When I was growing up, Easter was always a big deal. The religious aspect was important: From Palm Sunday throughout Holy Week, we heard the reading of the Passion by all four evangelists while surrounded by purple-shrouded statues of the saints (all statues and crucifixes were hidden by church law from Passion Sunday until Holy Saturday). The chimes that normally rang during Mass were replaced by wooden clackers. You genuflected on the tick-tock. On Good Friday, from noon to three, we maintained a respectful silence, at least when Mom was in the vicinity. And fasting. Oh, yes, two meals that didn’t equal the third, no meat (fish was always exempted from this prohibition, for reasons that I could never understand). Fast and abstinence, mortification of the flesh: Catholics were big on those things, and you could go to Hell if you screwed up.
But the Lenten buildup made the actual celebration of Easter more exciting. We dyed eggs, of course, and got chocolate bunnies in baskets hidden around the house. Mom would bake paschka (Easter bread), peroghi would be rolled and filled, chalupki (stuffed cabbage, for you non-Ukranians) was simmered in tomato juice and sauerkraut. For the carnivores, a HoneyBaked ham provided by Aunt Olga and kielbasa from Parma Meats filled out the menu. I still believe that the best sandwich in the world is HoneyBaked ham on paschka with butter, beet horseradish and slices of hard-boiled egg. We would start eating after we got back from Mass on Easter Sunday, and the whole day would be spent in a caloric and cholesterol-filled haze.
When I moved to Champaign-Urbana for graduate school, really the first Easter that I had spent away from family, I realized how much I missed that celebration. So I organized a party for fellow members of the research group I was in, made some peroghi, got a ham and some beer, and the tradition of the Pochapsky Easter Party was born. Every year since then, Sue and I have tried to celebrate the arrival of spring by inviting friends, neighbors and research group members over for an Easter feast. In New England, of course, the arrival of spring is not necessarily on time, so I have barbecued ribs in the snow. Oh yes, the ribs. Forgot about those: I have a recipe for ribs that melt in your mouth, pre-cooked to remove excess fat, marinated overnight in a secret sauce, and then grilled to complete the process. Those ribs have been known to knock Kosher-keeping vegans off the wagon. I had a Chinese grad student who threatened to not complete her thesis unless I gave her the recipe. (I did. Presumably those ribs are now being made in Shanghai).
Last year, the COVID lockdowns began right around Ash Wednesday. Our Easter party was subdued and the mood grim. We still made ribs, peroghi and and paschka, but we had to pass food over the fence to the neighbors, maintaining social distancing and wearing masks. We worried about toilet paper and other basic necessities. Shopping for ingredients was hit-or-miss, and waiting in line to get into a grocery store that was lined with bare shelves made me uncomfortably aware of how fragile our society is. I stored a large bucket of water under the porch in case we needed it, and a box of masks that I had purchased for swine flu and never used turned out to be more valuable than I had ever expected them to be.
One year later, and I’m getting my second shot of the Pfizer SARS-COV2 vaccine today. By Easter, I should be fully immunized. I would be bragging if this had happened a month ago, but lately the vaccines have become far more available, and the federal government has clearly prioritized the speedy vaccination of as many people as possible. After some initial hiccups, Massachusetts has figured out a distribution plan that appears to be working. Sue’s vaccination is scheduled, and the kids’ turn should be coming soon.
So whom do I thank for the return of hope? The list is long: First of all, thanks to the scientists who struggled to make possible the mRNA-based vaccines, which were pipe dreams only a few years ago. This is a modern miracle, folks. If COVID had shown up in 2015 instead of 2020, we would have been far less able to cope. But vaccines aren’t of any use until they get to people, so to everybody involved in vaccine manufacture, transport and distribution, thank you!
The Biden administration and Congress deserve credit for marshaling the full power of the Federal government behind COVID relief efforts in a very short time. It is pretty amazing what America can do when we put our minds to it.
And last but not least, thanks to Stacey Abrams and her spiritual sisters and brothers in cities like Atlanta, Philadelphia, Detroit and Milwaukee who worked tirelessly to get out the vote under the restrictions of COVID and efforts by the Trump administration to prevent Black communities from voting. Those communities are the real reason that we were able to escape the nightmare of lies and deliberate misinformation with which we have been bombarded for the last four years.
But more about this topic at a later date. Right now I am thinking about what I need to make cranberry peroghi. They are my own invention, a melding of Ukrainian and New England traditions that are sure to take the world of haute cuisine by storm. Happy Easter!