Delicacies. They are almost invariably acquired tastes. Whether it’s the Peruvian guinea pig, fermented Swedish herring or Sardinia’s very own maggot cheese, it seems that every country has an edible skeleton in its cultural closet. In southeast Asia, it happens to be a very large fruit. This thorny shelled behemoth is so divisive that chain restaurants exist exclusively for its consumption, but many modes of public transport forbid so much as carrying one at the penalty of a heavy fine.
I had been on the Indochinese peninsula for nearly two months and, after wending my way through Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand, was heading south towards Kuala Lumpur and journey’s end. Before coming to the region, I had never so much as heard of durian, but in that part of the world it was inescapable. Hawkers on street stalls proudly displayed fresh cut slices, ice cream parlours boasted durian gelato and even the supermarket aisles were piled high with durian confections.
In spite of this ubiquity, I was familiar from overnight bus journeys with the prohibitive signs that marked its consumption in the same category as smoking and fornication. Incidentally, the fruit is regarded by some as an aphrodisiac, giving rise to the colourful Javanese proverb “the durian falls, and the sarong comes up.”
As a young backpacker on my first foray into solo travel, I was in no shortage of virility, but still I was determined to try this renowned local food for myself. A Chinese girl I had met in Chiang Mai had even gone so far as to tell me that it was cowardice to leave the peninsula without sampling it. I was now on Penang Island, famed in the region as a foodie capital, and decided it was finally time to see what all the fuss was about.
Into the lion’s den
The sign beside the open rafters cheerfully proclaimed the establishment within to be the “King of Durian.” I could have guessed as much blindfolded. You see, the reason why durian is so reviled in confined spaces is because of its smell. Many pundits down the decades have sought to do this unique aroma justice. For myself, it is most reminiscent of a pile of adolescent gym clothes sprinkled liberally with goat’s cheese and left to marinate for a few days in a compost bin steamed by the tropical sun.
The handful of westerners ambling down the street were giving the entrance a wide berth, in some cases actually crossing the road to circumnavigate the unseen nucleus of toxic air. Inside, a few locals raised their eyes to regard me with mild curiosity, before returning to bowls piled high with durian husk, durian seeds and, of course, durian flesh. Making a conscious effort to unwrinkle my nose, I approached the proprietor to see if I might try just a very small portion. “Oh no,” he said with a wry smile, “at King of Durian we sell only the whole fruit.”
The whole experience
At this point, I confess, my resolve wavered. But, much like Bruce Bogtrotter and his cake, I had asked for it and now I was going to get it. A wad of ringgit notes was handed over that I later valued at around $20 (durian is never cheap), and the man in front of me began hacking away at the spiky carapace with a small machete. I took my seat at a plastic table and a minute later was presented with a basket containing the waxy, yellow flesh.
Under the gaze of the waiter, I tentatively picked up a morsel and began to chew. The taste is initially quite sweet with a mouth feel somewhere between ripe banana and avocado, but the mustiness builds inexorably until you are fighting a gag reflex. With considerable force of will, I swallowed it down. “It’s good?” inquired the waiter, an amused glint in his eye. I looked up in between stomach palpitations and smiled through clenched teeth. “Delicious,” I replied.
Photo credits:
Durian close-up: pipol pipol molla
KitKat durian: jpellegen <ahref=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <ahref=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>
Durian sign: mlcastle <ahref=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <ahref=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>
Durian seller: zol m <ahref=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <ahref=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>(license)</a>