When I was a kid, the only egg salad I would ever eat was Mrs. Hurley’s egg salad. Mrs. Hurley was my sister’s and my childhood babysitter who watched us during our early years. We did jigsaw puzzles, played boardgames and did a whole lot of learning.
Mrs. Hurley decorated her house for every holiday. She photographed milestones for my sister and me. She even wrote the date on the backs of photos when she had them developed. She was loving, but firm, and never once balked at our outrageously particular half-sandwich requests at snack time.
If cold cuts were an option, I’d ask for ham with melted swiss and provolone. My sister would ask for ham with cream cheese, butter and raspberry jam. Mrs. Hurley, knowing our orders by heart, would open the fridge and reach for the shallow rectangular Tupperwares where she kept her cold cuts. She’d toast the bread and assemble our half sandwiches to our exact specifications.
Occasionally Mrs. Hurley would make egg salad. She’d use an egg slicer to finely dice the eggs, which I appreciated because I fearfully rejected most forms of egg whites for the first 20 years of my life. I never knew what she put in it, but Mrs. Hurley’s egg salad was the best. It had a uniform (not chunky) consistency, and she always served it on toasted sliced bread—the perfect vehicle for a mushy sandwich filling….