The Hypnotic Easter Bunny

One day, when on my way home from work, I changed trams on Paradeplatz in Zurich, just like any other day. This particular day, however, was not an ordinary day at all, it happened to be a very particular day, it was the day Sprüngli had changed their windows for Easter. Now, when you’re a chocolate addict like me, you’re about to lose control over your itinerary, you stop paying attention to anything else, least of all your connecting tram, you can take the next one, or the one after that, but on this day, I lost control over time and space altogether, I was mesmerized by a chocolate Easter bunny, the biggest chocolate Easter bunny I had ever seen, ever!, it was huge, gigantic in fact, who could ever eat it up, I wondered. I think, this was my last self-controlled thought, then, this Easter bunny’s face started to mesmerize me, what expressive features, such character, I felt like I had entered Alice’s wonderland, as if that bunny was about to address me, saying something like If I lose my temper, you lose your head, it wouldn’t have surprised me at all, I took a deeper look in its eyes, one look too many, and da war’s um mich gescheh’n, it spoke to me, it sang to me, my fate became quite plain, half drawn by it, I glided in and was not seen again.

Too good to be forgotten.

We ate all day. From 11 am on, we had everything one could ask for, I spent most of the time between 11:15 and 12:29 passing sliced duck breast on a bed of rocket with a very mustardy vinaigrette, tasting slighty Japanese, then there was none left, and people started asking why, why is that so good and why did you make so little, by that insulting and praising at the same time the life and death of the two ducks whose breasts had been sacrificed for our Easter brunch, but I at least was left alone then, at my end of the table were only the jugs with water, lemoned and pepperminted, and some of the minor salads, they weren’t paid much attention to, politics and a collectively hated friend, let’s call her Madame X, provided enough distraction anyway, at least until, very late in the afternoon, a lentil curry was served, prepared with none other than lentilles vertes du Puy, cumin, coconut milk, mustard seeds, red onions, chillies and coriander leaves, all of it interacted heavenly, creating something so good, everybody lost track of the conversation, time stood still, and those ducks, well, the poor bastards and their breasts, however good, had obviously died in vain, as they had already fallen into complete oblivion.

The disaster called Easter.

Life is complicated, especially when eggs play a major part in your routine, like, say, during the Easter holidays. First of all, you need so many, try to buy 60 organic eggs from happy chicken without overdrawing your bank account and having money transferred from Zurich, then try to carry these 60 eggs all at once on a bike without breaking any of them, you’re driven mad by all that overcarefulness, transportation issues, that’s what a shrink might name it, but shrinks know nothing about life’s real challenges, do they, then try colouring them politically correct meaning organically, pink and yellow turns out fine, okay, but if you colour a white egg orange it just looks like a brown egg, there’s no fun in that at all, and when you try to transform the left over eggs into lunch, an omelette should be not too much to ask for, these chickens pay some strange kind of transmogrified revenge and let your beautiful mushroom omelettes stick to the pan, you end up with a shapeless mess, let’s face it, eggs totally let you down, there’s no escaping this awful truth, the mess on your plate, however, just needs a little upgrading, call it omelette à la façon des religieuses du Périgord and your Easter house guests are thrilled and keep toasting your culinary accomplishment, and as far as these disastruous orange eggs are concerned, just hide them well enough to rot in hell.