HAMANTASCHEN AND BUNNY HOPPIN'

​Look away, Esther; Funfetti has found its way into the Hamantaschen. Working in a commercial kitchen, I understand how easily these things happen. The ovens are hot as blazes, the 20 qt. mixers are humming along and Perry Como is crooning Easter Parade. It begins as an innocent aside, “I wonder what would happen if we added some technicolor sprinkles to the mix…”
 
I do not consider myself a Hamantaschen purist, finding it perfectly reasonable to fill three and a half inch circles of dough with Nutella, or salted caramel and apples, or as of this writing, chocolate and peanut butter. Yet adding an embellishment to Hamantaschen that not only boasts its own product line but defines itself as a ‘party in your mouth’ seems like overkill. Multi-colored sprinkles are deemed appropriate on any number of sweets, but must it crash the Purim party?
 
Hamantaschen-ing is unlikely a verb, but it should be, falling into the same category as rugelach-ing. Both are labors of love, marrying pounds of cream cheese to pounds of butter, culminating in pastries that are eaten in less time than it takes to call them by name. This week the ‘taschen noshers were out in full force, gobbling up upwards of 500 triangular pastries in celebration of good (Queen Esther) over evil (the villain Haman.) In the spirit of maintaining Queen Esther’s integrity, not a single Funfetti sprinkle crossed my Hamantaschen border.
 
I am now desperately attempting to dig my way out of the rabbit hole known as Good Friday and the day before Easter. It is unlikely that any of us around the baker’s bench will escape unscathed. While sympathetic to the workload of my fellow butter-manipulators, as with all holidays I am primarily concerned with how the Easter holiday will impact my rolling pin.
 
My focus for the next 48 hours is on pies and tarts, custards and lemon curd. There are apple-raspberry pies to bake because rhubarb refused to take my calls. Also beckoning is a second round of Hamantaschen dough that was made in a moment of smugness. ”Who’s the boss of this holiday week now, Easter Bunny?” But like most good deeds, this one will undoubtedly come back to bite me in the bunny tail. Happy Purim, Happy Easter; pass the chocolate peanut butter eggs, please.