If you didn’t experiment with cooking rabbit or gather around a splendid haunch of lamb this Easter, you probably invoked that most classic and welcome dinner guest, the glazed holiday ham.
Salty and magenta-hued, this magnificent bastion of porky resplendence is beloved not just for its initial holiday debut, but especially for the days and days of leftovers to follow.
This is a glorious and celebratory time, a time Jason and I exuberantly declare to be HAMFEST.
As much as I love to bake, I have only a handful of dessert recipes that I rely on time and time again. I’m usually more interested in trying new recipes or experimenting with elaborate concoctions that, while fun to play with, aren’t always the most practical to whip out for an unexpected visitor or last-minute craving.
So I was much intrigued and hopeful when I ran across this classic, simple Chez Panisse Almond Torte recipe featured on Alexandra’s Kitchen. Made with pantry staples and fresh items you almost always have on hand, it was the perfect recipe – images of tender, buttery, almond-scented cake, hot out of the oven at a moment’s notice enthralled me, and I ran to the kitchen to whip up this easy masterpiece.
And it was a huge disaster.
Looking to make something on-theme and extremely on-the-nose for Easter dinner this year? Ive got the perfect recipe to expand your meat horizons and scar your children, with equal measure.
Rabbit. Served on a bed of carrots.
Consider it payback for the blue fescue bushes in my front yard, Peter Cottontail. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
When cooking a brisket in a household of only two people, the problem is you have meat for days. DAYS.
The initial meal can get you through at least a couple of nights. For the inaugural meal, I slow-braised the weighty side of beef in a pool of beef stock (with a healthy splash of Guinness) along with bobbing bits of onion, potato, multicolor carrots and pickling spices – classic pot roast style elevated by the substitution of savory, salty pink corned beef, you can feast on that for at least a day or two.
And then, the sandwiches begin.
Sifting through a pile of St. Patrick’s Day’s most relevant breakfast cereal, I found myself full of questions.
Could I name all of the Lucky Charms from memory? Wouldn’t the cereal be luckier if there were seven charms rather than the current eight? Is the cereal mascot offensive to the Irish, or perhaps just unflattering to leprechauns?
I contemplated, discarding chipped horseshoes and broken rainbows, fishing out only the best and most-charmed marshmallows to bring my pavlova luck.
Are balloons really charmed? I feel like that’s a stretch. Same goes for hourglasses.