Saturday I bought a coconut which ended up being a dollar and an hour’s worth of pain in the ass.
…and rollicking good times.
It all started when I made holes and drained the coconut milk. Then I tried to split the coconut open with a hammer and a nail because I thought that was the proper procedure. Nothing. I threw it on the floor of the garage a couple of times. Whatever.
I looked in my old orange Betty Crocker cookbook new and revised and there was a listing in the index for coconut, breaking open, 316. On page 316 there was a diagram of a feminine hand holding a coconut and a hammer. It said “Tap around middle of coconut with a hammer. When you reach starting point give an extra tap (or use saw).”
Below that was a diagram of a masculine hand – “Pry out coconut meat with a sturdy knife.”
Saw? What the hell? I don’t have a saw. I tapped all around the middle. It didn’t do shit.
Thanks for nothing, Betty. You fail.
On to the internet where I watched some youtube videos that had little to do with opening the coconut and more to do with using a coconut knife. Yeah, I’m sitting around suburbia on a Saturday night just itching to use my coconut knife.
One tip suggested putting the coconut in a plastic grocery bag and swinging it forcefully down onto the driveway. I place the coconut into a ziplock bag and a grocery bag because I’m anal. E takes charge and on the third wack the coconut cracks open. Huzzah!
I spend the next hour scooping, slicing and chipping away at the coconut. If I was on the Island I would do this for Desmond and expect nothing in return.
My Martha-sense kicked in, telling me I could make my own reasonable facsimile of a mounds bar. Dove’s dark chocolate topped with coconut. Not bad. Seriously.
And yes, I am a crone and I could use a little more flesh on my boney hands.
Better living through coconut!