I prepared this feast to commemorate the day Mecha-Jesus rose from the grave and used his laser-vision to free Mothra from the evil clutches of King Ghidorah, thus returning peace to the universe and absolving us of our sins. Amen.
What with being a Jew and all, Easter’s always carried a lot of significance in my life. It’s the most important holiday after Chanukkah, Passover, Yom Kippur, Thanksgiving, Christmas, President’s Day, Arbor Day, the NBA’s Latino Heritage Month, and Groundhog Day Day (not the holiday itself, but every August 12th, I watch the movie Groundhog Day for 24 straight hours. It requires a lot of patience, Doritos, and enough prescription study drugs to take down a bull elephant). But this Easter falls on a very special day. A day where you can wake up, breathe in the crisp morning air, soak up the dank vibes, throw on a playlist labeled “Chillstep Mix ’09″, and reflect on the miracles of Jesus Christ… or something, I don’t know.
I’ve celebrated holidays for a while, albeit mostly against my will. I don’t mean to imply that every holiday I’ve celebrated has been completely miserable. I’ve had some fun times here and there, but they’re generally just major inconveniences that fall on the same day, year after year. Just a series of perennial inconveniences, followed by an untimely death. And then you die. And that’s what life is. This is why I want to start celebrating holidays my way, starting with a few simple substitutions.
Instead of family, celebrate with friends
This is a no-brainer. Friends are like family, except you get to hand-pick them individually to ensure common interests and a similar worldview. What a fucking concept. Now at the dinner table, I can talk about NFL Mock Drafts instead of explaining why apartheid was wrong to octogenarians. The term “they were happier that way” gets thrown around during Rosh Hashana. Nothing sets off the taste of overcooked lambs like mint jelly and overt racism.
Instead of a conversation, let the television speak
I don’t mind talking. I like to be heard. I like to dazzle people with my fancy city words, but nothing in the world is more satisfying than watching the Cowboys self-destruct over 4 hours in complete silence. Every Thanksgiving – every single one – has been ruined by conversation. Oh, your kid has a .384 OBP in Little League? Is the coach calling him the “Joey Votto of 9-Year-Olds”? Wow, that’s incredible. Literally, fuck your face. I don’t care.
Instead of sparkling cider, drink craft beer
It’s fizzy fucking apple juice. That’s all it is. The type of person who still buys Martinelli’s is the person who eventually puts a “My Child Got Perfect Attendance at ______ Elementary School” bumper sticker on the back of their Subaru. Get yourself a Soda Stream and a bottle of Mott’s, and save yourself some money. Be an adult and buy a bottle of Cismontane Black Dawn or an Ommegang Hennepin Saison. The more you drink, the more bearable the holiday gets.
And then there’s the food. We settle for the same boxed, canned, and arbitrarily traditional food year after year without questioning why. What’s the causal relationship between green beans, cream of mushroom soup, and the resurrection of Christ? On this holiest of holy days, I decided to cook whatever extravagant nonsense I saw fit. Good friends, good TV, good craft beer, and good food. That’s all I ever wanted. Happy April 20th.
An Easter Feast of Dank Proportions
Burrito Benedict – smoked salmon / poached egg/hollandaise/salmon roe/barbacoa burrito.
Hollandaise smoked salmon and poached eggs are the fucking trifectas. They’re the three pillars on which all brunch dishes should be built. Like Jesus said, “build thy house on stone, and it shall stand for eternity, but give a man a fish, and he eats for a day.” I wanted to make smoked salmon benedict, but English muffins are stupid, and I don’t believe in supporting British industry. So instead, I froze a barbacoa burrito from Chipotle, sliced off 1-inch rounds, then I beer battered, panko crusted, and deep fried the shit out of them. Then I topped it with salmon roe, just because I could.
Western Bacon Crunchwrap Burger – grass fed / bacon / BBQ sauce / onion rings / american cheese / beer battered crunchwrap
I don’t want to put judgments in your head, but I think I might have gone overboard on this one. Carl’s Jr’s Western Bacon Cheeseburger and Taco Bell’s Crunchwrap Supreme are the two most perfect fast food items ever made. The Crunchwrap Supreme’s shape is concordant with both the Divine Ratio and the Fibonacci sequence (I don’t know what either of those mean, I just read the Da Vinci Code) – it’s pretty much Jesus’s last gift to man. I bought two Crunchwraps, beer-battered and deep fried, for lunch, then used them as giant buns for a homemade Western Bacon Cheeseburger. It seemed reasonable at the time.
Carne Ham-sada Tacos – chile lime ham / chipotle honey slaw / charred pineapple & mint salsa/flour tortillas
For dinner, seeing as Easter and we don’t want to offend the Gods, I went traditional and threw some ham into the mix. Well maybe it’s not all that traditional, but it was dank as fuck, and I know a Latin dude named Jesus, so it makes sense on that level. I seasoned the ham as if I were making carne asada – with a ton of fresh garlic and lime – then threw it in a pan and onto a tortilla. The charred pineapple salsa with roasted jalapeno and mint made a surprising amount of sense – the sweet heat countered the saltiness of the ham nicely.
Pink & Purple Peeple Eater – pre-made cherry pie/peeps/butter
So as it turns out, melted peeps don’t have the same texture, flavor, or non-carcinogenic qualities as a meringue. Nor does it make a good pie topping. Holy shit, was this terrible? I melted five packs of peeps down with 2 sticks of butter, then poured it on top of a store-bought cherry pie. Which, now that I write it out, seems completely ludicrous. This is why I can’t go to the store alone. Or be within 500 feet of an elementary school.
Cheers, everyone, Happy Easter.