by Kathleen Julian

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While others in her family and among her friends agonized over what to bring to the next gathering, Jane relaxed. She’d been the designated Deviled Egg Queen for decades. Her main concerns now were when to buy the eggs so they’d be fresh but not too fresh. Whether to buy two dozen or one carton of eighteen eggs. Or two cartons of eighteen so she’d have enough extras in case too many eggs were ruined during the peeling process. A good deviled egg should have two perfectly even halves, the whites all without nicks or breaks. Jane’s perfected system produced flawless deviled eggs nearly every time.

Although Southern born and bred in North Carolina, Jane didn’t grow up with deviled eggs regularly on the table. Her mother’s mealtime specialties were usually fried chicken, pork chops, country-style steak, Salisbury steak, and, on Fridays (even though Jane’s family was Methodist, not Catholic), salmon cakes. Sides varied from green beans or broccoli to carrots, mashed or baked potatoes, or corn. Who needed appetizers?

Jane didn’t remember when her mother first decided to add deviled eggs to her food repertoire. She remembered being in elementary school when she first began helping her mother make homemade pimento cheese—grating the cheese and stirring in mayonnaise and flavorings. She’d squeezed lemons for homemade lemonade or sliced lemons and picked mint leaves from the garden for sweet tea. She’d gathered apples from the backyard for her mother’s delicious apple turnovers. After so many years of family-favorite food traditions, Jane didn’t know why there was suddenly a quest to perfect the preparation of deviled eggs.

She did recall there had been many disappointing attempts before Jane and her mother settled on a preferred deviled eggs recipe. It was like a scientific experiment, testing and fine-tuning the ingredients and process for the best and most predictable results. The first experiments were served only on the meal table at home. More promising results were presented at backyard picnics that included guests. Finally, Jane and her mother agreed on the perfect recipe, thanks to The New Doubleday Cookbook. They followed the basic recipe: eggs, mayonnaise, lemon juice, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, salt, and pepper. They never added the optional onion or any of the suggested garnishes other than a sprinkle of paprika on each egg just before serving.

Deviled eggs soon became her mother’s go-to appetizer to bring to any food event, including family reunions where each matriarch brought whatever specialty was part of their family’s legacy. Amid the platters of Aunt Ethel’s barbecued chicken and Aunt Rose’s ham biscuits, and the bowls of Aunt Nancy’s baked beans and Grandma Mary’s banana pudding, Jane’s mother would proudly arrange two deviled egg plates full of the creamy appetizers.

Years later, after various attempts to bring suitable foods to the many gatherings Jane was invited to in her busy work and social life, she decided to make deviled eggs for the next event, a baby shower. The dozen she brought quickly disappeared. The comments were so favorable, she decided to make them for the next event. And the next, and the next.

Jane’s deviled eggs became an anticipated and appreciated item at potlucks, showers, holiday meals, funeral receptions, and any other gathering that involved food. Coworkers encouraged her deviled egg habit by buying her a Tupperware deviled egg container with room enough for two dozen eggs. It was a thoughtful gift, although it also served as a commitment to bring two dozen eggs each time.

Perhaps Jane became too complacent about the popularity of her deviled eggs. No one ever complained about the taste. She rarely had any leftovers to bring home. If any were left in the container when guests were ready to leave, there were always volunteers happy to take home the remaining eggs or polish them off while saying goodbye.

And then.

“Why did you change the recipe?”

“Huh?”

“They don’t taste the same.”

Jane stared at Allison, one of her best friends. They worked together, attended the same church, and had mostly the same circle of friends.

She thought about the ingredients she’d used for the latest batch of deviled eggs and could not think of anything she’d done differently.

“Did you use a different kind of mayonnaise?” Allison asked.

Jane shrugged her shoulders. “I used Kraft Olive Oil Mayo, like I’ve been using for years.”

“Well, go back to what your Mom used.”

“Mom began using Miracle Whip because of her diet. I’ve never used Miracle Whip.”

“Well, these eggs are missing something. Like flavor.”

“So maybe I should try Duke’s? Or Hellman’s?”

“Maybe spice them up a bit too.”

Allison left to get another helping of chips and salsa, something Jane rarely saw her friend enjoying so much.

She looked sadly at the Tupperware container of deviled eggs, confused to see that only a few remained. Maybe Allison didn’t care for this batch of eggs, but others sure seemed to. She looked around and didn’t notice any eggs left on anyone’s plate. She moved over to the trash can and glanced in to see if any eggs had been discarded there. She didn’t see any.

What the devil’s got into you, she thought, wrinkling her eyebrows and frowning toward Allison, whose back was turned. She would never have given her that look face-to-face.

