Triple Coconut Bars

Before, kids, I spent a lot of time imagining my life with them. We would read books and eat Dim Sum on Christmas Day, snuggle up in the morning, in bed, and we would cook together, always. I didn’t know what I was talking about.

Yes, we do all of those things, but none of them are as breezy as I had pictured. I didn’t get that kids cannot sit still, and that the sheer will it takes to get a child’s teeth brushed and get her shoes on the right feet all before 8:30am, is enough to make you just eat at home, and that they want to read the same book 400 times in a row. I didn’t understand that there would be snuggling, but that also, somehow, someone always gets kicked in the face.

I didn’t know that cooking with them would give me so many emotions, in the span of one recipe. Easton is incredibly interested in cooking and, in helping. I love it. Right now, sitting here, telling you about it? It’s almost more pride than one person can handle.

But, living it? Deep breaths. She wants to cut things that need sharp knives, using her kid-friendly knife. She wants to measure and pour and do it all herself. Her aim is that of a three-year-old, so sometimes, everything ends up in the bowl, and other times (like while making these coconut bars), I clean a lot of egg off the floor. Easton does not quite understand scales, so I’ve often had to pour things out, and remeasure, after realizing her hand was resting on top, as I was pouring in flour. She understands that things can be hot, but she does not want to stand by and watch other people stirring things on the stove, when she’s pretty sure, she should be the one stirring. She wants to try one bite of each thing, just a little bit, just to see, and has pitched fits when we haven’t let her eat raw shrimp.

But. Recently, she figured out how to crack and open eggs, and I cheered for her in the kitchen. Really cheered. She sliced a bunch of mushrooms for our Friday night pizza a few weeks ago and is finally mastering gentle stirring. Last weekend, Easton and my mom made cookies, and she, honest to goodness, rolled each cookie into a ball, like a champ. I pull out kale or feta or apple butter, and she says them by name, and asks what we’re doing with them. In those moments, I think that maybe my pre-kid self wasn’t so crazy.

There are so many times that I know it would be easier to cook by myself — and there are definitely days that I wait until nap time if I know that I’m making something that really requires concentration. But, when she’s around, I try to let her help. Maybe she’ll be a chef one day. Or maybe she won’t, but she’ll remember cooking with her mom all the time, the way I remember cooking with mine.

Last week, when my Homemade Coconut Extract was finally ready to be used, I knew that I had to make Saveur’s Coconut Macaroonies. I first spied the recipe almost a full year ago and was struck by all of the coconut ingredients, but also by the fact that none of those ingredients were straight shredded coconut. Coconut oil I always have. Coconut flour, I’ve always been a little nervous to play with because of how finicky it can be compared to other flours. And, well, we all know my feelings about the extract.

The ingredient list for these coconut bars looked simple enough to turn this into an Easton project. And, really, it was. Except for the egg on the table, and a little bit of overzealous whisking, she got it together. Sure, she had to sample a piece of white chocolate, had very opinionated feelings about lining the bottom of the pan with parchment paper and asked, whyyyyyyyy? before every step, but we got through it.

They baked, making the entire house smell amazing, and cooled, later, while she napped. I cut them into squares, in welcome silence and Larry and I sampled an edge. The coconut is intense, the texture is almost creamy and I kept thinking about cream of coconut (ironically one of the few coconut ingredients not on the list). If you’re not crazy about the texture of coconut, but into the flavor, this might be your coconut bar.

Sometimes, I can’t believe how old Easton is, the things she says, the way she starts sentences with, Hey guys, I have an idea… As I’m writing this, Larry removed Reeve’s baby swing from our living room, since she’s way too active to sit in it these days. I got teary and Easton said to me, Mommy, it’s OK, Reeve’s way too big now, she just doesn’t need a swing anymore. But there are other ways that she is so three. I mean, we made these cookies, she couldn’t wait for them to come out of the oven, and yet, she has never once asked about them. This happens a lot. Even though she wants to sample everything, be a part of everything, she’s usually just so busy being a kid, doing the next thing.

I wonder, as Reeve gets older, if she’ll start elbowing Easton out of the way to crack the eggs and pour in the flour, or if she will have zero interest in joining us in the kitchen. I wonder if she’ll be like Easton, seemingly OK with dirtying her hands and then needing to wash them, just to mess them up again. I wonder if she’ll be as independent and opinionated and helpful and willful and determined as her sister, in the kitchen, and elsewhere.

Living with the girls, learning from them and cooking with them, is nothing like what I imagined. There is so much pride and so much fatigue and so many moments that it just seems like too much. But, there are so many days, when they laugh so much that they fall over, that Easton eats an entire pile of white anchovies from a salad she has mixed together herself and when we all peacefully bake coconut bars on a Sunday morning. And those are the moments, no matter how brief, that are so much more than what I pictured. And, then some.