Since stuffed eggs are a necessary appurtenance to any holiday table in the Mid-South, having an egg plate is required in anyone’s arsenal of tableware. Because egg plates have such a distinctive nature their selection on any given occasion provides a telling clue to the character of their bearer; if you bring a ceramic plate to a funeral or a wedding, you’re going to be labeled white trash (behind your back) and—conversely—if you bring a cut glass plate to a keg party someone’s bound to call you a show-off (to your face).
Egg dishes come in all sizes and shapes, of course; they’re even making disposable ones now, but the number of spaces for egg halves remains a mystery to me. Given that eggs are sold by the dozen or in multiples or fractions thereof, you’d think that egg plates would adhere to that standard, but such is not the case. Of the two egg plates I own, the one of ceramic has twelve depressions, the other of glass has fifteen This gives me reason to believe that my glass plate is older than the egg industry, which makes me smile when I’m loading it for the table.
Such are the rewards of modest pride.