Which Came First: The Devil or The Deviled Egg?

Don’t ask, you may not like the answer.

It was football Sunday when, at fifteen years old, I first came into contact with the Devil. The Devil? How did I know it was the Devil? It’s not complicated, but requires some eggs-plaining.

It happened when the neighborhood group of buddies were hanging out down the street at a friend’s house. Being it was football Sunday meant Gary’s mom went shopping with his sister for clothes, manicures, pedicures or whatever. This also meant the guys had the opportunity to indulge in the typical junk food mania: nachos, chips and dips, pork skins, cheese puffs, caramel corn, marshmallow rice crispy, pretzels, candies and various sodas. Gary’s dad, Ernie, as typical on football Sunday, was comfortable in his recliner, enjoying both the game and a few beers he had in a bucket of ice next to his chair.

At half time, Ernie got up, fired up the grill outside the back door and started cooking hamburgers and hotdogs for all of us. The guys helped by grabbing the buns and all the condiments, tomatoes, lettuce and onions that were kindly pre-game prepped by Gary’s mom in the refrigerator.

After grabbing a bottle of ketchup, I noticed a large glass jar half-full with what looked like a dozen or more eggs submerged or partially floating in a…