Fresh Buko

Growing up, I never liked coconut; mind you, I grew up in the mountains of Spain so I could hardly taste the real thing. It was either dessicated flakes placed on cakes or desserts attempting to imitate the flavour, in a sickeningly sweet way.

My first encounter with fresh coconut was at the kidney cleanse I did in Chiang Mai. I was becoming delirious after days of no eating and drinking mostly parsely juice, when the staff brought out a dripping cold glass. It had near freezing fresh coconut water with slabs of fresh coconut floating inside. I remember feeling bliss as I put it to my mouth but then again, I was starving and delirious so anything seemingly sweet and fleshy would've felt like heaven anyway, right?

Well, my full fledged love affair and veneration of fresh coconut has happened in Siargao. The coconut trees grow all around and so, when we want a fresh one, Romeo, who works here, climbs up and picks them off from underneath the tall palms! Now I understand why the trees have these step-looking cut slabs in the trunk. They are young, smooth and green on the outside. (I learn the hairy brown ones just mean they're old). They are filled with water and the meat is smooth and delicate - sometimes like a thin film. And so we grab a knife and slice the top off. Water spurts out and we collect the overflow in a bowl to chill for later. And with a special knife we cut the insides in circles to make fresh spaghetti-looking shapes. As I look out onto the clear waters before me, and the mangroves surrounding the house, I eat fresh coconut, or buko, as it is known here. Breakfast, dessert, snack ... it is a pure and healthy indulgence I feel I cannot live without now. How lucky to be able to drink nature's juice as it was intended.