Sadly, deviled eggs do not have their roots in the witch trials of Salem, or in one of the dark, soul-ratting tales of H.P. Lovecraft. But they do have a history, dating back to ancient Rome, when they were a special treat for the upper crust, who would begin their meals of boar stuffed with chicken with a hard-cooked egg sprinkled with herbs and spices.
The more colorful descriptive of “deviled” didn’t come into common usage till the 1800s, when just about any spicy food was given demonic roots — such as deviled ham and fra diavolo sauce. (They must get a lot of heartburn down in Hades!)
But despite being taken from Satan’s cookbook, deviled eggs evolved over the years into a standard at church picnics, and family get-togethers on Sunday afternoons. Though in a more polite society, they would be cleansed of their hint of fire and brimstone with neatly manicured names like “stuffed eggs,” “salad eggs” and “dressed eggs” — none of which are nearly as colorful as “deviled eggs.”
And none of which existed for me growing up in the Bronx.
We ate hard-boiled eggs. We ate soft-boiled eggs. We flavored them with salt. Life was simple. We did not use mayonnaise, mustard, vinegar or pickle relish. I didn’t know what I was missing. For the rest of America, deviled eggs were as standard as apple pie and a tuna fish or chopped chicken salad at picnics. For me, they were just rubbery eggs with coarse salt.
I was totally out of step with the taste of the nation.
One survey found that 61 percent of Americans ate deviled eggs at Easter Sunday feasts. Egg cartons were saved to carry deviled eggs to picnics. My hard-cooked eggs seem pretty weak compared to the caviar and anchovies mixed in deviled eggs served around the globe. This particular devil has a worldwide reach.
And, after many decades of being as Middle American as Jell-O salad, deviled eggs are making a comeback in restaurants — both down-home and trendy. Chefs who have spent years doing interesting things with compound butters and quirky herbs have come to see the deviled egg as a tabula rasa — a dish so mundane in its essential ingredients that it’s open to just about any variation that can be dreamed of.
These days, I always order deviled eggs, if they’re on the menu, just to see what twists and turns Old Scratch has in his bag of tricks. The devil may be evil, but his eggs sure do taste good.
Fishwives
88 N. Fair Oaks Ave., Old Pasadena; 626-219-6199, www.fishwives.com
At Fishwives in Pasadena, how about those fried oysters over deviled eggs — a combination of two favorite dishes on one plate. How lucky can a guy get? And it’s seasoned with Old Bay, which would make pencil shavings taste good.
There’s a basket of steamers, with half a Maine lobster thrown in for the fun of it. The fish and chips is perfectly crisp … the grilled Spanish octopus with a squid ink vinaigrette that’s properly exotic … and there’s both a Maine lobster roll and a Dungeness crab roll, competing rolls from opposite coasts.
For the table, there’s braised kale, fried pickles, even mac and cheese. Otherwise, this is a seafood restaurant, with no variation from the theme, a destination for those who love the sea and its goodness, and like it with a nice pinot grigio to wash it all down.
I grew up in a world of seafood. If you’re raised by the shore — and especially by the Atlantic — fish is going to be a big part of your life. I fished, I cooked, I ate, I found joy in fish as prosaic and dull as haddock, flounder, blue fish and Dover sole (which was once described to me as having “the taste and texture of a wet Mackintosh”).
I did not grow up loving the long-cooked, greyish vegetables of my youth. But a nice plate of fish makes me a very happy camper. For me, Fishwives is a bit of seafood heaven. Really, all that’s missing is the briny Pacific, lapping at the shore outside the restaurant — rather than cars racing north to the freeway entrance. Oh well, you can’t always get what you want, now can you?
The place certainly looks right, with its whitewashed walls, with little white fishies leaping on them, its counter/oyster bar with quirky tilework underneath, its hanging globe lights, and laidback staff with their gimme caps turned brim side back. It’s understated, minimalist, medium cool — a restaurant in search of a tide.
Instead, there’s Old Pasadena, with its alleys and lads hoisting a brew while watching the game. (Which, for the record, you can do at Fishwives as well, with its big screens and decent-sized beer list of draft and bottles; have a well-named Scrimshaw Pilsner with your oysters, or a Three Weavers Seafarer.)
