Sunday, April 4, 2010
Every year, at Easter, I make a special bread. I’ve been making it since my father passed away almost 18 years ago. My father made the same bread every year after his father died 35 years ago. My Grandpa made that bread for as long as I can remember and who knows how many previous generations in some village in Italy my ancestors were preparing what we call Easter Bread.
It’s a rich yeast-raised bread, full of butter, eggs, and sugar that is braided much like a Challah. I am sure that each generation modified the bread to suit more of the American palette. I do remember my grandfather adding a dyed hard-boiled Easter egg in the middle.
When my father took over the hard-boiled egg disappeared but I’m pretty sure I have the same recipe that my grandfather gave to my dad.
The rituals and practices that remain connect us to something sacred.
I cherish making the bread each year as a tribute to a tradition that has managed to stay alive through the generations of my family.
Today, we will break bread together and with each sweet bite I will cherish the privilege of all of it.