Take a minute and google How To Boil Eggs. Go on, I’ll wait. The first thing that pops up is of course a how to from Martha Stewart. Of course, her eggs are not simply boiled, they’re ‘Perfectly boiled Eggs’… *eyeroll* Water plus eggs plus heat… really it’s not that difficult. That is, unless you’re me.
Who Can Possibly Mess This Up?
This girl. That’s who. I freely admit that I’m not much of a cook. I make supper regularly for my kiddos and have been known to take delicious dishes to potlucks. I can cook, I just hate it. I know, not very Domestic Goddess of me. But I do. I hate cooking.
Now that my kids are older (two in college and two in high school) I find myself many evenings alone for supper. My current go-to supper is these amazing little tuna envelope things I found at my grocer’s. You peel off the top, and grab a fork. Supper is done. They’re mixed and seasoned already so there’s no prep work, and you toss the little envelope, so no dishes. Win-win! This is how I cook for just myself.
I pride myself on keeping thin, so usually I pass on things like.. well.. all carbs. Ever. And since my two who are in high school are in and out a lot, I try to keep good snacks on hand in the fridge for them. Like boiled eggs. You can find me most Sunday afternoons baking six to eight seasoned chicken breasts and boiling up a dozen eggs just to keep in the fridge for munching.
Of course, there was the one day when I boiled my eggs for 20 minutes and couldn’t figure out why my water wasn’t getting hot. (I had the wrong burner on.)
And the time I cooked up the chicken breasts, turned off the oven and forgot to take them out (until I found them Wednesday afternoon.)
I could go on. I’m a little absent minded because I HATE BEING IN THE KITCHEN COOKING.
So there I was, a normal Sunday afternoon and I put my eggs on to boil.
Did You Know That Eggs Explode?
Setting the scene of the disaster: Suzie Homemaker, played by myself for lack of better options, was in the kitchen boiling eggs. The phone rang and it was one of my youngest needing a ride home from the pool. I hopped into the car and drove the ½ mile to pick him up and along the way, picked up the rest of my babies. All of them teenagers, which means they’re always hungry.
We were driving back home (keep in mind, I’ve been gone for less than 5 minutes) when my oldest got a call from a friend. They invited us to meet them at the local burger joint for ice cream. Being teenagers, they all thought this was a grand idea, so we went. We sat and had supper, chatting about swim team and band concerts. Laughing and enjoying the company, and then both families walked over to the park to feed the ducks for a while.
THREE. HOURS. LATER.
We got home. My youngest was the first on the porch.
“Mom! I think the house is on fire!”
Me- Very funny….
Second born “Um, no really, there’s smoke, lots of it, and it smells horrible.”
Lord have mercy on us. We opened the front door and I remembered… I had left the eggs boiling on high since earlier that day. We ran around opening up windows and gagging and then we stood in the kitchen.
The eggs had boiled dry, then charred in the pot, and then exploded. People. They exploded. I’m not talking just popped in the pan, I’m talking eggs on the ceiling. Eggs on every surface in the kitchen. Oh, and did you know my house has an open floor plan? Yep. There were smelly eggs in the bathroom, in one of the bedrooms and even in the hall. Part of me wished the house had just burned down.
That night, all four kids slept in my bedroom with me as my door was the only one that was closed. This meant: #1 No eggs in my room. #2 My room didn’t smell like charred eggs quite as badly as the rest of the house. And #3. Four teenagers and one momma slept in a queen-sized bed.
I learned my lesson. Set a timer for the eggs, and don’t leave the house. Not that I make eggs anymore, I can’t stand the smell of them after that.