January 31st, 2010

Coconut Crunchees. An addict’s story.

Back in the early ’90s my brother and I went to Nepal for several months to climb and trek. We spent most of our time in the northern valleys of Rowaling and Kumbu. For several weeks at a time we were well beyond any villages or tea-houses. Back then you could still get pretty far out there. It wasn’t the disneyland it is today.

As an affirmed sugar junky, our asthetic diet of dahl, greens, rice and chilis was hard to maintain. Hence I became addicted, severely, to the little cookies pictured above—Coconut Crunchees.

It happened the first time we arrived in Namche Bazzar. After two grueling weeks coming up the Rowaling all I could think about was what I would order when we finally found a tea-house. Of course, vegetable momos were high on my list, but before I would consider any kind of savory staple I wanted something sweet. Something as far away from dahl as could be found. Walking into the warm room I found it, glowing brightly in their banana yellow wrapper the Coconut Crunchees biscuits called to me. One crunch and I was hooked.

It seemed that no other food in Nepal crunched the way Coconut Crunchees did and I needed that crunch. As often as my meager rations would allow. I was never without them but, their expense and our travel schedule meant I could not be careless with my supply. Each day had it’s own planned moment when a Crunchee could be savored.

Of course, my addiction became the prime material for my brother’s taunts and jibes. I know he liked them, too. And it was only by shear force of will that he did not become an addict himself. To this day I believe it illustrates some essential difference in our characters—a flaw in mine that he’s always been too kind to point out.

This past fall, my brother traveled back to Nepal. He returned with stories of a beautiful place pulled apart by politics and diminished by un-checked tourism. Soon after, a small box arrive. Seeing the postmark of his town I figured it was some small souvenir. Inside was one carefully wrapped package of Coconut Crunchees in the same banana-yellow wrapper. Inside was also a note, “Saw these and thought of you. Sent one package because that’s enough.” True.

I waited several months before opening them. Fending off pressure from my young daughter who loves any new treat. Would they be as I remembered? Or some pale version un-amplified by weeks of caloric deficit.

I’m happy to report that eight cookies in, Coconut Crunchees are exactly as I remember them. And still crunchy in a way that seems other-worldly and infused with an artificial coconut flavor that is delicious. I say eight cookies because, of course, I am rationing them—only 2 cookies per week. It was number eight that inspired this post and reminded me I haven’t properly thanked my brother.

So thanks Chris for sending a postcard from my past and our collective memory. If I close my eyes and imagine it, I can still hear the howl of the valley winds above the crunch of one last cookie.