coconuts – On the Horizon Line

Raping Coconuts

I know, I know. What a totally alarming and inappropriate title, right? And way too close on the heels of the “Killing Coconuts” post. Don’t worry, though: we’re not psychopath fruit slayers. I’m simply referring to the word “rape” in French, not English. We still think coconuts are one of the best inventions on earth: tasty, nutritious, and useful for everything from curries to daquiris.

First, a funny story about how I learned the meaning of this French word (bringing my Fench vocabulary up to a grand total of 26 words). During a potluck on Bora Bora, Isabel asked Daniel what cheese he used in his delicious pasta dish. “I’m embarrassed to say it aloud,” said Daniel, the Aussie owner of 39-foot Beneteau called Red Sky Night. “I suppose you’ve probably seen the cheese in the markets anyway, though. It’s called ‘rape’ cheese.”

Isabel, a native French speaker from Canada who sails on Caribe, burst out laughing. “That means grated cheese, silly! It’s not a brand, it’s an adjective.” After she caught her breath, she patted his arm. “Don’t worry. When I first moved to Vancouver and was learning English, I used to ask my friends if they wanted me to ‘rape the cheese’ when I went for dinner, figuring it was the same verb.”

From then on, we made constant jokes about raping food. Nowhere was it more accurate a description than when we shredded a dozen coconuts on Compass Rose(y). Isabel’s partner, Gabriel, wanted to try out his nifty new coconut grater, which is what all the local Polynesians use to scrape the rich, nutty, delicious coconut meat from inside the shell. (The word for the grater here in Tonga is “hakalo.”) Once it’s shredded, you add some water and squeeze the meat through a cloth to make coconut milk. Like all new tools, the grater elicited the rapt interest of all the nearby males in the anchorage.

First, the men brainstormed a creative way to husk the nuts: a dinghy anchor wedged into a cleat so that the spokes impale the tough fibrous outer later. Next, they took turns raping the nuts into a fluffy white pile. Last, they cleaned up the big mess they made. The grater tool left oily residue, white flakes, and brown nut-dust all over the deck. The upshot, though: we made lots of politically incorrect jokes and we stocked up on coconut milk for the passage to the Cooks. We also had some killer rum daiquiris with fresh coco juice that night (which only served to make the jokes worse).

Food and Drink

Killing Coconuts is Fun

Coconuts are my new favorite all-purpose fauna. Sure, I’ve always been a fan of coconut milk in my curry, and flakes in my cookies. But now I really appreciate how totally rad these tropical balls truly are. They’re like free, tasty mini-survival packs scattered within easy reach. If you’re thirsty, you grab a green one, bash off the stem with a rock, poke a stick in it, and voila: a liter of vitamin-rich water in a compact carrying case.

Hungry? Find a brown coconut in a tree or on the ground (just make sure it doesn’t have any holes that indicate a rat beat you to it). Slice through the dry outer husk and shuck it off, peeling away the fibers to reveal the hard nut inside. Poke a hole in one of the three circular seed indents, drink out what’s left of the water, smash the shell on a rock to divide it in half and voila: fatty, vitamin-rich white meat that satisfies your belly and makes your hair and skin shiny from the inside out.

We don’t even take water bottles hiking anymore. And at the occasional cruisers’ potluck on shore, Rob just shucks a few coconuts and chips out chunks of sweet white meat for everyone’s dessert. They store really well for passages, too. We put one in the fridge each day to have a cold drink, and used the meat shavings to liven up cookies or pancakes. We’ve also started making our own coconut milk for curry dinners by pouring boiling water through the shavings.

And then there’s the dried-out shells: Rob has a sweet new bowl that holds his above-average servings of food. I have a new bra that definitely covers my below-average serving of breasts. We both have things to bang together to make percussive noises when playing music.

The other day, a fellow cruiser asked for some help opening some brown coconuts he’d pulled out of the ocean. Rob handily shucked a few on shore. Later, the German sailor told a few others in his halting English, “That American boy is good at killing the coconuts. He must have killed a lot of them.” Indeed he has.

To recap: coconuts are the perfect fruit. Visit a tropical island near you soon to experience their full range of utility, simplicity, and overall awesomeness.