Failed Easter Eggs and Big Stinks

We've always had Easter eggs at Easter. Mostly shop bought ones that anyone can have. But my favourite eggs ever where the ones my older sister used to make. We still talk about the ric bubble eggs that took you a week to eat them because they were so solid and hard. And there were the normal chocolate ones, often with M&Ms inside.

We were trying to think of some sort of craft to do for this Easter. While we were discussing it, someone remember the eggs we used to have. At once we girls wanted to make some and have the delicious treats once again.

First we trawlled the internet, trying to find the recipe for the rice bubble eggs. But, look as I might. I couldn't find it. And Mum and Dad were going to buy the stuff that morning! Finally, in despair, I went and told Mum my problem.

She turned on her laptop and did a quick search for me. Within five minutes she had found the recipe, printed it off, and handed it to me. Now I could make a shopping list.

Now that we had all the ingrediants, plus a recipe and instructions, we were ready to go. Everyone found an apron. Cooking makes a mess of little girls clothes. Together we carefully concocted the rice bubble eggs.

The smaller girls mixed and measured, while Charlotte and I supervised. They had enormous fun compacting the mixture into the mould, hitting it (and my fingers) with the back of a dinner spoon. Once the eggs were cool and out of the moulds, we wrapped them in foil. Our first eggs were done.

The next day we decided to tackle to chocolate eggs. Anxiously I checked the recipe instructions over and over again as we waited for the chocolate to melt. It seemed easy enough, but I was still nervous. Knowing my cooking skill, something would go wrong.

However we coated the egg moulds with chocolate and set them aside to cool without any problems. Then, as we had time to spare while we were waiting for the chocolate to set, I decided that we were going to make a special filling for the eggs.

We measured the water and sugar into a saucepan and set it on the stove to bubble away. Charlotte was set the task of watching it, and telling me when the mixture turned amber coloured. In the mean time the little girl and I were trying to clean the enormous mess off the benchtop.

Then suddenly, "Imogen, it's GROWING!" Charlotte cried.
I dashed over to the stove and got a whiff of the most aweful smell imaginable. Quickly I grabbed the mixture and threw it into the sink, where it sat on the bottom giving off steam and stink.

Well, we cleaned that mess up, and got the chocolate eggs out. They were set to perfection. I turned one half upsidedown and tapped it. Then I flexd the mould. The I tapped it again. Finally, I whacked it with all my strength. Still the chocolate shell refused to come out.


"Ok," I said. "This isn't working. We'll scrape out the chocolate and try again. But we'll line the egg moulds with foil so we can lift the chocolate out easily."

And so we tried again. But this time, when we pulled the shells out, they came out. But how terrible they looked. The egg patterning on the side couldn't be seen. The edges were rough and uneven. And when we put the halves together, there were gaping great holes in the side.

I was in despair. We stood in the middle of the kitchen. Defective eggs sat on the side. dirty dishes were strewed everywhere. Chocolate was spattered over everything. And to top it all off, the terrible stink was still hanging around. What a disaster!

At that very moment, Mum arrived home from town.
"Pooh,"she said as she walked in. "What's that smell?"

We told her the whole story. She listened attentively, then suggested, "How about you make little chocolates instead? I've got stuff you can use to make an easy filling."

At this, we felt we were rescued. Filled with new energy we cleaned up the old mess, remelted all the chocolate, made up the filling, and opened a window. And finally the terrible stink gave up, and floated away.

We worked away on the chocolates, and, by the end of the afternoon, we had 64 chocolates made, wrapped in foil, and packed away in the fridge.

Then, after washing what felt like the one hundredth load of dishes, Charlotte and I collapsed in our room. It had all turned out well in the end, but not due to me. Thanks to Mum we had lots of lovely treats waiting for us. So never ask me to make you Easter eggs unless you like huge messes and big stinks.