On a recent trip north, Mr. Wonderful and I stopped at a rest area in West Virginia. A pamphlet, “County Cookbook”, was in a rack of free brochures and I took one. I was intrigued by a recipe for picked eggs, and remember seeing ruby red eggs in large glass jars back in the seventies, but never ate one. At home I gave pickled eggs a try. Peeling the hard boiled eggs took more than an hour. There was cussing and swearing!
Pickled eggs caught my eye, Why?
Simple, pickled eggs can be a treat!
But . . . first you need the pickled beets
Like Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth
An iridescent show of color.
Looks good to eat . . . except!
Now come the eggs
Surely, pure and white, it’s easy
Crack, coax, convince, cajole
But no! The shell won’t let go
Tiny pieces in disarray
Pray, persuade, the outer capsule to pull away
The boiled mass to shed its skin
Woo, entice, lure, and then give in
To ask God’s help again . . . a sin
Like Macbeth confused about the crown
Egg and shell needed time to cool down
Why did pickled eggs catch my eye?
. . . just saying