Where did that come from?

So today me and Ian..it's one of those "you, me and the dog" days...were messing around with eggs. We were using the griddle for the first time to make eggs...scrambled and fried..turned out pretty good. Then we made some hard boiled eggs using a recipe I found on the internet. After they were done, I started peeling one while Ian looked on. It was perfectly done, and was a perfect candidate for blowing the egg out of the shell the way my Dad used to. Cracking the tips, peeling of a little shell on both ends then blowing thru the end really hard to separate the egg from the shell. When done, it's poetry in motion...and my Dad was the Master. He would put it to his lips covered by both hands and blow as hard as he could. It would whistle and get higher in pitch right before it shot out the other end, landing in his hand ready for salt and pepper. Took me years to get it to work about 80% of the time, but I'm getting better and today's was one of the good ones. It popped out and Ian laughed, immediately grabbing an egg and tapping it on the counter to break the ends. After he prepared it and started blowing, it made a little whistle and got loose enough for him to feel accomplished...

and in the middle of this process, while I'm telling Ian about how PapaT would do it while hoping my attempt would work, he said "It must have been hard losing your Dad."

it was magical.


Thanks PapaT, Master of Egg Blowing

the end