Easter is all about the ham.
As far as personal addictions go, and I know a couple of things about those, ham is a fairly mellow one.
But it is still there.
Its not as back as crack or heroin, so you would never steal your mom’s jewelry or blow anyone in an alley.
Ham is subtle.
It starts with the first couple of slices, before dinner.
You sneak a few bites, here and there.
Then dinner comes up, and you begin nomming a serious pile of honey baked pig.
A little after dessert, you find yourself in the kitchen, for whatever reason you come up with.
And you are snacking more ham.
If you are lucky, its still on the counter, and you can snatch and go.
If not, you have to sneak a knife out of the drawer and go after it, cold in the fridge.
And cold ham is tough to cut.
But it is still ham.
An hour or two after dinner, your first ham sandwich is like a little slice of heaven.
Easter is a family thing for me.
As noisy and out there as my family is, they are mine.
Which means noisy.
Not a lot of mousy going on here.
Easter brunch is a lot of cooked meats and mimosas.
And mimosas go with breakfast well, thank god I don’t have them that often.
I tend to run my mouth a little when I drink.
And that is never Easter-Sunday proper.
There is also an evil Easter oriented addiction that, thankfully, I have never picked up.
For those that don’t know, peeps are an evil combination of twinkies and candy corn.
Twinkies for the vile nutritional facts, who knows WHAT is in them.
And candy corn for that “Chained to the holiday” thing that means they will never go away.
If its Easter peeps are on the shelf, like like a dealer on the corner.
And, much like candy corn, if it doesn’t sell this year, they put it in the back so they can sell it next year, mainly because it lasts forever.
I fear peeps, its slightly wimpish to admit, but its there.