I like to celebrate holidays centered around the season not a particular religion.

And so… Spreaster was born. I reflect upon the fact that Jesus and Mary only made the journey because of an impending census.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Eggs! Dyed, pickled, hidden, and hunted. I love the flat, awkward-for-your-hands, piece of potentially dangerous metal, tucked inside a box, with soon-to-be perforated drying homes for freshly dyed eggs, waiting to receive one bend, and be indispensable. Making sure to scoop at precisely the right moment before your ultra blue masterpiece turns into tomorrow’s aquamarine egg salad. The wax crayon! Update: we have since moved to the convenient little cups below, but don’t worry box-that-collapses-by-the-weight-of-having-its-contents-taken-out-of-it, we will not forget you.

Red beet eggs. Just vinegar, red beets, sliced onion, salt, pepper, and a little sugar.


Butter shaped like a baby lamb. I grew up in Pennsylvania, and not an Easter went by without one, but after 9 lamb-free years, dry ice is becoming a serious option. What’s your beef with baby lambs West coast? This isn’t your run of the mill, year round baby butter lamb. It is only available during the Easter season, which makes it even more desirable. I always anticipated taking the first swipe of sweet cream from its tiny head, which was always reserved for me. Twenty-five years later, it still is.

Thanks Mom.

Easter dress, complete with gloves, purse, ruffled socks, and patent leather shoes.

Stuffing! Why do people only eat certain foods they love during certain times of the year? Pumpkin? Turkey? It’s not like stuffing would lose its appeal. It’s bread, herbs, and aromatics. I understand it being special, and something to look forward to. But seriously, it’s like saving an expensive perfume, or the good china that you don’t use. I think I might do a stuffing-a-month challenge, and see if by next Spreaster, we can’t stand the sight of cubed bread. This may be because I make a pretty great stuffing. I know everyone says theirs is best, but really, my aunt Laura says so. I may have ruined her month when I ran out of time, and didn’t make stuffing on “the Easter without stuffing”, as it’s been called. I put that in the lessons learned category.

The good china. Unfortunately, I do not have any original pieces that belonged to my Nanny. I happened to find one piece at a thrift store, a bowl, and even though her hands haven’t touched it, I can see her scooping mashed potatoes into it right now.

Two Easter baskets! Yes, I said two. Nanny always filled my candy basket, and my Mom filled a giant fruit basket for me. I think my mom always thought I liked the candy basket more. She was mostly wrong. My mom would fill my basket with tropical, hard-to-find-in-a-small-town-in-Pennsylvania fruit, a few special chocolates, and Easter-related gifts. At the time, I thought I was the only kid to get orange jelly beans packaged in the shape of a carrot. I was always made to feel that special. I was a star fruit fan at age five. For all you kids that can buy star fruit at the drop of a hat, I assure you this was not always the case.

Last year's pre-dying.

Spreaster basket o’games.

Easter Keg Hunt

Jim suggested “hide the keg”. If you can find little cans of beer shaped like mini-kegs, great. I am not a fan of the brands that make these, but really any beer will do. It’s beaster! Okay, I’ll stop that.

Peep Wars

To my East coast bestie Marti Rae’s dismay, I recently introduced her 11-year-old son to peep wars, without thinking about who was going to clean the microwave. People without kids don’t think of these things. I thought everyone was up on the peep war happenings, but in case you are not, here is a short tutorial. Two peep chicks +  toothpicks + plate + microwave  = fun. People get creative and add fake blood, costumes, names, commentary, multiple peeps and the like, but I like an old-school peep war: just peeps, toothpicks, and supporting your peep.

No bunnies! Commentary always welcomed.

Here’s one I found that is pretty cute.


Last year's meal. Old school. Lunch trays and all. It may not look like a million bucks, but it tasted like it.