The proper way to eat a chocolate bunny is to bite its ears off first. You know this: The ears are the narrowest part, the only satisfying chomps before you have to crack the torso into awkward pieces. I go for the chocolate bunnies now, when they pop up at the drugstore around Easter, instead of my childhood favorites (Whoppers Robin Eggs and Reese’s Pieces in a carrot bag), I think as a sign of growth.
Easter means something different to me now than it did when I was a kid. I’m no longer in it for the sugar rush and sparkles. I go simple instead of wacky, tucking a chocolate bunny or two into my basket, alongside a bunch of tulips. And this year, I’m putting rabbit—actual rabbit—on the menu.
I know the suggestion to cook rabbit for Easter may seem shocking. And I won’t pretend that isn’t at least a little bit why I’m proposing it. But for a holiday often celebrated by searching for treats left behind by a giant bunny, it doesn’t seem like the strangest idea. When distilled, Easter is about a fresh start, new life, and the joy that comes with it. As a symbol, it’s a rabbit that gives you this jolt of clear perspective. And I’d only be following tradition to let this happen over dinner.
The origins of the Easter bunny are ambiguous. The figure seems to have emerged as a result of ample crossover between 17th-century Christian Easter customs and pagan (and secular) rites of spring. German texts from the 1600s describe children celebrating Easter by hunting for eggs laid by a hare—a tradition German immigrants brought to the United States in the next century.
What is clear is that, since its earliest days, forms of the Easter bunny were meant to be eaten. British writings from around the same time document communities observing the holiday by hunting and eating hares together. In Northern Europe, folklore experts note that eating rabbit in the springtime was considered both a celebration of abundance and a way to ward off witches. The simple fact that rabbits proliferate this time of year make them a natural mascot for the season. What form they’ll take at your celebration is up to you.
I grew up observing Easter with a significant amount of pomp, and not just because my mom loves thematic candy. I was raised Catholic, and spent 13 years in various plaids at Catholic school, where many assignments in the weeks leading up to the holiday kept our attention on its impending arrival. This period, called Lent, is not a cheerful time in the liturgical calendar; despite the trees blooming outside, it’s a season marked by austerity and lack. There are spiritual lessons in the somber mood, and a sudden absence of music and flowers from mass. The atmosphere also serves to heighten the feeling of bounty, brightness, and color on Easter morning. After a solemn 40 days, the holiday is supposed to feel like a daisy bursting through the sidewalk—an excuse to celebrate the beauty and resilience of life that spring shows off.
