Once, when Mom was out for a visit, she made egg salad sandwiches. The kids wolfed them down before I had a chance to nab a sample. Their mouths were still full when they asked for another round. I paid close attention as she prepared another batch, and watched her pull a move I didn’t even know existed. She snapped a piece of celery in half, leaving the two pieces connected by the fibers that run down the ridge of a celery stalk. She pulled the two pieces apart, yanking the strings from both pieces at once. Then she hunted for more, digging and tugging out the fibers with the tip of a knife. The de-stringed celery had a glowing, freshly scrubbed look, while the strings sat in a tangled pile like a green hairball. The resulting egg salad, which I managed to taste, was crunchy and soft, chunky yet …