Easter Egg Cracking

After Easter dinner in our family, the table isn’t quite finished.

I’m usually the one who brings out the eggs.

Growing up, my mom always dyed them deep red. She said the color symbolized the blood of Christ. By the time the eggs were finished soaking in the dye, everyone’s fingers usually turned red too.

Then the contest would start.

Each person picks an egg and taps it against someone else’s. One shell cracks, the other survives. The person with the unbroken egg moves on to the next challenger.

In Greek families the game is sometimes called egg cracking, or tsougrisma. The red eggs are traditional for Easter and symbolize new life. But at the table, the symbolism quickly gives way to competition.

Everyone believes they’ve picked the strongest egg.

People study them like engineers—looking for one that’s a little more pointed, a little more solid. Some think the darker eggs are stronger. Others believe it’s all in how you hold it or how you strike.

Before long, someone usually asks if any of the eggs are rigged.

Maybe one has been filled with glue.
Maybe someone secretly hardened the shell.

No one ever proves anything, but the suspicion always adds to the competition.

This year, the tradition carried on.

I introduced this to my wife’s family 21 years ago, and we’ve played it every year since. Somewhere along the way, it just became part of our Easter.

Instead of the usual carton, I set the eggs out on ceramic trays—something a little nicer for the table. I made extra, like my grandma always did. We planned for six, but ended up with eleven.

My wife, our two kids, my in-laws, and me. My son came home from college for the weekend. My daughter’s boyfriend stopped by after eating with his family—his first time being introduced to the tradition.

He didn’t have much of a choice.

With the extra eggs, two went to our dogs, Bailey and Murphy. We had them “inspect” the tray and signal which egg they wanted. The remaining two became Michigan State and the University of Michigan.

A possible house divided.

Bailey had a strong showing.

But in the end, I was the winner.

The last unbroken egg at the table. Good luck for the year ahead.

And it was a red egg.

That felt about right.

Of course, since I made and dyed the eggs, there were immediate calls to inspect it—just to make sure it wasn’t rigged.

It wasn’t.

At least, nothing anyone could prove.

Afterward, I told my son I was thinking about tracking the results each year—who wins, what color, anything that might reveal a pattern.

He pointed out it might take a while to gather meaningful data.

He’s probably right.

But if the tradition continues, we’ll have time.

2026 Winner: John, red egg