Every once in awhile, I like to buy something - especially something of Amish origin - that I know Husband will find objectionable and gag-producing. Typically, that is Amish peanut butter (peanut butter, Karo, and marshmallow fluff mmmmm), as Husband has a strange and alien-like aversion to peanut butter (according to the Food Network, only 4% of the American population dislikes peanut butter). But the other day, I saw just the thing. And I was right. I was in the living when I heard a horrified "What the *%$#! is this?!" and hurried to the kitchen to find him, standing in front of the fridge with a terrified look on his face, holding this jar:
Sure, they may look like eyeballs in formaldehyde, but they are only pickled eggs. "You know," I said, "if we were in China - " I think he knew where I was going with this, because he immediately started in with the "I know, I know" - "You would eat the most vile 1000 year old, black and purple eggs."
"Yes, I would, and happily. I don't know what it is about the pickled eggs but ..." Well, once upon a time, when we didn't have refrigeration - and most Amish still don't - we would have been glad to go to the root cellar in the middle of February to find a jar of pickled eggs! Born from necessity, these are now indulgent little treats. The fact that they are absolutely smashing with a beer is merely a happy coincidence. And, although I really like the purple pickled eggs you get when you place hard-cooked eggs in your leftover pickled beet liquid, I had to pick these up. See how pretty they are with their nice brown eggshell-colored hue, the insides just as lovely as the day they were cooked, if only a little firmer? Alas, Husband would not take one bite. He just doesn't know what he's missing.
