If you aren’t fighting over the last olive eyeball while someone’s elbow digs into your ribs, you’re doing Classic Deviled Eggs Halloween Decorations wrong. Period. My Uncle Ray used to hover by the fridge like a vulture in a Hawaiian shirt, waiting for my mother to finish piping those little orange pumpkins and white ghosts onto the platter. The kitchen smelled like sulfur and vinegar—that sharp, eggy slap that hits you when you peel a dozen hot eggs too fast. Steam fogged up her glasses. The dog barked at the mixer. Someone always cried about the paprika being ‘too spicy’ … Find out more