Coconut "milk", or water, is low in fat and calories.   One cup contains 46 calories and half a gram of fat, of which 0.4 grams are saturated fat.  It contains no cholesterol.    It contains traces of a wide range of minerals, vitamins and amino acids, but is high in potassium, something our bodies need more of in hot weather.

When a recipe calls for "coconut milk", don't use this liquid!   That's not what it means.  My introduction to real coconut milk or "leche de coco", occurred four decades ago.   Having seen the handwriting on the wall, so as to speak, I was just trying to learn Spanish.    Hispanics were starting to move into our neighborhood, and I made friends, with an English/Spanish dictionary in hand, in order to learn the language, the customs and the cuisine.  The welfare department had moved a Honduran woman, whose husband had abandoned her and her baby, into our apartment complex.   It was summer and back then everything closed down in Miami from May through September; there was absolutely no work available.  Food supplies for many consisted of federal surplus food back then, mostly flour, rolled wheat and oats, cornmeal, beans, rice, lard, dried milk, powdered eggs, a little canned mystery meat, American cheese and canned butter.  Food stamps hadn't been thought of.  Those who indeed had no money at all eked these surplus foods out any way they could, by fishing in the nearest canal or off one of the causeways, growing anything possible, sorting through grocery dumpsters and scrounging fruit and coconuts from dooryards and trash piles.   Frequently this young Hondurenian set out with an empty shopping bag, baby on one hip, and came back with bits and pieces of discarded clothing and housewares, as well as various edibles. 

After one excursion I found her out in the yard under a tree, the best place to escape some of Miami's brutal summer heat in the years before air conditioning, with a large old kitchen knife, a square tin grater, a large bowl and a pile of mature coconuts.   With the knife,  she hacked and whacked until she was able to tug away the woody, stringy covering.   She discarded the water, explaining that it was too old to taste good.  The coconut meat popped out with a little prodding.   Taking a slab in hand, she began to grate the white part until only the tough, brown skin remained, which was discarded.  

When she had a bowl full of finely shredded coconut, she took it into her kitchen and added a little hot water.   I trailed along with my dictionary to see what she did next.   She began to knead and stir with her hands until the water turned milky white.  She then placed a thin dishtowel   over another bowl, dumped the coconut into it and began to squeeze out the liquid.    She repeated this several times until the water no longer took on a milky hue.   To my surprise, she then discarded the grated coconut!

Dividing the resulting "leche de coco", she sweetened part of it and poured it into ice trays (without the dividers).  The rest of it went into the refrigerator.  I tried to ask what she was making, but we couldn't communicate.

A couple of hours later she knocked at my door, and with a burst of Spanish, incomprehensible at that time, indicated that I should go with her.   (Probably she was saying, "Okay, crazy American, come see what I'm going to do now!"   I was probably a pest, and often, I am sure, provided endless amusement for my Hispanic neighbors, but I  learned the Spanish language and Hispanic cooking!)

The sweetened coconut milk in the ice trays came out, and she began to scrape mightily with a sturdy spoon.  As soon as she scraped about a cup of   crystals, they were returned, loosely, into the freezer compartment in another ice tray.  When done with the whole tray, she gave me a small dish.  Voila!    Creamy coconut sherbet!

Then to my amazement, she added some of the unsweetened "leche de coco" to the water in which she was cooking her rice.   While the rice   was cooking, she salted, floured and quickly browned some small fishes in a bit of the lard.  She drained the lard into the grease pot, a usual fixture on the back of stoves in Miami, for later use.  She then poured some of the "leche de coco" into the frying pan and poached the fried fish until  cooked through and the liquid in the pan started to thicken into a thin gravy.  When done, she dished me up a little.  It was a unique taste.

Since then I have eaten a number of dishes made with "leche de coco", and although I don't use it in cooking personally, it's a welcome taste treat once in a while.
Page 1 | 2 | 3