My life with Noofs

Tales and musings from a Newf mom

Of essays and exploded eggs

Sometimes writing and cooking don’t mix. Actually, that happens pretty often, if you’re a writer like me. I tend to get so involved with what’s going on when I write that I have to make an effort to remember stuff I’m doing elsewhere.

Case in point: On New Years Day, I had an article I needed to finish and send out for approval (yeah, I know, but freelancers don’t work on the standard Monday through Friday, 9-5 gig). On that day, I needed to make some dog food for the Noofs (details on this later), and wanted to hard-boil some eggs to mix in.

I *know* how to hard-boil eggs. I’ve done it since I was barely big enough to stand in front of the stove and I have it down to a science: Bring salted water and eggs (at least a week old, for easier peeling) to a boil slowly from cool water. Once at a full boil, let ‘er rip for one minute, turn off the heat, cover and let stand for 15 minutes. It’s simple and you get perfect hard-boiled eggs every time. No icky green ring! I put the pan with the cool, salted water and eggs on the stove, set it to medium high and went back into the office.

This particular morning, I forgot.

I’m happily typing away, getting absorbed in my goal, then a notice a burnt smell. I barely got the thought of “hmmmm…” in my head when I heard the explosion. Well, “explosion” is a bit dramatic, but one of the eggs did explode, splattering yellow and white (and brown, from the burnt bits of eggshell) on the ceiling, floor and, well… everywhere. I hastily ran to the kitchen (Noofs following me just as hastily), and upon seeing this mess I grabbed the pot, with not a drop of water and minus the exploded egg, dropped it into the sink and quickly turned on the cold water.

The Noofs, seeing Mom in a panic, obviously wanted to be in the middle of it, and requested to know exactly what happened. When I didn’t respond to their questioning looks, they let their noses answer the question. I then had to turn around and grab the dogs to get them out of the kitchen before they started scoffing on the still-hot egg mess. They left dejectedly, as if I were depriving them of their only meal in a month. Poor goggies.

I did manage to salvage most of the eggs, surprisingly enough. After they cooled, I peeled the little bastards, cut off the brown, rubbery parts and used the eggs in the dog food anyway.

There was only the slightest green ring around the yolks.


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