Loyal reader and frequent commenter Straight in Upstate sent us a story that's perfect for the blog. In his own words, here it is:
We had a Super Bowl party for friends and Gay Co-Worker Dave and his boyfriend, Rick, came. (Rick loves football, and Dave loves Rick.) Dave doesn't believe in putting mustard in his deviled eggs - I disagree but I can respect it. But he does use (and I may be forgetting some things) sour cream, capers, scallions, and onion juice. And there wasn't even any paprika on them. Straight deviled eggs in our part of the world = egg yolks, French's yellow mustard, Miracle Whip (or mayo - we're not tyrants), and paprika on top (preferably from a tin that's been in the cupboard since Mom got married in '56). You can use a frosting bag and pipe in the filling, but don't get too swirly.
Gay Guy has his own vision of the perfect deviled egg. Egg yolk, chopped but not pureed; I like the filling with some texture to it. Just mayo, no mustard. I prefer to spoon mine with a teaspoon into the cooked egg white. I don't have a frosting bag and pipe, and I like the more rustic look that the spoon ladling leaves. Then a fine dusting of antique paprika on top.
I avoid any addition of onion, pickle, sour cream, capers, etc., in egg or tuna salads. The stronger taste makes me fear that the cook is trying to put one over on me -- trying to cover up ingredients that have gone bad.
But on the gay deviled egg saga: As a general rule, I think that gay men can over-accessorize food. We have this urge to over-transform it. One of the early bits of gay social coaching that I got soon after college: No food at a social gathering can be served in its original container. No hummus in the plastic tub that it was born in, no cheese on a plate without a sprig of grapes. I admit, it does look nicer. But, sometimes, I just don't have that extra few minutes. As a gay man, I've already transformed myself and others' expectations of me. More transformation feels exhausting.
So, if you are company (especially a first date), you'll get the hummus in a fancy dish, with a sprinkling of paprika or a grating of orange peel on it. Or, if I know you well, I might just plop the plastic tub down on the coffee table. If I do, don't be offended. It means you're family, at least chosen family.