Seafood is everywhere — and very fine it is, too, but not fussy at all. There’s a shrimp co*cktail variation, made with Dungeness crab and shrimp, that will spoil you on the steakhouse standard shrimp co*cktail forever.
The three-fish ceviche — halibut, amberjack and salmon — named for Tokyo’s magnificent Tsukiji Fish Market, is an exercise in simple perfection. As is the sashimi plate of kampachi, halibut, scallops, salmon and uni. I love the presence of the uni, a statement that this is a sashimi plate for those who really love the sea.
Foothill
2835 E. Foothill Blvd., Pasadena; 626-449-2337, www.foothill.co
The deviled eggs are made Foothill-style with bacon bits, blue cheese and chili powder — which is not the way my mama ever imagined making it. But mostly, this is a very good, neighborhood restaurant/gastropub with comfort food for locals who have many culinary choices. And in this case, they want to just kick back with a hot fudge sundae on a Sunday night.
For me, who had also gone there to do some serious eating along with the game of the moment, there were many pleasures from my bestiary of dishes I crave to calm my tumultuous soul. Not just the deviled eggs — though you can be sure I ordered them — but also the braised short rib sliders, which also come as braised short rib tacos.
Are short ribs, long-cooked — “gedempte,” as we say in the trade — with crispy onions in one case, and caramelized onions in the other, the best bar food in the world? Many dishes here make me happy.
I was glad to find a nice complex Cobb salad that took this venerable Chasen’s creation to the next level, with a toss of chicken, smoked bacon, cherry toms, hard cooked egg, avocado, Pt. Reyes blue cheese and a blue cheese dressing. Blue cheese with blue cheese is my idea of a very good night on the town.
I didn’t grow up with blue cheese. But like many converts, I love it not wisely, but too well. I’m making up for all those lost years, whenever I can.
The braised short ribs reappear under the entrées, made with a coffee braise, served with garlic-heavy green beans and whipped potatoes — a comfort dish on steroids.
There are unexpected classics, including the beef Stroganoff and shepherd’s pie, which isn’t so much a pie, as a lake of beef stew surrounded by a shore of mashed spuds. The burger is served with ketchup, as a proper burger should be served.
And there’s always that hot fudge sundae to finish up the night. Or, if you wish, to be the whole night. I’ve known folks over the years who have dessert for dinner. If it’s what you need to save your soul, why not? You can always diet tomorrow.
Golden Corral
17635 Castleton St., City of Industry; 626-839-8188, www.goldencorral.com
Golden Corral? The massive all-you-can-eat buffet chain as a destination for deviled eggs? Well, why not? Right there in the midst of the salad buffet section, are a rotating selection of personal favorites — artichoke hearts, pickled beets, wasabi peas, marinated asparagus, bacon bits, deviled eggs, bacon dressing and more. This is not a diet salad. This is a manly salad. And a good one, too.
When I visited, there were families galore on line at the Golden Corral in City of Industry, most of whom waited with more anticipation than annoyance. This was like going to a party where just being together for an hour or so, as the line slowly crept inside, was a big part of the experience. (No one seems to cut into the line, or try to push ahead. The crowd at Golden Corral is far better behaved the fans at, say, a Dodger game. And better fed, as well.)
In time, you do get in. In time, you find a table. And in time, you start working your way through the buffet, which is divided into a variety of areas. There were posters on the walls, touting the wonders of the house meatloaf (which is very good, and very solid, as a meatloaf should be), the chocolate wonderfall, the hand-dipped ice cream, the Key West boneless grilled chicken, the island spareribs, the pepper grilled tilapia. It’s like dining in a museum, surrounded by portraits of food. And, yes, food.
How to deal with the food? It is more than a little overwhelming. I haven’t been to the weekend Sunrise Breakfast Buffet (they like to give snappy names to their concepts), though I suspect I’d go pretty much mad for the corned beef hash, the smoked sausage, the Texas toast, and the Cin-a-Gold Rolls. (The menu also mentions creamed chipped beef, a name I haven’t heard since high school, where it had a sundry of more colorful monikers.)
