It started out as more of a hatred. For years, I couldn’t stand the thought of it. When I tried it again and again summer after summer thinking maybe, just maybe I would like it, same story: I would gag and spit and swear that I’d never do it again. I tried to mask it under sweet or chase it with salty. Horrible.
Ben was the first to get addicted (sorry for ratting you out, Ben), and he fell into the addiction head first. It got so bad that I would catch him climbing trees while I was working on something inside the RV. One day, after a neighbor saw him hanging out in the tree, she asked what was going on. He told her, while sharing his addiction with her. I never saw her in a tree, but I’m pretty sure the damage was done.
Eventually, Ben started coaxing me into giving it “just one more try.” Some days, it was bearable; other days it left a rotten taste on my tongue and regret in my mind. It wasn’t until we returned from our trip to the U.S. that I gave in to “one more try.” That was it. I was hooked. After years of standing up for myself and renouncing it, I was addicted. Now, it’s part of my daily life, and it’s beginning to affect others around us.
For instance, our dealer’s face lights up when she sees us. At our current rate, we visit her once a week, and she isn’t afraid to let us know what a big payday our visit is to her. We visit her so often she’s started throwing in freebies.
The dogs now share the addiction. I wasn’t even able to get a photo before Annie polished hers off.
Sometimes I shred it, dry it out, and make flakes. Then, I take a portion of the flakes, grind it up, and turn it into flour. Then, I can eat it with other food.
There is nothing more refreshing than fresh coconut water followed by a snack of coconut flesh. Then, perhaps some tasty coconut chicken (cooked in coconut oil, of course) for dinner. Luckily for us, we’re in coconut heaven. There are several coconut farms within a ten mile radius of our house. And, when we run out at home, there’s always a street dealer.