our borrowed smoker. Yes, that's the hippie camper bus on the right.
His Uncle Mike built this one, and we're giving it a temporary home. I never thought I'd say this a few years ago, but I really hope it can be a permanent home! Scott has smoked some of the most delectable dishes (using apple wood from our wonderful neighbors' pruned orchard) in there that I've ever tasted in my life. No longer is a smoked Thanksgiving turkey a smelly nuisance. Smoked rosemary-rubbed chicken is a delight. My favorite snack this afternoon was the crispy smoked skin from the chicken. Smoked beef roast . . .well, I need to go get a napkin. It's making me drool.
Then there are my smoked eggs. Thanks to my wonderful hubby finding a recipe, and my faithful friends letting me do taste tests on them, I've settled on my method. Boil in brine, chill eggs, replace in cooled brine to steep, then slowly bring up to temp in the smoker. They taste like bacon and eggs without the grease. YUM.
The reason for the smokescreen today was that Scott had promised a coworker a dozen smoked eggs at the next company potluck lunch. All of a sudden (yesterday) he remembered that the potluck was Thursday (and he'll be gone tomorrow). EEK. I usually like to give my eggs more brine soak time than that. Then he figured that he didn't want to tend the smoker all day for 2 dozen eggs, so he went out and got the chicken and roast. Well, as he got tied up with calls while working from home, I ended up tending the smoker this morning. It's not hard, but I'll tell ya what folks, it's pretty interesting when part of a smoldering log falls out of the firebox onto your boot. Luckily it was the boot with the hole in it, so I wasn't too worried. I had fun stamping out all the stray embers.
So here's the finished product:
That lovely marbling is from the condensation dripping on them in the smoker. They're still in the shell.
Now if I could just figure out how not to have the green ring around the yolk. I chilled them promptly and properly. Maybe it's because I cook them twice. ARGH. Oh well, the taste makes up for it.
So I hope you don't mind if I smoke. Luckily my neighbors don't seem to mind, thank goodness. My husband is becoming quite the smoke artist, and that suits me just fine. Hopefully next time he'll give me enough notice to do the eggs properly!
And, just to give him credit on Valentine's Day, he came through in spectacular form. Not only did he smoke the meat for supper tonight, but I found these flowers waiting for me after surviving being a room parent at Caitlin's Kindergarten party. Whatta guy!