Coconuts in Kerala
Kerala, southern India. "Coconuts are Kerala", quips our guide and I later learn that in local dialect the words are one and the same. We are bouncing along the pitted road to Kochi, capital of this beguiling tropical province in south-west India. I peer out the window and sure enough, palm tree heads are clustered with green and yellow coconuts, hanging like balloons. I am not, frankly, impressed. My childhood contacts with the chewy shards of dessicated coconut scattered on cheap cakes have never encouraged me to investigate further. 
But here coconuts are impossible to miss. Green, semi-ripe nuts are piled at street corners, to be decapitated by a quick stroke of a machete to release the juice inside. Drunk through a straw, coconut juice is slightly astringent, refreshingly cool, and healthy – a concern in regions where water can be risky to drink – and the white, almost jelly-like meat is eaten as a snack. Tender green coconuts are just a beginning, as I rapidly discover. Coconut features in some form or other in at least half the local dishes I taste, but it is mild and far more versatile than the tough shreds of my childhood. 
Kerala is the spice capital of India, and I enjoy its highly-accented mixes of green beans, peas, shallots, and bright red carrots, stir fried with tender slivers of coconut. The local steamed rice crêpes called palappam are based on coconut milk and rice flour. No stew is complete without a coconut component, be it coconut oil used for frying, shredded coconut as a thickener, or coconut milk, extracted from the shredded meat to moisten the sauce. Note that this is a third coconut liquid, quite different from the watery juice of unripe nuts, or the milky, richer juice you'll find in ripe nuts. 
Coconuts are most useful when they are fully ripe and faded to yellow. First the two-inch hairy coating of coir is stripped off and saved for mats and ropes (untrimmed coconuts are a rarity in US markets, so you won't often see the coir). Once shaved, the familiar tough brown coconut is revealed with its three "eyes". I've come across all sorts of suggestions for splitting it open – roasting in the oven, dropping from a height (make sure no one is below), or tapping gently with a hammer while listening for a fault line in the manner of a burglar cracking a safe.
The Keralan method is far simpler, as I learn from Raji Panachinkel who cooks on a traditional houseboat that chugs beside the neighboring rice fields. 
it's important to start with a coconut withmaximum juice – shake it and listen! Polish the nut with your hands to remove any stray fibers. Set a bowl ready to catch juice and take a heavy cleaver. Hold the coconut firmly on a board and with the back of the cleaver tap about one third down from the eyes of the nut, turning it slowly. After three or four hits, you'll hear a sudden crack and the nut will split, spilling juice to be caught in the bowl.
Now the nut is open, Raji goes for the crisp white meat. He shows me how to score it with the tip of a small knife in concentric circles, then prises it from the hull, trimming off the dark brown skin. The meat can be chopped or cut in slivers to add texture to soups and stews. Most often it is grated – I've found that a food processor does well if you first cut the meat in chunks. By hand I'd suggest a rotary cheese grater. Unfortunately the simple little Keralan tool for grating coconut is available only on the spot. It comes anchored to a stool and to operate it, the cook sits firmly at ease on the stool, happily scraping away. 
To make fresh coconut milk: Two or possibly three batches of milk can be made from one coconut. The first extraction will be the richest.
Crack a coconut, catching the juice and set it aside. Extract the meat, pulling or cutting it away from the shell. Trim and discard the brown skin. Cut meat in pieces and purée in a processor, using the pulse button and working in 2-3 batches. Add 1 cup of the coconut water and process to mix. Set a strainer lined with cheesecloth over a bowl. Pour in coconut and milk and squeeze the grated meat dry. The yield will be about 1 cup. Replace coconut meat in processor, add 1 cup more water and repeat for the second, less concentrated extract. Leftover grated meat can be toasted for cake decoration but is quite bland. Makes 2 cups milk total.
At dinner that night, Raji served a zesty little chutney based on coconut, onion and chili. He had to grind all the ingredients through a hand grinder, but I simply throw them in the processor, all done in a few moments.
Coconut chutney (Arachukalakki):
Coconut chutney is deliciously refreshing with grilled fish or chicken breast. In a processor combine 1 cup grated fresh coconut, 1 green chili, cored, seeded and cut in pieces, 2 sweet onions, peeled and cut in pieces, a 1-inch piece of ginger, peeled and sliced, 2 teaspoons black mustard seeds, 1 teaspoon salt and a 1/2 cup water. Work to a fine paste using the pulse button. Makes 2 cups chutney, enough for 6-8.
Finally, to celebrate the memory of a hauntingly beautiful land, here's the simple creamy spiced rice, rich with raisins and pistachios, that we sampled on our rice boat. As the sun went down, one by one chanting rose from the Islamic mosque, the Hindu temple, and the Christian church across the waters.
Indian spiced rice pudding (Paal payasam):
You can use either fresh coconut milk, or half canned unsweetened milk and half water for this recipe. Serve the pudding warm or at room temperature for 4 people. In a heavy saucepan stir together 4 cups coconut milk, 1/4 cup basmati rice, 1 cinnamon stick, 4 crushed cardamom pods and 2 whole cloves. Cover, bring to a boil, and simmer the rice 30 minutes, stirring occasionally. Stir in 1/4 cup sugar and 1/2 cup golden raisins and continue simmering, stirring often towards the end of cooking, until the rice is creamy but still falls easily from the spoon, 20-30 minutes. Let the rice cool slightly, then stir in 1/2 cup blanched pistachios. I like to leave the spices in the rice, but I warn guests not to eat them!
