The Easter Feast

The menu: Pup cups and Chicago-style deviled eggs ... young voices rising in song.

Took the dogs for a pup cup early Easter morning, Starbucks’ gift to dogs.

Know about these pup cups? So simple… a Dixie cup brimming with whipped cream.

Free! Boom!

What’s free anymore? Pup cups at Starbucks. At least for now.

Not sure vets would recommend them, but the dogs certainly would. They are voracious about these pup cups. They eat as if it’s their last supper.

Then we swung (or is it swang?) by the park, where we caught the final moments of Sunrise Service. As we listen, young voices finish a song, then someone issues a final “Amen, go forth…” and all that.

That was about as much formal religion as these pagan dogs require. They are forever pulling at their leashes. So we turn and head for home.

Hey, did I ever tell you about the source of Easter eggs? Probably, since I’m nearing that age where all I do is repeat myself.

Anyway, Eostre was the Saxon goddess of this season, a beautiful woman with a Hermes smile and a heart so big you could hear it thump from 40 feet away, ba-DUMP, ba-DUMP, ba-DUMP-DUMP-DUMP. Think Ginger Baker, loud and a little crude.

One day, someone found a bird with frozen wings and took it to Eostre. To save its life, she turned it into a bouncing baby bunny. But because it used to be a bird, the bunny could still lay eggs.

Boom! Free eggs!

See, I know some stuff. It just never reveals itself, since all I ever talk about are baseball, dogs and kids. That’s why I was never very successful at first dates or job interviews. We never got to the really entertaining stuff that I know: Ernie Banks’ lifetime batting average, the secret to a good marinade, how to pour a “dirty” Bloody Mary.

In any case, our Easter was wonderful, as Easter always is with young children and pagan dogs.

Two of my own grandkids were in New York visiting Grandpa Tom, so we celebrated them through photos mostly. It’s quieter that way, though I was never very fond of quiet.

Closer to home, Maggie swang by, Rapunzel’s new nugget. She is a smiley little thing, much like her mom and dad. At 9 months, she makes the same coos and tweets as baby sparrows.

Smartacus contributed to the Eostre feast, handling the deviled eggs. For this special occasion, he made Chicago-style deviled eggs. He also made deviled eggs with capers and Sriracha. In N Out deviled eggs were also on the menu, but I think he ate those himself.

Tell me, does anything ring your chimes like a well-made deviled egg? To this day, I’ve never been able to walk by a platter of them without stopping.

Yet, I find it somewhat interesting that on a day devoted to our Savior, we celebrate with deviled eggs. I mean, show some consistency.

Or is this how God works?

I also find it odd — and pretty wonderful — that my kids are now trusting me to host major holidays: first Christmas, now Easter, the two biggies.

Among my kids, the conventional wisdom is that I don’t respect expiration dates quite enough. Which is true, I don’t. Like birthdays, they’re just a number to me.

Still, these eggs were fresh and creamy good, as was the flank steak I marinated overnight.

Can I give you a major life secret? Flank steak. We grill it maybe twice a year, and each time we decide it’s the most delicious of all the beefs — then we lapse, as Lutherans are known to, into the more-predictable cycle of ribeyes, burgers and kabobs.

I declare this a flank steak summer. The thin slabs grill up easy, in minutes. I promise you’ll think about the succulent slivers of beef for days after, as you would a great book or a major movie.

Here’s my marinade: olive oil, soy, apple cider vinegar, honey, paprika, oregano, garlic, salt and ground peppa.

Be sure to fingertip it into the meat, as you might a lover. Soak it overnight in that incredible booze you just made, flipping it first thing in the morning.

I’m telling you, as the self-proclaimed pagan God of Barbecues, that flank steak can change your life in unexpected ways. It will make you taller, smarter, wiser, even more charming than you already are. You’ll heal faster, suddenly sing on key, be able to back your car into the tightest spaces.

Or, you can just go with that grilled cauliflower you like so much.

It’s your life. Try to enjoy it a little.

Coming Saturday: The glimmer in the eyes of grandchildren.