The great egg-splosion

I, of course, was eating in front of the computer.

I love me some hard-boiled eggs. But hard-boiled eggs, it seems, hate to be eaten by me. They physically resist me, making it a battle to get their shells off and shedding thousands of pieces in protest. Even in their defeat, I am still conquered by the cleanup, making the victory a rather pyrrhic one.

And then there’s the issue of the wait-time involved in getting them ready. Being a rather impatient child, waiting for the eggs to boil was agony when I was younger. There must be a faster way to cook them, I thought, as my eyes slid over to the microwave.

But an egg by itself explodes. So does an egg in a bowl of water. As does one wrapped in a paper towel. Or a wet paper towel. Even microwaving it in 5-second increments still caused egg eruptions (although I think with longer cool-down periods in between this still might work.)

Finally, tired of cleaning the microwave, and with my mom noticing her rapidly depleting store of eggs, an end was put to the experiments. I thought my days of ovum outbursts were far behind me.

I decided to have one for a snack last night, though I still hate waiting for eggs to boil, and even worse, peeling them. But during the boiling period, I did research on the easiest ways to shell an egg (Tim Ferris has a rather interesting method , but seriously, making sure there’s two inches of water above them, throwing in baking soda, and icing them down — I’m lucky if I remember to throw salt in the water).

After a goodly amount of time (and by that I mean, when my stomach growled), I drained the water from the pot, doused the egg with cold water, tapped it all over when it was cool enough to hold and voila! The shell came off fairly easily and the egg appeared cooked.

Although it had recently been boiled, I thought microwaving it with the fried rice I had added (yes, this is still considered a snack) couldn’t hurt because now it was cooked and wasn’t in its shell.

After the timer dinged, I brought it out, sprinkled Lawry’s garlic salt over it (my favorite way to eat it), breathed in the heavenly smell of vegetable fried rice and egg and prepared to dig in.

The egg, of course, exploded. But what amazed me the most about it was how.

With no containment in a microwave, an exploding egg has quite the range. I found egg pieces at least 9 feet away. As I write this, a piece of egg white mocks me from on high; it’s so far up a wall that I can’t reach it even while I standing on a chair (full disclosure: I am on the shorter side). The force was so great it sent grains of rice and vegetables flying as well.

Even more uncanny was how the egg pieces were dispersed. Most of the globs found their way into the most difficult corner to access. As it was past midnight and I didn’t think my neighbors would be too enthralled with the sound of a vacuum cleaner (although they may already have been awakened by the screaming that accompanied the explosion), I had to pick up all the chunks by hand.

But perhaps the most remarkable thing about the exploding egg was the texture of it. There were slivers and lumps and hunks and crumbs; but my favorite (said with dripping sarcasm) was the fine spray.

After the explosion, I found myself covered, from the chest up, in particles so fine it would be fitting to call it “egg dust.” My husband’s USC cap, his favorite, which had been 6 inches away from the dispersion point, was also covered in it (although this occurrence inspires much less sympathy in me — go Bruins!).

I am sure this episode is far from over. Weeks from now, I expect to be finding fragments by their sulfurous smell.

But I vow to keep boiling, and eating, eggs. I will conquer that carton, I will whip those egg whites, I will not be undone by the unhatched.

I have egg on my face now but watch out — the yolk will be on you.

Jammie Karlman is the entertainment editor for the Chico Enterprise-Record. Contact her at buzz@chicoer.com. Follow her on Twitter @JammieKarlman