The Durian Thing

If you glance at the first photograph I’ve posted today, you’ll see, in the foreground, some large spiky-looking fruit. That’s durian. If you are unfamiliar, durian is the train-wreck of fruit in the tropics. This is due to the horrendous, off-putting scent emitted from the fruit once it is sliced open.

Travel and food writer Richard Sterling states that "its odor is best described as pig-excrement, turpentine, and onions, garnished with a gym sock."

Interestingly enough, the smell is only the opening act, a kind of olfactory toll you must pay before marching in for a taste. Once cut open, the flesh inside is soft and custard-like, with a flavor that seems to argue with itself: sweet, savory, faintly nutty, and somehow reminiscent of things that ought not belong in fruit at all. Some swear by it, speaking of durian with something near unwavering loyalty. Others recoil at first encounter and never quite recover. Here in the Philippines, though, it is treated not as a novelty but as a matter of fact—another offering from the tropics, equal parts challenge and reward, waiting patiently for you to decide which side of the argument you fall on. 

I tried durian while in Vietnam in 2009 and tried it again here in the Philippines recently. I would describe the flavor as sweet at the start, with a weird, chemical, industrial-cleaning-agent finish. The smell is such that many establishments in Vietnam would not allow you to bring it inside. I don’t wholly object to durian, but it is not a favorite by any measure.

Durian on Display (and Desiree)

Open Durian Fruit (Wikipedia)

—Mitchell Hegman