She looked around at the other attendees. It was a younger group than usual, a welcome reception for newcomers to the church in the past six months. Efforts to reach out to the nearby universities had successfully brought in more college students and young professionals. Maybe they’d tried the deviled eggs and eaten them to be polite, but what they really preferred was gourmet dishes and exotic garnishes.

Mortified, Jane searched the Internet to find contemporary deviled egg recipes. For the next gathering, she prepared two batches of a dozen eggs each, substituting some of her usual ingredients. One batch used balsamic vinegar, bacon, and onion. The other used Dijon mustard and garlic powder with a dill garnish. She tried one from each batch and would have thrown them all away if she’d had anything else to bring to the retirement luncheon.

As she feared, most of the eggs remained on the serving plates as guests paused, squinted, sniffed, and moved on to the next dish. A few younger guests tried the eggs and returned for more. Those same guests avoided the Bisquick sausage balls, lemon squares, and the pimento cheese sandwich triangles on white bread with the crusts cut off. They devoured the veggies and pita chips with hummus dip. Jane hoped she wasn’t going to have to adapt her recipe for each expected audience.

“Who made the deviled eggs?” Allison asked Jane.

“I did. I tried new recipes, like you suggested.”

Allison widened her eyes. “When did I suggest that?”

“At the newcomers’ reception. You don’t remember?”

“When I was on an antibiotic? I was so out of it that week. It made everything taste metallic and I couldn’t think straight. So glad to be over all that now. But you knew not to take me seriously, didn’t you? Didn’t I tell you that medicine was messing with my head and taste buds and everything else?”

Jane, nearly half a foot shorter than her friend, felt even smaller as she looked up at Allison and remembered the evening their friendship had almost gone south because of the blameless, but not tasteless, deviled eggs.

“I did take you seriously,” she admitted. “I always take you seriously.”

“But I was sick. Drugged.”

“So the eggs were actually okay? At the reception?”

“I have no idea. Honestly, nothing tasted good that week.”

Jane looked toward the food table and saw just a few eggs left on the serving plates.

“Well, I guess at least a few people like the new recipes.”

“For the rest of us, please stick with the original one.”

Jane laughed. “I will! And I’ll go back to using the Tupperware container. It just seemed like these needed a fancy plate under them. That’s why I served them on the china plates.”

“It was a nice try, but what you really need is a nice deviled egg plate. Or two. Glass, or ceramic. You can probably find one at a thrift store. I might be able to find some of mine to loan you. Mom and Grandma both used them, but I packed them away somewhere since I never make deviled eggs.”

Jane remembered her mother’s deviled egg plates. One was clear green glass. Another was white with scalloped gold edges. There was a flowered one, a couple of clear plastic ones, and one with an Easter egg design. How could she have forgotten them? Like Allison’s, they were packed away somewhere. The Tupperware container had made it so much easier to cover, store, and carry the eggs, especially the two dozen she typically prepared. The plates were designed to hold only a dozen eggs each, or fifteen if you squeezed a few into the mysterious round area in the middle.

She sighed, remembering how she’d tried all kinds of creative ways to spread plastic wrap over a plate of eggs without it touching and smearing the tops of the eggs. Tupperware had solved that problem.

“Does presentation really matter that much?” She asked Allison. “I mean, I admit cramming the eggs onto dinner plates for today wasn’t my best idea, but at least they fit into my pie carriers. I guess the deviled egg plates will fit as well. If it’s really that important.”

Managing the two pie carriers, one balanced on top of the other, had been a challenge, and storing the carriers under the table had been a risk in case someone began clearing the tables early and assumed the carriers went with someone’s pies. She remembered how her mother had always marked her dishes with masking tape and a marker, but it was too late for that now.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Allison said, “but some people want to go all out for certain events.”

She motioned to the long series of tables, each covered with white linen tablecloths.

“If we know ahead of time whether the organizers are going to use real napkins and real silverware and dishes,” Allison said, “maybe Tupperware’s not the best option. With paper plates and plastic utensils, it’s fine. I guess one of us has to start volunteering to be on the committee for every event so we’ll know what to expect.”

Jane’s shoulders slumped. “It’s getting too hard,” she said. “Maybe I’ll just start signing up to bring rolls or drinks and let someone else figure out how to serve them.”

“Then what will the non-bakers bring? Or the ones who always claim they’re too busy to bring anything else?”

“They can order something to pick up. Or hire a caterer. It’s about time someone else started putting forth a little more effort.”

