Once, when I was in my first decade of life, I stared at a platter of chilled, "eyeball eggs," as I called them, and vowed to never, ever eat one. A temper tantrum may, or may not have been involved. Now, two decades later, here I am, on the other side of the fence, albeit somewhat mystified how it came to be that I now scan buffets for the little suckers. I think the name says it all; like the neighborhood bad boy, the deviled egg is a love-it or hate-it treat. And, as with wine and coffee, … [Read more...]