Not to whisk my own yolk, but I am a genius in the kitchen. I know my corn from my quinoa; my Hollandaise from my Bernaise. However, I am very sad and ashamed to admit that I have yet to master the seemingly basic culinary skill of boiling an egg.
I think Forrest Gump had it wrong; life isn't like a box of chocolates, life is like peeling a hard-boiled egg - you never know what you're gonna get. Sometimes, I luck out and the shell detaches from the white as if it's been visiting relatives for Christmas and can't wait to finish the egg nog (cannovalism?) and get out of there. Most of the time, though, the shell hangs on like the white is the only family it has left in this crazy world. It chips off in teeny bits and when it does finally come off, it takes most of the white with it.
This last batch of eight eggs followed this terrible tendency - only two of the eggs still looked like eggs when I was done peeling them. At one point, I got so frustrated that I threw one egg full force into the sink; it looked like a breakfast crime scene in there afterwards. This is my egg-peeling saga. Maybe one day I will learn how to perfectly boil an egg. Alas, today was not that day.