A traditional Italian Easter cake (Colomba di Pasqua), deer salami, hardboiled eggs, and a large chocolate egg for Easter brunch. Coffee. Rosé spumante. We ate it early while the rest of the neighborhood seemed to sleep. It was quiet but for the chatter of the birds.
I took an epic nap, ate too much cake, and weeded the garden of a plant that Roberto is super allergic to, in a dress. I fixed the broken code from yesterday and found a new novel to read. I only want to read fiction lately. My yoga practice was long. Pre-lockdown, I often struggled with patience in my practice, but no longer. I could Shavasana, corpse pose, for days now.
Lunch was Roberto’s torta pasqualina, the easter pie, made with eggs and spinach and ricotta, and some sliced lonzino, pork loin that has been cured and air-dried. Plus a bottle of cheap Torrontés wine from Salta, Argentina that tasted of roses and grapefruit. We ate too much in the garden in too much sunshine.
Roberto is making rye bread and I am upstairs listening to Andrea Bocelli live at the Duomo in Milan. My mother is watching in Vermont, as are over 2.7 million other people around the world.
We’re planning on pizza for dinner on the grill after a Zoom with my family in New England: deer salami with ricotta on one pizza and tomato and mozzarella on the other.
Eat well. Stay safe.