Easter is this weekend. When I was a kid, my grandma used to put candy in plastic eggs and hide them all around her house in rural Connecticut. If you were lucky, you got the egg with the Miniature Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups in it. If you weren’t lucky, you got jellybeans and a nasty case of Lyme Disease. One time I went to some friend’s house for Easter and they had a hunt using real, hard-boiled eggs. That fucking sucked. Who wants an actual egg on Easter? Assholes.
My mom liked putting the candy in little Easter baskets with that shredded cellophane grass inside. I swear I still have some of this grass somewhere on my person today. It was impossible to get off the candy or your hands. If you spilled some on the floor, you may as well have just replaced the thing. I’m assuming Easter baskets today are now lined with FieldTurf. They should be.
I am not a terribly religious person. I knew all about the Easter bunny and candy WAY before someone actually told me that Easter was about Jesus pulling a Meredith Grey and then ascending to the Heavens, wowing audiences all across Judea. As such, my priorities are completely twisted. What’s this Jesus guy doing fucking with the Easter Bunny’s holiday, I’d often think. The Easter Bunny got Easter first, I thought. But this wasn’t actually true. It’s not unlike people forgetting that Go Bots actually came out BEFORE Transformers did. The problem was that Go Bots sucked, so no one gave a shit if they were the pioneers in car-to-robot shape-shifters. Such as it is with Jesus, who gets pushed aside in favor of the Easter Bunny and his pastel-colored Halloween. People can be ruthless like that.
In general, I have a very strong policy against food that is made to look like other food. I think gummi hamburgers are fucking disgusting. I do not like it when someone sculpts marzipan into pigs or hot dogs, or some other shit like that. Circus peanuts terrify me. I like my food to resemble its original incarnation. If you have to make it look like some other food to get me to eat it, that means there’s something wrong with the food in its regular form. And I don’t need that. Not at all.
The one exception to this, without fail, is the Cadbury Crème Egg. Holy fuck are Crème Eggs good. One time I made a strawberry preserve omelet out of them. Amazing. (NOTE: not actually true) Watching the above commercial when I was a kid was pretty much the same as finding Jesus. What? They made an egg OUT OF CANDY? They even gave it a candy yolk? HOLY FUCK, THAT IS A MIRACLE. I had to have one. And, to this day, that same thinking pattern occurs in my brain every Easter.
What I like to do is bite the top off the egg, nibble around the sides, and allow the unholy white egg goo to spill out the side, which I then immediately slurp up like Peter King on Tony Romo. Fucking tremendous. Want to take the whole egg in one bite? I’m cool with that. But I think the goo can get lost on the palate that way. It’s that precious filling that makes the Crème Egg so special, so I do my best to maximize it.
They make Caramel Eggs now. They also make Orange Crème Eggs. These versions are a blasphemy, an affront to worshippers of the one true Crème Egg, and I won’t stand for it. The Easter Bunny wasn’t strung up by the Romans and tortured just so I would have to tolerate the bastardization of the original Crème Egg. Therefore, I propose that all grocery stores carrying these knockoffs be branded as heretics and burned alive.
It’s the only way to get people to remember what Easter is truly all about.