Of Easter, Eggs, and Excess

I’m sure anyone from New England has heard their fair share of complaints about the incessant cold, the miserable rain, the sunless skies, and the seemingly eternal winter. Yesterday, however, was one of those mornings where you wake up and the carpet is dappled with little puddles of sunlight and the birds are singing blithely, and everything just seems like a Disney movie. Since spring finally seems to be arriving (never mind the ominous grey sky as I type), it seems time to do a quick seasonal, albeit belated, Easter re-cap.

Being the good Jewish girl that I am, I do not celebrate Easter for remotely religious purposes. Usually I would say that I celebrate egg dying, colorful dresses, chocolate bunnies and being with family. But to be truthful, this year our Easter was pretty much an homage to excess, which consisted of me striving to eat as much food as possible (I think Chloe was celebrating similarly).

Saturday was a day of preparation. There was many a pie crust to be made and myriad eggs to be dyed. Egg dying is a skill to be honed over many years, and everyone had their own spin on how to best display their creativity. I used to draw idyllic scenes on one surface of the egg, but stuck primarily to an abstract array of swirls and dots this year. When I saw fifteen boxes of eggs sitting on the counter I was quite intimidated, but with all of the Lutts clan hard at work, they were all colored and ready for hiding in just a few hours.

I woke up early on Sunday morning to a household overflowing with people and a counter laden with golden sticky buns dripping with nuts and glaze, and a mounded bowl of fresh fruit salad. After eating two of the sticky buns (logically I had a heaping plate of fruit to counteract the early onset of diabetes), I was taught how to properly slice and dice an avocado for guacamole, the correct way to cut lemons for pink lemonade, and finally piled our homemade piecrust high with fresh apple slices doused with cinnamon and sugar. The egg hunt commenced and breakfast turned to a brunch buffet. I can’t possibly list everything but there were deviled eggs (but of course), immense hams, turkey, asparagus, multiple green salads, potato salad, crudités, mimosas, two chocolate pies piled high with whipped cream, and finally our apple pie, crystals of browned sugar adorning the top.

I forgot to mention that despite both wearing delicate floral Anthropologie Easter dresses, Chloe and I wore puffy winter coats over them all day. The temperature wasn’t too cold, but the wind was brisk and biting. As I spied an egg behind a barren tree, I mused rather dejectedly that you can’t depend on spring weather for Easter in New England. But soon enough I was back inside, curled up on the cushy couch with a mimosa in one hand and a thick slice of warm pie in the other. And I think: maybe that’s okay. It’s not just the weather that makes a season, or a day, or a holiday. It’s the people, it’s the experience, it’s the tradition. And oh yeah, lest I forget: it’s the food.