The three Cs
Coffee, Curry, and Coconut
My wife and I recently spent a chilly yet sunny afternoon wandering the muddy trails of London’s Wetlands Center, watching ducks, geese, and cranes while camera-wielding bird enthusiasts snapped away. We watched the otters, but the eels weren’t the only ones in hiding that day. Some things—like old tastes and aversions—lurk beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
Not everyone would call this an ideal way to spend a Sunday. My friend Allan, for example, would rather eat a bird than watch one, and his only interest in birds could be reduced to how they are prepared—roasted, grilled, fried. Before you cry foul at his attitude, you should know that he would also be the first to embrace the spirit of such an outing with his oft-spoken motto: vive la différence.
Allan is a foodie and pursues his own life well lived through the discovery of new foods, experimenting with his own preparations along with the enjoyment of old favorites, like the fantastic paella at BOCA Mediterranean Restaurant in Hickory, NC.
Unlike Allan, I don’t chase new flavors, but lately, I’ve been reconsidering old aversions. In my eagerness to get on to the next “thing,” my interest in food typically rises no higher than quelling hunger. Sure, I want my meals to taste good, but I’ve historically gravitated toward whatever is easy to prepare—or prepared by someone else—while avoiding the three Cs: coffee, curry, and especially coconut.
In the spirit of one life well lived and to appreciate foods others enjoy, I have a habit of sampling dishes I haven’t cared for in the past. And since a two-month bout with COVID in early 2020 left my tastes slightly altered, this can be rewarding.
Covid or not, coconut remains my ultimate culinary nemesis. The Chef’s Resource (dot) com website describes coconut as having “a creamy texture that melts in your mouth, leaving a lingering, pleasant aftertaste.”
“A creamy texture that melts in your mouth:” are we tasting the same thing? Lingering to be sure. A pleasant aftertaste? Not so much. (Idiom complements of Paul Reiser.)
Coffee, however, turned out to be a different story. My wife loves coffee, especially first thing in the morning—the ritual of making it, the smell, lingering in her pajamas to settle into a comfy chair with her feet curled under her, the warm mug caressed in two hands.
About eighteen months ago I agreed to drink a full cup of coffee with her. She waited with skeptical anticipation of my first sip.
“Not as revolting as I remember,” I said.
I’m now an occasional coffee drinker, but I still dislike the curries I’ve re-tasted, and still like coconut less than Allen likes watching birds.
We capped off our Sunday in the wetlands with an unexpected taste of the wetlands, a four-corse meal, which unbeknownst to me, included both eel and duck. Who would have thought my tendency to rush through a meal to get to the next “thing” could be slowed down enough to savor each course of a four-course meal over three hours?
The end of our meal featured a sampling of petits fours—three each. I saved the dark chocolate for last, placing the dice-sized cube on my tongue, savoring the sweet and bitter, slowly biting down in anticipation of a creamy, contrast of sweet mousse smothering my tastebuds only to be betrayed by the coconut lying in wait.
We weren’t dining in the wilds of the wetlands, so my initial reaction, spit out the only unpleasant surprise of our meal, was not an option. I froze. The mound of ‘sweet, nutty’ grittiness wedged between my teeth, my tongue retreating to the deepest recesses of my mouth like a frightened wetland duck cowering from a Richmond fox.
My water glass empty, I was left with only one real choice, coffee. If not for my willingness to taste coffee a year and a half ago, I might still be sitting in a Michelin-starred restaurant, teeth clenched, tongue curled with coconut drool running down my chin. I gulped the coffee, swallowing the grainy mash as though it were an oversized pill prescribed by a sadistic doctor.
There are times when exploration pays off, sometimes it blindsides you.
Allan would have raised a glass to the moment with his motto: vive la différence.
My wife? She just laughed.
That’s My Window on the World—sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter, and sometimes filled with the lurking menace of coconut.