Allison grinned. “Where’s your Southern pride? Remember when we were old enough to start making things to bring to potlucks and showers? We were so proud of everything we made. We felt like real adults. But then it got so competitive, so we just kept bringing our usual things.”

Jane remembered when her age group suddenly got into cake decorating, especially for children’s birthday parties, and some began to bring more and more elaborate cakes and cookies. Jane had stuck with her ever-popular deviled eggs, and Allison kept bringing sausage balls.

“Let’s just keep bringing our usuals,” Jane said. “Everyone expects it now anyway.”

They high-fived. Jane felt relieved to know she didn’t need to do anything differently for the next food event.

Ahead of the next gathering, a Friendsgiving dinner the week before Thanksgiving, Jane had already purchased two dozen eggs when she logged in to the emailed invitation to RSVP and saw that someone else had already signed up to bring deviled eggs. She recognized the name as a cousin of the event organizer, a rare attendee at any of the events in Jane’s usual orbit. Maybe it was an innocent mistake. Or had the event organizer specifically asked her cousin to bring deviled eggs? There was no indication of how many eggs the cousin planned to bring. Should Jane sign up to bring a dozen? Or should she sign up for something else?

“Awkward,” was Allison’s comment when Jane called her for advice.

“So what should I do?”

“You can still bring deviled eggs, but just a dozen. It’ll be interesting to try her recipe. And to compare to see who likes which recipe best.”

“Or maybe I’ll bring something else. I’ll be at my brother’s for Thanksgiving, and he’s already requested two dozen deviled eggs. I don’t want to make them two weeks in a row.”

“I’ll be at my sister’s and I’ve already promised to make Mom’s sweet potato casserole and a homemade pumpkin pie. Get this: she insisted it has to be homemade. No Mrs. Smith’s like I brought last year. So I’m going to bring the Mrs. Smith’s pie I bought on sale two weeks ago to the Friendsgiving dinner.”

“That’s easy enough. I should have RSVP’d as soon as I got the invitation. Two people have already signed up to bring green bean casserole, two for sweet potatoes, one for dressing, and another for stuffing. Like dressing and stuffing are two different things?”

“Stuffing is Stove Top. Dressing is homemade, from scratch. That’s the way I see it, anyway. How about rolls? Mac and cheese? Pies? Brownies?”

“Already claimed. And cranberry sauce and a veggies and dip platter.”

“Just bring fruit. Apples or grapes or something already cut up. But claim it quick!”

Jane began a new tradition of bringing healthy fruit or fruit salad to every event. The way everyone appreciated the new offering made her wonder if anyone had ever really liked her deviled eggs. Or deviled eggs in general, since the once-popular appetizer rarely appeared at the gatherings anymore. She was tempted to bring them again, but since most events didn’t require an RSVP with a food specification, she was too traumatized to risk the redundancy of someone else also bringing deviled eggs. It was like worrying that someone else at an event would be wearing the same dress, a supposedly rare occurrence that had happened to Jane twice.

She and Allison enjoyed watching to see how other people’s deviled eggs were received. It was satisfying when someone else’s recipe was close to the same as Jane’s and the deviled egg plates were soon emptied. But she was no angel when the deviled eggs were made with pickle relish or had pimento garnishes and no one came back for seconds. She smiled, smirked, or snickered each time someone reached for an egg, hesitated, and then chose something else. Instead of being the Deviled Egg Queen, was she now the Deviled Egg Critic?

Maybe someday, someone would request that Jane bring her traditional deviled eggs to their event—two dozen, please, in that perfect Tupperware container. Maybe she’d smile and say she was sorry, but she didn’t have enough eggs on hand and didn’t think she’d have time to make a special trip to the store. Or she’d remind them that fruit was a much healthier and more practical choice, with so many people being on vegan diets these days or having an egg allergy. Whatever the request or her excuse, Jane would decline with her perfectly devilish Southern smile.

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Creative writing has been a favorite and necessary activity for most of my life. From an early age, characters and stories filled my mind and begged to be captured on paper. After earning an English degree in 1973, much of my writing time and effort was spent earning a salary or fulfilling volunteer work assignments. Proposal sections, user manuals, newsletter articles, devotionals, sermons, and marketing documents all satisfied my writing spirit to some extent. Writing short stories, poems, and essays, when not fine-tuning chapters for my forever-in-progress novel, continues to provide me true joy and satisfaction.

Attending South Carolina Writers Association conferences, workshops, and webinars has helped to keep my writing spirit alive and inspired me to continue learning and growing as a writer. I’m grateful for the many excellent SCWA resources and opportunities that are lifelines for me and so many other active writers.