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Raw sewage. Carrion. Vomit custard. Rotting fish. Death. Someone compared it to eating ice cream in an outhouse. Anthony Bourdain said it was like “French kissing your dead grandmother,” and one 19
thcentury journalist said, "To eat it seems to be the sacrifice of self-respect”. None of that matters. We have to do it. We have to eat durian. And we’re making the kid eat some too.
Although allegedly banned on the sky train, we smelled it yesterday on the way home from school. It was only a hint, much fainter than the wall of stink that wafts through the grocery store, but definitely durian. There is no way to contain the stank. If it is cut, it smells; uncut, it smells; vacuum sealed, it smells. The prodigious funk is apparently an advantageous evolutionary adaptation. When the fruit falls from the tree, the rind splits open and the aroma is carried far and wide on the wind. It seems that in addition to Southeast Asian humans, elephants, rhinos, primates, and tigers find the smell irresistible and will travel miles to gorge on the custardy goo, inadvertently gobbling up the tree’s seeds in the feeding frenzy.
The Emporium grocery store uses
a similar strategy. Plump individually wrapped golden segments of durian line the shelves of a case erected in the middle of the produce section during durian season. Proudly displayed under gleaming lights, they look like fat giant butter pupae. Stinking gloriously and unabashedly, the smell entices the locals and intrigues or disgusts the foreigners. Next to the case, uncut durians are piled high. While notorious for their smell, the appearance of the fruit itself is menacing. It is an army green soccer ball covered with sharp spikes that looks more like something dreamed up by the Catholic Inquisition than a fruit. It’s reminiscent of the hide of an armored dinosaur or a barbarian war club. In both smell and appearance, it seems like Nature has made it abundantly clear that this is not a thing you should put in your mouth, but in Southeast Asia, they didn’t seem to get the message.
There are 9 different species of edible durain. In Thailand, these include the golden pillow (
mon thong), the gibbon (
chanee), the finch (
nok krajib) and the much-coveted long stem (
kanyo). Each has a distinct texture, flavor and smell, and like connoisseurs of wine, bourbon, cheese or anything
else, there are subtleties and nuance between them, and preferences and strong opinions about them. All of this is entirely lost on us. We are more concerned about size. Smaller seems better.
On Friday evening, Eslyn and I buy a tiny segment. It is about the size of my fist and costs 140 bhat, about $4usd. Thais supposedly will go into debt binging on durian during the three months it is in season, but we feel like heroes just for buying it. Once we get it home, it’s going to stink up the apartment immediately, so tomorrow, we either have to put our tail between our legs and pitch it, or we have to put on our big boy britches and eat what the Thais consider the king of the fruits.
At high noon, we gather around the table on the front porch. The harsh sunlight glints off the spirit house in the yard. A light breeze blows in the banyan. We sit and take a long look at the yellow larvae looking thing causing all the stink. We poke it. Gingerly. Like it’s a newly discovered alien life form. Mushy. Like a baby’s thigh. Then everyone takes
a bite.
Disappointingly, the big reveal doesn’t send anyone to the railing to vomit. There’s not even any screaming. Eslyn makes some hilarious faces, but despite the buildup, the durain is … not so bad. It’s super soft and rich and tastes like oniony butterscotch pudding. Carly says it reminds her of overripe mangos, while our friend Conor – clearly the least impressed- says it is ‘synthetic’ and ‘vapory’ but also unlike anything he’s ever eaten. Eslyn nods sagely and declares that she too finds it “synthetic and vapory and definitely NOT good”. I think she could be convinced otherwise.
Although the entertainment value of someone hurling would have been high, in the end, eating durian was much ado about nothing. It is as if the putrification and horror gleefully recounted on the internet are somehow not the whole story. Dumbstruck that selective reading of the internet does not constitute, capital T, Truth, I decide on a radical course of action: I will ask Thai people what they think about durian.
Shockingly, their descriptions are much more positive. Instead of the thesaurus of nausea, they use words like ‘divine’, ‘sublime’, ‘Godsend’, ‘dreamy’, ‘delicacy’, ‘incomparable’, and ‘unique’. One
of Carly’s co-workers said eating durian reminds her “of the time when I was an angel.” My friend Katie’s response was more ambiguous. She describes durian as “smelling like a cross between a Portuguese egg tart and a geyser, but buttery and sweet tasting, like a caramel custard with fibrous bits.” Although most of what I heard was unequivocally positive, there were guarded whispers suggesting not all Thais are completely smitten by durian.
Nonetheless, even the most damning criticism comes with caveats: “pickled fish,
but the fish smell is worse”, ‘a
mild sewer odor”, or “
a little like gas”. ‘A little’ might be underselling it as they did evacuate a university in Australia in 2019 for a gas leak that turned out to be a durian rind in the trash can, but again, those were non-durian lovers freaking out. One tepid enthusiast asked not to be identified since he thought his critique might cause compatriots, and possibly his wife, to lynch him for heresy. Evidently, the Lèse-majesté laws in Thailand also cover the king of the fruit.
One Thai fellow joining the chorus of adulation proclaimed durian a delicacy that should be eaten chilled with a fork and
knife; moreover, he added with palpable disgust, that Roquefort cheese you farang (foreigners) eat smells like something a dog vomited up. And here at last is the crux of the matter: it’s all about the devil you know. Nevertheless, despite our deeply rooted cultural prejudices, it’s always better to remember what your mom told you: “You won’t know until you try it. And you never know, you might like it.” But seriously, they evacuated a university. Roquefort never did that.
Special thanks to all the Thai people who willingly answered my questions about durian. Your input was much appreciated. Be forewarned, next time I’m asking you about cock fighting and lady boys…
Quotes in the first paragraph from
https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/565968/attempts-describe-taste-durian-worlds-smelliest-fruit
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Lisa Cepeda
non-member comment
Brave people you!
Thank you Colin for another excellent morning read. I loved the cultural food lesson and I'm glad y'all have tried it- which now in my mind- spares me from trying it. I think y'all can represent the family on this one!