog at http://gregwallaceink.wordpress.com.