Real Food Has Curves

Bruce teaches knitting. He's even writing a knitting book. (Have I said this a zillion times?) And no, it's not like the cobbler whose children have no shoes. I wear hand-made sweaters. Only. Always. No exceptions.

Except sometimes. On the sly, I sneak into Gap stores to try on a sweater. You know, just to see what a normal one feels like. I lay my gray, black, and white alpaca/mohair/cashmere/wool/cotton/nylon ragland on the bench in the dressing room and slip into a blue cotton sweater.

Ah, normalcy, I sigh. This is how everyone looks. I look at myself in the mirror.

And hate what I see. Because the sweater's not shaped to my shoulders, not made for my neck, not crafted to my dimensions. And there's not much flare. So off the blue sweater comes and I go back in the hand-made one, knowing that normalcy is not for my life.

Nor for the cookies I eat. Because Bruce likes to mix things up. He's totally about flare. I honestly wouldn't know a ragland from a hole in the ground. But Bruce does. Always has.

Which may also explain why his cooking can become so wonderfully creative. Sure, sometimes I'd sort of like a plain coconut macaroon. And then he hands me a plate of his own, studded with mini chocolate chips, along with a tall, cool glass of raw milk. (Yep, it's legal to sell raw milk in Connecticut. But that's a whole 'nother story.) And then I know why I married the guy. Because I'd be stuck eating the standard--and he's always breaking the mold.

OK, the cookies.

First, a warning: his recipe call for a lot of coconut--both unsweetened (sometimes sold as "desiccated coconut" in health-food stores--although surely someone can come up with a better name) and sweetened coconut, the familiar kind from the bags in the baking aisle of the supermarket. Plus there are mini chocolate chips aplenty.

To start, position the racks in the top and bottom thirds of the oven and preheat the oven to 350F. Line two large baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone baking mats.

Beat 1 large whole egg, 2 large egg whites, and 1 cup sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed.

Bruce is already playing around here. Traditional coconut macaroons are made with egg whites, no yolks. But the one yolk in the mix adds a little heft to the cookies, making them more like, well, cookies, a little less ethereal. (Don't you love these eggs? They're from guinea fowl. "Pintades" for all the Francophiles. We buy them at a little farmstand down the road. But honestly, any old egg will do.)

Once the egg and sugar mixture is creamy and a little pasty, beat in 1/4 cup all-purpose flour and 1/4 teaspoon salt.

Bruce is playing around again. There's no flour in traditional coconut macaroons. But he's giving the coconut a little contrasting texture so it's even more present, even more satisfying. And you know the trick: the more satisfying it is, the more quickly you're satisfied. A few bites and you're in bliss.

After beating a few seconds, just when the raw flour disappears into the batter, mix in 2 2/3 cups shredded sweetened coconut (that's one 7-ounce bag), 1 1/2 cups shredded unsweetened coconut (the "desiccated" stuff), and 2 cups mini chocolate chips. 

No more than a few quick turns will do it to make the batter. Then scoop it up by rounded tablespoonfuls, form them into little balls, and space them out on the prepared baking sheets.

Bruce uses some little ice cream scooper that's the perfect size. Oh, these chefs and their toys. I'd use a spoon and roll the blobs into balls between my palms. In the oven they go, one tray on each rack, and then they bake for 8 minutes.

Switch the trays back to front and top to bottom--then continue baking until somewhat firm and lightly browned, about 7 more minutes. Cool the cookies on the trays for a couple minutes, then use a spatula to transfer them to a wire rack to cool completely.

Good-bye, normalcy. Hello, satisfying bliss.