Color has its own festival in India, Holi, celebrated by Hindus as the end of winter, the triumph of good over evil. One of my favorite people on Instagram is Bhavna from Just a Girl from Aamchi Mumbai. She writes the exuberance of throwing color at aunts and uncles and other children of the neighborhood, and how wanting some of that where she lives now in Australia. Go check out her blog for the recipe for pannacotta with raspberry sauce and garnished with flowers that she made to satisfy her desire for color amongst the gray days.
Dyeing eggs was a Spring tradition I loved as a girl, though it hardly felt like Spring, the bright colors in contrast to the lingering winter of my Canadian home. My mother filled mugs with hot water and white vinegar and drops of food coloring. My sister and I would dip the eggs balanced on spoons, and I was mesmerized by dipping an egg into yellow and then into red and coming out orange. I remember taking some sort of intelligence test in school, and one of the questions was how to know if an egg was rotten. I knew the answer because of watching a dozen eggs boiling for Easter, and my mother scooping out the one that floated. I was happy I knew the answer but the strangeness of this being on the test stayed with me. What if I hadn’t been there to watch the boiling eggs?