Everything is there by eye, but I already manage to do it. I start on Friday evening — so that I have time to do everything on Saturday.
I put the dough warm, with butter, eggs and raisins. Be sure to add a little vanilla — my grandmother said that there is no joy without a smell. I knead it for a long time, with music or silence, as you like. When it comes together — my heart flutters.
We grease the mold with butter, put the dough in and wait some more. I make the glaze from egg whites and sugar, sometimes I add lemon. The sprinkles are bright, childish, because I am used to it since childhood.
When the Easter cake is baked, I cannot leave the oven. This is a moment of magic. And when I pull it out — a little warm, a little rosy — I want to cry with happiness. Because this is my connection with my family, with the past, with myself.