I haven’t been to lunch, either. But I have been to dinner. And it was very hard to behave. I passed on the soups — broccoli cheese, white bean and ham, and potato with bacon — because they would take up space that other dishes could fill.
Great Maple
The Paseo, 300 E. Colorado Blvd., Pasadena; 626-714-7625, www.thegreatmaple.com
What makes me happy at the bar (aside from the fact that I’m always happy sitting at bars), is being able to order a drink, accompanied by good small dishes like the truffled deviled eggs, flavored with truffle oil, with a topping of deep-fried parmesan.
There also are sliders made with brisket smoked in-house. A hummus made with chickpeas and charred cauliflower. And something served during happy hour called the Happy Hour Lunchable — chorizo, manchego cheese, olives, preserves made in-house — all on crunchy olive oil toast. If you’ve ever had an actual Lunchable — a nasty creation that bears only a passing resemblance to food — you appreciate the wit of the name.
Great Maple (a “modern American eatery,” as it informs us), fits so nicely on the ground floor of The Paseo Colorado — giving the ground floor a point, a direction, a central vector — it’s hard to believe it hasn’t always been there.
With its outdoor patio, it meanders from indoors to outdoors, allowing diners to mingle with shoppers. It’s also a destination that brings in locals who show up not to shop, but to dine. And then, maybe (The Paseo hopes!) do a little shopping while they’re there.
The bar is certainly a fine place to sit at Great Maple, perhaps not as appealing as the outdoor patio, but petty cozy as it is. Or at least, as cozy as a bar where the mixologists go through bottles of Tito’s vodka at a mad rate can be.
There’s a small selection of craft beer on draft, and a moderate selection of wines, though a surprisingly large number of bubblies. The regular menus aren’t so much witty as they are a combination of classic and creative; this is a kitchen that likes to meander out of the box, and even off the grid.
Show up for the weekend brunch, and you’ll find French toast served as logs — sort of edible Lincoln Logs. Fried chicken is served with maple bacon flavored doughnuts.
Rather than corned beef hash, there’s a hash of brisket with sweet potato, topped with poached eggs — a very good dish. The burgers are big, big enough for two.
Should you be in need of some sugar shock, try the lemon meringue doughnut sundae. It comes with berry ice cream, which seems positively dietary compared to the rest of the dish. Combine it, if you want, with the sloe gin co*cktail called a Blackberry Cobbler. Though do have a designated driver, should you turn into a toddler at Chuck E. Cheese from all the sweetness.
The Proper
464 Foothill Blvd., La Cañada-Flintridge; 818-790-4888, www.properrestaurant.com
The Proper is a properly good restaurant in an improperly unexpected location. Or perhaps it shouldn’t be unexpected. For here in Southern California, restaurants are never quite where you expect them to be.
The Proper sits in a strip mall, just off the 210 Freeway, on a street lined with chain eateries and many malls. It’s a street where you go to do your grocery shopping, and maybe get repairs done. It’s not a street where you’d expect Spam sliders and deviled eggs with cold fried chicken at the bar, along with freshly cracked oysters, and co*cktails with names like 12 Mile Limit, Ward 8 and Floradora. To say nothing of a recent nightly special co*cktail referred to simply as Penicillin. Which will almost surely heal what ails you.
At the bar, there are “proper snacks” like the Bloomin’ Bacon Bread (a cousin of the breakfast bread), smooshed potatoes with a crab Oscar topping — and clam chowder croquettes. Seriously, they’ve turned soup into a croquette.
And, yes, there really are sliders made with Spam — and a quail egg served sunny side up. Unique, I’d guess, in the world. The bar snacks are found on the dinner menu as well, along with a world of comfort foods (turkey pot pie, pot roast with buttered grits, crispy skin chicken and more).
They do love their Brussels sprouts here; they toss them with bacon, parmesan and a fried egg. There’s a substantial mac and cheese. And there’s a menu of Dailies that change, well, daily. Duck soup anyone? Order it today — for it may be gone tomorrow. But not The Proper. It will be around for a properly long time.
Merrill Shindler is a Los Angeles-based freelance dining critic. Email mreats@aol.com.
