Hard Boiled

Crack, smash, crack.

Memories of water bubbling up between intact shells.

I forgot they were on the stove. I rushed downstairs, cursing the waste.

Frog, meet pan. Frog, meet fire.

I turned off the stove. Blue flames die beneath the pot.

I go back to more important activities.

I steal a moment to peel.

Let others take on the burden.

I was so impatient in the past. Maybe that's why the eggs were always gouged.

Just good enough to be smashed and mixed with dressing.

The shell and membrane must detach together.

If they separate, it makes it harder, more likely to rip vital chunks.

Crack wisely. Bigger pieces are always better. Start top down or bottom up.

Highs and lows are prominent for a reason.

Another gouge. No matter. There are less than the batches before.

I'll pull more gently next time, less forceful gesture of the thumb.

But even in my caution, I may still create imperfection.

I take note, release the pressure. I am the only one that demands this much.

An egg is just an egg.

In the right light, I catch membrane stuck to the egg white.

I roll my finger along the curvature.

I re-inspect, catch what remains.

The shells were more cooperative this time. Easier to peel.

Flawless, no. But I think I found the secret.

Maybe next time, I'll do it more quickly.