When it comes to deviled eggs, I like being a fancy bastard. While I find the classic iteration to be perfectly charming, I see deviled eggs as a chance to create bespoke ovoid masterpieces with whatever the hell is in all those random jars crammed into the fridge door. I’m not sure why I think I need to have seven types of olives, eleven varieties of upper-middle-class mustard, and a baffling assortment of international sauces open in my fridge at the exact same time, but here I am. Some women get weak in the knees for diamonds—I go gaga for condiments.
Though many would have you believe that mayonnaise is a requirement, I do not believe that anything is mandatory when making deviled eggs; I only use mayo if I want the flavor of mayo. Otherwise, I begin making my filling by smashing hard-boiled egg yolks with a whisk and slowly streaming in olive oil, because olive oil is healthy and I need every reason to justify the fact that I’m about to eat at least a dozen deviled eggs. You can use any sort of fat you want, though: neutral-flavored grapeseed oil, a flavorful avocado oil, or one of the big guns like bacon grease.
Once I’ve made my base, I’ll start throwing in whatever my heart tells me to. Sometimes I get a little bit carried away when adding a squirt of this and a glug of that, and I end up with a filling that tastes amazing, but isn’t quite thick enough to plug up the egg divots. When that happens, I turn my gaze to the top of the fridge, rummage around behind boxes of whole grain cereal and respectably nutritious snacks, and grab my hidden stash of potato chips.
Pulverized plain potato chip crumbs are utterly outstanding at thickening up a loose deviled egg filling, and thanks to the addictive nature of potato starch, they miraculously manage to make deviled eggs even more irresistible. Plain crumbs add texture with a very gentle flavor, making them perfect in situations where you’ve already got a whole lot of flavor going on and don’t want to distract from it—like a well-placed accent rug, crushed potato chips tie the whole deviled egg together. I also love the subtle flavor that pulverized plain Kettle chips add to a filling made with olive oil and lots of fresh herbs from the garden I planted back in April when I was convinced my family needed to learn to “live off the land.” I don’t know what I was expecting to do with all this tarragon and chervil, so into the deviled eggs it goes.
Flavored potato chips are much more than a mere thickener: they open your eyes to a whole new frontier of possibilities, creating a base upon which great feats of deviled egg construction can be built. A personal favorite is whipping up yolks with a bit of cider vinegar, Duke’s mayo, and crushed barbecue chips, then frying up leftover bits of pulled pork or chopped up bacon and folding them in with whatever fat remains in the pan. I’m also a fan of smashing yolks with onion dip and stirring in roughly crushed sour cream and onion potato chips, and maybe some freshly chopped chives from the slightly more popular section of my herb garden.
Though I haven’t made deviled eggs with every chip on earth, a girl can most definitely dream—think of the things humanity could accomplish with a sack of spicy potato chips or cheese puffs. Do you have any lascivious deviled egg fantasies running through your head right now? Please share them in the comments so we can all benefit from your imaginative brilliance. I believe it exists in each and every one of you, and I’d like to consume it in egg form.