Feeling Easter

I made Ouefs a la Niege last night. A classic French dessert, as I told my husband, not an Easter dish. But it was perfect for Easter, not just because it looked like fluffy white "eggs" floating on top of sweet custard and dusted with cocoa powder, but also because it was a mix of irresistible textures and flavors: salty froth of egg shapes, grated dark chocolate, milky sweet custard, rich dry cocoa. For me, Easter is a masterpiece of sensual experiences. Luscious, ripe, juicy mango sliding down your throat; perfect sweet cheese croissant, flaky and yeasty and filled with sticky rich cheese; fine chocolate at two out of three meals. And it wasn't just the food; I kept burying my nose in the pink hyacinths Blue set up on my desk as a surprise. We took a walk in Mt. Auburn Cemetery and held hands as we listened to bird song: bluejays, redwing blackbirds, chickadees, and a lone warbler. Oh, he wasn't technically a warbler, but then I don't really care about bird names: he was a warbler in his heart. He was a career warbler. He looked like a fat striped sparrow on the outside, but on the inside he was a stage crooner.

He'd tentatively start with a shaky little note, and then stop if some other bird in the park started singing. Li'l Warbler didn't like to get cut off. Then he'd start up again and sing a really sweet, melodious little song, unlike one either of us had ever heard before. That was the thing about Li'l Warbler...he was original. It was a good start to spring, that wavery, but sure-fire little voice. I liked his pluck.