The Secret of Cracking a Coconut
It was a hot, humid Florida Friday afternoon. That means the temperature was 82F BUT the humidity made it feel like 144F. If you dare crack open the door from the comforts of your air-conditioned home to just even walk to the mailbox, you might as well bring along an well-seasoned chicken. By the time you’ve returned from your mailbox, the damn bird is perfectly steamed.
I decided it was a good idea to top the Co-Co Fro-Yo by a Fo-Blo with freshly shaved coconut for dessert. So off I went to the market:
Someone at the coconut company was even thoughtful enough to jump-start the coconut cracking process – it was already conveniently grooved. It even came with a bright orange sticker that had an arrow pointed at the coconut’s butt-crack proclaiming, “<– Crack me open here!”
Held coconut in left hand, cleaver in right hand. Started gently at first…not having ever cracked a real coconut before in my entire life, I just didn’t know what to expect….other than when I’m at a cheesy tropical restaurant and they serve me a coconut, it usually is full of rum inside. I was hopeful that this baby would grant me the same.
::me – off to the garage to find something more useful than a Chinese cleaver::
AHA! A hammer and screwdriver! So I brought the cutting board and coconut outside to my front driveway. No messy messy in my kitchen!
::me – sitting on ground, legs in front, knees bent, two feet grasping the coconut steady (very gorilla style) while left hand holds screwdriver, right hand holds hammer::
Just a few dents but NOTHING. By the way, do you know how hard it is to steady a ROUND object between your feet while KATHUNKING really hard with a hammer? I was fully aware that 6 inches is all that separated my big toe from the middle of the coconut. By now, I’m already dripping with sweat from the heat and incredible exertion from KATHUNKING a coconut.
::off to raid my husband’s stuff in the garage. I came back to the driveway with an arsenal of assorted tools::
I really don’t know the names of anything other than what I would describe as a pincher thingy, heavy wench, prier-majigger, hammer, big-butt orange drill and who know what the hell that thing is at the bottom of the photo. All I know is that the useless thing cracked when I whacked the coconut with it.
NOT. ONE. SUCCESSFUL. ATTEMPT.
NOW I’M PISSED.
Goshnabbit. If Tom Hanks could do this with gum disease, a volleyball pretend-friend and 4 years of bad B.O….I was sure not to let this hairy twat get the best of me.
“Open up you mother #!$!@$ or else I’ll staple-gun your head….”
You can even see some of the battle scars near the equator – but even under extreme, inhumane torture and duress, the coconut did not crack. Damn thing still wouldn’t talk.
Its cowlick even grew higher and seemed to say to me, “ha! neeener neeener neeener!”
I even threatened him with decapitation by the evil warlord, Delta ShopMaster.
(note to husband……see that nick in the power cord? I didn’t do that. It was like that when I found it. I swear. Also– all those tools in your garage that were birthday presents, Christmas presents, Father’s Day presents…..USELESS!!! Useless I say! Next holiday…you’re getting a juicer.
In the end, I was SO FRUSTRATED, SWEATY, PISSED AND PARTIALLY EMBARRASSED that I couldn’t crack open a coconut that had been “pre-cracked” already. Disgusted, I took the stupid thing to the backyard, threw it on the grass and in my best Bruce Lee impression…..
both hands holding cleaver….
swing up and over head….
The secret was that you had to do a primal kung-fu-esque yell while bending it like Beckham chopping it like Jackie Chan to open the dang coconut. That’s all it took!
In the end….I was so excited about how wonderful the evening was progressing that ….
I forgot entirely about the coconut and it never ever appeared on the dessert.