In the south, we do deviled eggs at pretty much every function. Everyone’s gramma makes the best, and even though my husband’s aunt MJ’s aren’t too shabby, they don’t come close to my Gramma Ginger’s. He disputes this fact, but he just doesn’t understand.
One thing you have to understand about deviled eggs: they smell vaguely… fart-ish. Still, a perfectly done deviled egg is out of this world. Just ignore the smell.
Similarly, after living in New York for a few years I came to fall in love with deli-style egg salad. Piled sky high on some rye bread with some celery and a tad bit of mustard – if there are better ways to spend 5 bucks, I can’t think of it right now.