Receta Almond Coconut Pastry Braid
Even though I teach middle school, I forget how critically embarrassed middle school kids can be. I don’t even mean how embarrassed they can be when something embarrassing happens. I mean just their every day basal level of embarrassment. If the general population is on ground level, they’re up on the 25th floor of Embarrassment Tower. And probably hiding in a closet.
I’m sure there are some kids who don’t struggle with this, but there are plenty who do. Even the ones who are outwardly thriving will privately acknowledge the ways social anxiety affects their choices. It’s normal and thankfully it fades away by college, where you realize that singing “Hakuna Matata” while dancing around the student union in your duck pajamas won’t make your friends look at you funny — perhaps because they’re in their Ninja Turtle pajamas and singing Pumbaa’s part. But in middle school, every kid is watching the dude next to him, trying to decide what’s normal.
I was reminded of this truth recently when I was thinking my middle school lunches. We had a cafeteria that offered a few consistent staples — pizza, fries, salad — and a main course that changed daily. Students entered the cafeteria in shifts, ordered their meal, ate for around 20 minutes, and headed back to class.
As a middle schooler I was probably on the 85th floor of Embarrassment Tower. The lunch line was overwhelming to me: dozens and dozens of kids, so many food options, so little time to look at the menu before you were shuffled along by the current. The first few days of middle school felt like drowning until I developed a coping mechanism. I decided that I cared more about getting through the line quickly and looking relatively normal than I cared about what food I ended up with. So I stopped looking at the menu altogether. Every day I ordered the same thing: a plate of fries. No drink, no main dish, no dessert. FRIES. JUST FRIES. I JUST WANT FRIES. (And a closet to hide in.)
Other kids had less of a struggle and ordered pizza, chicken, mashed potatoes, spaghetti — always with mountains of ranch dressing. Remember how I told you that ice packs were a middle schooler’s love language? In my day, it was ranch dressing. Kids put that stuff EVERYWHERE. They poured it all over their pizza, dipped their fries into it, filled a bowl with it just in case. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they were stowing extra in their socks. The cafeteria must have gone through enough ranch dressing each day to cause a straight-up drought in Hidden Valley.
But not me. I grabbed my plate of fries, ate them hastily, stole back to class, and thanked God that I could remain mercifully anonymous for the rest of the day.
And you know what’s really sad? I didn’t even like fries!
It’s good to remember every now and then what my students might be going through. I’m still a bit awkward and shy, but I’d say I’m only on the 5th floor, tops, of Embarrassment Tower these days. I’m definitely no longer willing to sacrifice my meals!
Another benefit of being a grown-up: I get to make said meals. This Almond Coconut Pastry Braid is something I’d love to deliver to my middle school self. Poor little fry-eating baby. But I’ll settle for eating way too much of it now. It’s a crisp, golden, buttery, almond coconut masterpiece that’s so simple to make. If you’re afraid of dough, please do give this a shot. You’ll never find an easier recipe for a dough beginner!
- One year ago: Raspberry Cheesecake Morning Buns
- Two years ago: Spaghetti Squash Baked “Pasta” Boats
- Three years ago: Milnot Cheesecake Cheesecake
- Four years ago: Lemon Berry Crumble Breakup Bars
- Five years ago: Pecan Maple Bacon Pancakes
Example of how to cut and assemble braid.