You Say Tomato, I Say To-mah-to

No, I didn't serve tomatoes this morning.  Or potato po-tah-tos.  We had hard boiled eggs, one of my favorite breakfasts.

What I want to talk about is how different things are done in different families, and hard boiled eggs are a case in point.

The way I grew up, we peeled them, sat at the table with salt and pepper shakers, sprinkled those on, and munched away, using more salt and pepper as needed.  De-lightful.

Burt's family proceeds entirely differently: They put the eggs on a plate, roughly chop them, and then put pats of butter, plus some salt and pepper, and eat them with a fork.  De-licious.

I think one of the most interesting things in life is finding different ways of doing every-day, ordinary things.  De-lovely.

Are there other ways to eat hard boiled eggs? 

Both methods are equally good, but my way has the advantage of allowing a little flexibility for cooking and serving.  Burt's way requires the eggs to be quite hot, as in right off the stove, to have enough heat for the butter to melt.  I eat my plain hard boiled eggs hot, room temp, or cold.  It's all good to me.  And since I have a rotten, miserable cold right now and plan on crawling back into bed the moment I start feeling bad again, I think I'll go with the flexibility of the plain eggs today.

(Just a note: neither boy has yet taken to hard boiled eggs, but both like eggs in general now.  I'm suspecting that they just haven't had enough during all those cold cereal years, so I continue to make them once a month or so, serve the no-thank-you bite, plan on using the rejected eggs for tuna salad, and get on with things.  Mom-sick days are fine ones for the boys to pour their own cereal.)

This morning's eggs were served with whole wheat English muffins with honey, and a mandarin orange.