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All posts tagged coconut

the kind you won’t let go

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orange

I’ve been thinking about fables lately—those short, sweet stories with a moral tacked onto the end? One of Aesop’s tells about a boy who, reaching into a tall jar with a wide base of hazelnuts, grabs a large handful, greedy to bring the lot to his mouth. But, when his tightened fist won’t fit back up through the container’s slender neck, he bursts into tears and panic, having imprisoned his clenched fingers inside a jar full of hazelnuts, where the solution is as simple as releasing his grip.

I’ve heard that monkeys do this in real life. In tests, they supposedly leave their fists inside the jars, indefinitely, unwilling to release the nuts but also anxious about being caught in the jar. And I am fascinated. If I’m honest, it’s because I think they sound like me. Aesop’s intended moral was simple: Do not attempt too much at once; but mine would be more complex: You have got to let go and trust That Which Is Greater—because that is faith, and, because gripping things tightly doesn’t really make them yours anyway.

I hinted before at some upcoming big decisions/changes in the works around here, and, while I have nothing substantial or concrete to report, there have, slowly, been movements towards change—the loosening of my grip, as it were—and that is something. I almost rented a new apartment I loved; I’ve been pursuing some new writing opportunities; and I’ve been daydreaming a lot about what, in all of this, will matter 50 years from now.

Of course there has been food, too. That goes without saying. But what with all the change-seeking also taking my attention, I am very behind on telling you about it.

coconut citrus pancakes

For one thing, there were these pancakes. I made them for a late breakfast on Memorial Day, when my brother was visiting and before we had a late lunch of fried chicken at a fast-food restaurant because neither of us owns or operates a grill. I’d seen them on Eat Make Read as a stack of small, silver-dollar-sized circles, topped with jam and butter, filled with coconut and citrus, and when I woke up late Monday morning, after a previous night by a bonfire in the woods, they sounded perfect.

orange juice

This is what I’ve decided about pancakes: I love them. They are as dear to me as the parts of my life I try so hard to hold onto (though, happily, with pancakes, there’s no letting go required).

And these pancakes are really lovely, sweetened with the tart acidity of orange zest and juice, filled with a more sophisticated texture that highlights bits of shredded coconut. I tried them three ways—with jam, with syrup, with butter on its own—and I liked them best with butter, smoothed on while they are still hot, melted into the cake. But tell me if you find your own wonderful way to enjoy them. While I’m learning to let go of things, I may as well start with how I like my pancakes, right? One step at a time.




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Orange Coconut Silver Dollar Pancakes

Adapted from Eat Make Read

Ingredients:
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
2 Tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup coconut
3/4 cup whole milk
1 egg
1 1/2 Tablespoons butter, plus more for the skillet
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 Tablespoon orange zest
1 Tablespoon freshly squeezed orange juice

Directions:
In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt and coconut. Set aside.

In a separate bowl, combine the milk, egg, butter, vanilla and orange juice. Add these wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, and stir to combine. Fold in the orange zest.

Heat a little butter in a skillet over medium heat. Once it’s melted, add a little bit of batter to the pan to test. Then, when the pan’s ready, put as many small, one-Tablespoon-sized dollops onto the skillet as will fit.

Let cook for about two minutes or until golden, then flip and let cook for another two. Top with jam or syrup or butter, or, you know, whatever you’d like, and enjoy!

Makes about 24 pancakes.

the cake that was gray

frosting coconut cake

Over lunch on Mother’s Day, my brother happened to mention a coconut cake recipe he’d seen online, and I responded exactly as you’d expect: by whipping out my cell phone—newly with Internet, which, by the way, in itself is a huge change for me, and you know how I do with change, so congratulate me on that—and trying to find it.

The cake was beautiful: a pristine, white, regal-looking thing, step atop a cake stand and topped with toasted, shredded coconut. It was the reason that, a few hours later, I beelined straight for the baking aisle’s coconut extract and grabbed this.

What I purchased—coconut flavor—wasn’t exactly extract, but it was the next closest thing, and the bottle said something about its being good for baking. So maybe that substitution explains the problem I wound up with later, when, making the frosting, I found butter + sugar + milk + coconut flavor = icing the color of gray. As in, the same shade as gravestones or, decaying flesh.

icing

The cake tasted all right, albeit dry. It was the frosting that was the real problem—slightly grainy and never thick enough, changing textures while I covered the cake, from fluffy to very thin and not that far from soupy. It did taste like coconut, though, which I considered a small victory, but the color! The color! I didn’t have the heart to throw it away immediately, but I’ll let you guess where I’m headed as soon as I finish this post, barring, of course, any refrigerator miracle overnight. (Fingers crossed.)

the cake that was gray

Anyway, it got me thinking. In the kitchen, I know what failure feels like. I have done it—done it to death, you could say, embracing it with cupcakes and artichokes and an awful soup I still haven’t had the heart to tell you about—and I’ve always lived to see the next mornings.

