Drinking Bombardini in the Mountains on Easter Monday

Dawn on Pasquetta (Easter Monday), five sleepy young adults piled into a station wagon, and tolerated a long twist and turn uphill drive to take advantage of a sunny day snowboarding, and soaking in the rays on the slopes of Cimone, in the Emilia-Romagna Apennines.

I, one of the five, couldn’t speak on the drive up to the mountains. My stomach was still trying to digest Sunday brunch and a late Easter dinner that was regrettably topped off with a cake that looked like panettone, smelled like panettone, and tasted like panettone, but strangly called columba.

Once we arrived at the foot of the slopes, the men brought over three chairs so we girls could chill, gossip, and witness their attempts to gracefully slide down the snow covered track. We carefully planned our day: 10 a.m. cappuccino; 12 p.m. lunch; 2 p.m. another cappuccino and 4 p.m. bombardini.

On the way to Cimone, we spoke about how many bombardini we would drink. It was going to be the extra highlight of the day. Made of a thick egg liqueur VoV, espresso and whipped cream, the warm, but heavy drink is popular during the winter at mountain spots and ski resorts.

In the late afternoon, after the guys were done snowboarding, we all gathered around the fire and drank our bombardini.

We drank them slowly with a teaspoon. In Italy, and other European countries, thick drinks and concoctions topped with whipped cream are served with a teaspoon. When I visited a friend in Madrid, we chatted in Starbucks while scooping our frozen coffee drinks.

I don’t think I could have stomached drinking a bombardini in one or two gulps, as I typically have been brought up to do with alcoholic drinks served in shot or demitasse glasses. The bombardini did not go down as smooth as hoped, but it quickly warmed me up my insides.

I can see why it is popular. I always fantasize about going to the mountains with friends, wearing the sport appropriate J Crew outfit, laughing while holding a warm festive drink in one hand and cuddling a hot guy in the other — all of this of course occurs by a fire. The bombardini is that festive drink of my fantasy.

I know my fantasy is a product of me looking at too many J Crew catalogues. Nonetheless, this day was close to it. I say close, because my fantasy involves Christmas tree cutting, and today I was without the “hot guy”; but my friends and I decided that when we return next year I will have the “hot guy” and we will fit him on the roof. I guess he will have to hold the Christmas tree.