Coconut Sweetbread

Hurried off to the supermarket this morning and found it packed like a sardine can!  The man standing behind me in the line commented on the length of the lines wending their way forward at every cashier, as time wasted.  While I agreed that the lines were indeed long, I also commented that it was a good way to have a chat and make quick friends.  And so it began. 

I know not his name but I do know that he has 3 boys, ranging in ages between 11 and 5 and there is another child on the way!  His pregnant wife was not feeling well so he had come to buy a few vegetables since she likes veggies and he was eager to get back to prepare lunch for his family.  The boys, he said, were a handful: bundles of energy that he had sent into the backyard to play marbles rather than them simply watching the television.  I, in turn, advised him to soak the cauliflower for awhile to ensure that any excess pesticide was removed and that he could even plant the base of both cauliflower and broccoli, held in his hands and get a small crop, while teaching the boys a bit of agriculture.  I watched as a mother gave the nod to her two children which it seemed, was the consent to pick up packages of cookies.  My remark as we watched their (the children’s) actions that this generation knew nothing of coconuts drops, prompted rapid head nodding of assent and his reminiscing contribution as to the little biscuits with the sugar on top that his mummy would make. 

But this story is not about the man and me although our encounter prompted this writing.    I really wish to share a memory of one of my aunts.  She was the one it has been said, who showed and gave the emotion in the family.  My father’s sister, Auntie Iris or Iyee as she was sometimes called by her siblings was a giver.  She may not have given everything nicely all the time, but she gave.   She was the one whom I remember had a beautiful singing voice, could sew up a dress in no time for her niece, would plait your hair so tightly that a little migraine would come on (she herself always suffered with migraine headaches) and who was extremely mannerly and formal.  She was a teacher who gave of her best to her little charges as evidenced by the many gifts given to her and the hugs she would often receive on the streets every once in a while.   She also made the best sweetbread, coconut drops and ponche de crème as far as I am concerned.  My constant request as a birthday gift from her was for a sweetbread and a bottle of ponche de crème! 

So today, when I had that urge for something sweet and there was nothing in the cupboard to satisfy that urge but half of a coconut, I decided to make a sweetbread and the commencement of that exercise brought up memories of my Auntie Iris.  Auntie Elaine, her sister, would lay out all the ingredients and the prime ingredient, the coconut, would be slowly grated on the medium side of the box grater into a fluffy mound.  As soon as the yeast began its bubbling, it would be added to the coconut, flour, sugar, salt, raisins, spices, citron, and cherries, milk and water.  The air in Auntie Iris’ knuckles would pop, as her fingers kneaded the ingredients into a smooth ball.  As she prepared the sweetbread dough she would talk to us, as to how wonderful it would taste upon being baked. 

We all had a part to play in Auntie Iris’ baking: she was the conductor and we were the orchestra players, thus from time to time she would request that whomever was near pour just a touch of water into the flour mixture to bring it all together.   One of us would have to light the gas oven and she would turn her floured hands to her sister Elaine, asking whether or not she had prepared the sugar syrup, which would be basted on the completed bread.  She herself would ensure that the brown sugar was ready to be sprinkled as a heavy layer on the top of the brown, crusty loaves.  All the relatives and friends who passed through Santa Cruz received a slice of sweetbread, meted out like a precious commodity and often eaten right out of its wrapping of wax paper before leaving her home, which meant that of course, you had to get more to now take to your own home. 

Coconut Sweetbread, Iris style

While this may be a eulogy for my aunt, she is not dead.    No, my Auntie Iris is alive, hit by a mean disease.  My aunt  seems to have Alzheimer’s or some other form of dementia, so no more laughter surrounding the preparations for Christmas, no more admonishment, time and time again for not following her advice to fall in love with that special young man, her neighbour across the street, who she knew would make me a good husband.  No more advice on how to treat my husband, now long an ex-husband, no tales of the gentlemen who courted her and no gentle words telling me that I am her god-daughter and the favourite one at that (take note, all her god-children are her favoured ones).  Today Auntie Iris, I made old-fashioned sweetbread.  In honour of you, I grated the coconut, eye-balled measured all the ingredients, kneaded with my fingers, not the wrists, just like I remembered you doing and baked slowly on a 325F oven, just like you would.    I love you Iyee!