What you didn’t know about Easter in Spain: tradition, table, and… tortillas?

When you think of Easter in Spain, you probably picture the processions first. Especially after last week’s story. Long lines of people in robes, drums that make the streets tremble, clouds of incense that overload your sense of smell, and wooden statues carried through the city like sacred trophies.

And yes, that image is absolutely right.

Well… for a few days, at least. Because once the final tear has rolled down the cheek of a statue of Mary, a completely different atmosphere begins to rise: picnic blankets, sunshine, tortilla de patatas, and the scent of coffee with a splash of anise. That’s Easter in Spain, too.

I still remember how, during my first Spanish Easter, I thought it was all over after Domingo de Resurrección. I’d experienced the impressive Semana Santa—solemn processions moving slowly through the streets of Seville, grand music, muscular men carrying wooden statues on their shoulders as if they weighed nothing. But on Easter Sunday itself? Silence. Or at least, that’s how it seemed.

An Easter celebration full of picnics (and tortillas)

On Monday morning, I woke up to the sound of children echoing through the patio. Laughter, shouting, plastic plates scraping across tiles. When I stepped out onto my balcony, I saw a huge family below — tables, chairs, coolers, thermos flasks and… what looked like a giant potato omelette. And that’s exactly what it was: tortilla de patatas. Homemade, with love, and placed in the centre of the table like a sacred altar.

I was curious. Luckily, I had a neighbour — Carmen — who explained that La Mona de Pascua is celebrated on Easter Monday in this region (Valencia and Catalonia). Children receive a cake, decorated with chocolate or painted eggs, and whole families head out to the beach, a park, or simply gather in the patio to eat together. No chocolate bunnies in sight, by the way. Instead: coca de pascua, anise biscuits and… yes, once again, tortilla. Always the tortilla.

No Easter Monday, but plenty of family and food

It took some getting used to, because I was used to the full-on Dutch Easter brunch — croissants, smoked salmon, advocaat (yes, that yellow stuff with alcohol). Here, it’s all about simplicity, togetherness, and a kind of natural shift from deep religious tradition to joyful family time. And all of that without an official Easter Monday. That doesn’t exist here. But Easter Sunday? For many, it’s just the start of a long, leisurely Monday.

And the shop opening hours? Well… I thought I was being clever, popping out quickly to the supermarket. There I stood, in front of a firmly shut sliding door. Turns out Easter opening hours are anything but predictable — they vary from town to town. I really should’ve known better.

More than processions: Easter under the Spanish sun

What I did know — or had just learned — is that the whole mañana, mañana mindset suddenly took on a cosy, warm, and well-seasoned meaning under the Spanish Easter sun. Because Easter in Spain is more than just processions. It’s a moment when generations come together, share food, laugh, and soak up the sun.

And me? Next year, I’m making my own tortilla de Pascua. Can I use Carmen’s recipe? She said, “As long as you don’t ruin it with onion — then yes.”