So I go into cooking understanding that and knowing other people make mistakes, too—novice cooks and experienced chefs—because of any number of reasons, like, small details affect results or improvisations don’t turn out as planned or you reach for the flour when you meant to grab sugar. It’s no big deal. It happens.

the kind of cake you don't eat

In the rest of life, though, failure is scary. The thing to avoid. I have done it, of course—French papers in college; painful first dates; awful job interviews where, when asked what animal I’d be, I respond with swan, mumbling something about how they’re, you know, pretty? And I know other people fail, too, despite talent or skill or charisma.

But for some reason, in the kitchen, the failures don’t stick to me like they do everywhere else. If I burn cookies, and I have, I don’t see myself as The Girl Who Burns Cookies. Yet if I blurt out something awkward in front of someone new, I let that define me for a while. Why?

Why is it that failing with food is so much easier than failing with life? I wasted approximately two hours, a sink’s worth of dishes and a list of ingredients making this coconut cake, where disaster seems the most apt descriptor. And I’m not worried about it.

I think it’s because I know this: sometimes, I am a kitchen failure. But other times, I am not.

And maybe by accepting this, I learn the courage to step out, try something new, make a mistake and, embrace it.

The Grow-on-You-Fast Cookies

The day after I made cowboy cookies, eating two of them at my desk in the middle of the afternoon, I told my coworkers that I wasn’t very impressed. The cookies were fine, good maybe, but they weren’t anything that special. A chocolate-chip cookie at heart, they include extras like coconut and nuts and oatmeal, becoming something too complicated and yet fairly simple at the same time. I managed to polish off both cookies, though, commenting aloud that they really were just fine, all while looking down at my plastic baggie, more sad than I’d admit that it was empty.

That was the first batch.

cookies

One habit I’ve developed after my experience with the New York Times chocolate-chip cookies is chilling the dough before baking (well, that and forming it all into rounded balls and placing the lot of them on the cookie sheet in the fridge ahead of time, meaning later I can just pull out as many as I want, ready to bake). So the first day I made cowboy cookies was the day I made the batter: I baked about 12 (two sheets).

The second time was a day later, another six cookies. I would have baked more, but I was tired and didn’t want to wait for them in the kitchen. This time, I liked the cookies a little more; maybe they had grown on me or maybe they had changed. It should also be noted, for the record, that the first batch was already gone by this second day.

cookies again

The final batch I made two (or three? now I’m forgetting) days later, needing to finish baking them all before the dough went bad. The huge benefit of pre-forming the dough is that the baking is SO easy. Literally, I turned on the oven and went to watch TV, then I came back and stuck my cookie sheet with its Silpat and six doughy balls in the oven. Out a batch, in a batch: the kitchen as clean as ever.

This third batch really was the best, less crunchy for some reason and very addicting. For the few days after that they lasted, I got into the habit, unfortunately, of grabbing one every time I would walk through the kitchen, which, truthfully, became more and more often.

These aren’t wow-someone cookies. They’re not especially beautiful or especially hard to make, and, at first bite, you’ll think ho-hum. But wait for the after effects. A few days into these, I swear you’ll wish you still had some left.

more cookies


Cowboy Cookies

Adapted from the queen of cookies, Martha Stewart

Ingredients:
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup light-brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups old-fashioned oats
6 ounces semisweet chocolate chips
3 ounces (3/4 cup) pecan halves
1/2 cup shredded unsweetened coconut

Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. If you’re not using a Silpat, coat baking sheets with cooking spray, line with parchment, and spray parchment. Sift flour, baking soda, salt and baking powder in a medium bowl.

Beat butter and sugars with a mixer on medium-high until pale and creamy, about 3 minutes. Reduce speed to medium. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla.

Reduce speed to low, and slowly add flour mixture, beating until just incorporated. Beat in oats, chocolate, pecans and coconut until combined. (Dough can be refrigerated for up to 3 days.)

Using a tablespoon, drop dough onto baking sheets, spacing 3 inches apart.

Bake until edges of cookies begin to brown, 11 to 13 minutes. Transfer baking sheets to wire rack, and let cool for 5 minutes. Transfer cookies to racks. Let cool. (Cookies can be stored up to 3 days.)