Where do you turn when you’re trying to eat healthy, can’t stomach another can of tuna, and you’re not yet able to splurge on a personal chef? The hard-boiled egg.
It’s the budget superfood that can allow for a week’s worth of lunches, without breaking the bank. But while the wallet is full, there are still a couple of hurdles between you and that lunch.
Firstly, you need to ward off all negative criticisms about eating eggs, by ensuring everyone you won’t be stinking out the office. Do not heat your little protein hits in the microwave – they say things smell like rotten eggs for reason, it’s just not on.
Secondly, you need to peel it. It’s every eggoholic’s nightmare. Sometimes I win gold, and other times I’m left with a dog’s breakfast. My dog probably has a better breakfast tbh.
When it’s bad, it’s bad. Self-doubt kicks in, why is this so hard? I’ve done this so many times before? My dad says it’s a daily gamble, based on pure luck.
The battle against Mt Eggerest is hard enough alone, but when it’s 1pm in an office kitchen, you’re not alone. Everyone is staring at me as a I hover over the bin with my broken dreams in my hands and half the egg gone. Shame sets in. Advice begins to be handed out.
Maybe Susan from accounts is right, I should have run this bad boy under cold water as soon as I finished boiling it. But the Bachelor was starting, I didn’t have time.
Suggestions are coming in thick and fast now. Is this really a six-person job? The new guy is telling me I should have steamed it. Pardon? That seems out of my skill set, this isn’t MasterChef.
Someone else chimes in and tells me next time I need to add baking soda to the water. Okay, they’re obviously re-watching Breaking Bad.
Steven from Sales is asking me for the exact age of the egg? Apparently older eggs are easier to peel than fresh? Sorry Steve, I know we are all into farm-to-table goodness, but I wasn’t present when this egg was laid.
The shell is ripping off more and more egg. Straight into the bin it falls. I’m genuinely running out of egg.
My boss spots the commotion and wants to start running me through the “one hand rolling” technique. Is this egg peeling or a dance move? I may be interested, if the latter.
This is the point where I usually give up, I don’t even want to eat this. I throw my ball of pure yolk covered in shell shrapnel in the bin. It’s become apparent that I was not raised a peeler.
Time for Sushi.