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.
As a kid I had it both ways: Serious Easter™ at school and church, and a neon plastic and candy-filled version (my preference, duh) at home. As I got older and my priorities shifted, most religious traditions in my life fell by the wayside. But for Easter, I found the tone that religion set for me was harder to shake. I’m not a church-goer anymore, but allowing Easter to emerge from the grayness that precedes it, like a bright beginning, feels important.
I don’t need to curate the intentional soberness of Lent for this to happen—the world is dark enough on its own. What I can do is decide to treat the day like a purposeful fresh start, to use it as a reminder that, even in the midst of sadness and gloom, there is newness and life worth celebrating. After winter, there are rabbits. Lots of them. And I’m going to eat one.
As for how? A cozy, holiday-table-ready pasta. Springy leeks and fennel, salty bacon, and woodsy rosemary collaborate to form a flavorful bath for rabbit legs. In just under an hour, the meat will go tender and shreddy, the ideal texture to pull from the bone and return to the pot alongside a glug of cream and knob of butter for richness (you’ll need it, as rabbit is rather lean).
I love how good this white bolognese gets after it has time to sit, a perfect make-ahead recipe if you want to free up the big day. But the sauce improves with even just a few minutes to meld, so you can set it aside while you boil your pasta (eggy tagliatelle is my favorite here) and still reap the benefits.
With a shower of Parmesan to finish, it’s light but comforting, festive but unembellished. And if rabbit is a non-starter for you, you can use whole chicken legs instead. The two cook identically and taste quite similar as well—leaving you the option, if that’s your Easter journey, to stick to bunnies of the chocolate persuasion.
