Once upon a time, as a newlywed, I could cook approximately three things: barbeque chicken, grilled cheese sandwiches, and crab stir fry. So, that is what we ate. A lot. To this day my husband utterly refuses to eat crab stir fry. I cannot imagine for the life of me why.
Everything was going swimmingly until one day he requested something that took me ten years to figure out how to make. That is right. BOILED EGGS. So, in order to boil eggs to absolute perfection, I did what any modern housewife would do.
I Googled it.
I searched the internet for phrases such as “how to boil an egg” and “how do you know if the egg is done?” and “will Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston ever get back together?” (Spoiler alert: it looks like that ship has sailed long ago. Why, Angelina? Why?)
Once I decided that I could never, ever find the secret to boiling an egg online, I decided to move on to other questions of eternal significance, such as “fun things to do with your kids in the summer”, “signs and symptoms of hypothyroidism”, “life expectancy of free range chickens” and “why my husband refuses to eat crab stir fry”.
My online search history is a convoluted tale to say the least.
So, in order to live life as a normal human being on planet earth, I did what any modern housewife should do.
I called my mom.
Turns out, if you want to do fun things with your kids in the summer, YOU PLAY WITH THEM. I, thankfully, do not suffer from hypothyroidism, we could never free range our chickens here, and my husband refuses to eat crab stir fry because in 2004 HE ATE IT NO LESS THAN 52 TIMES THAT YEAR.
And to effectively boil an egg, you leave the eggs on the counter for 15-20 minutes while the water is boiling on the stove. You use tongs to place the eggs in the boiling water. You allow them to boil for 15-20 minutes while you quiz yourself on celebrity breakups, then you remove the eggs and run cold water over them. Finally, you place them back in the fridge overnight. I feverishly wrote down these instructions last year on one of those refrigerator notepads with bunnies and sunflowers on them and have never looked back.
And our boiled eggs have never tasted better.
I am a part of the final generation that remembers what life was life before the internet and after its arrival in almost every home in America. Take it from me: Mama Google does not have all the answers.
Sometimes, you just need to call your Mama.
(Note: This article originally appeared in the April 2nd edition of the LaFollette Press, in my lifestyle editorial, Letters from the Nest)