Durian & Me

April 16, 2019

It’s fair to say that the word ‘Durian’ would have been about the last thing to capture my thoughts as I swished and swirled around in The Dip last Friday. But it would be just as fair to say that it was not a Durian tree that captured Eve’s heart on that fateful day in the Garden (nor was it a McIntosh Apple tree). If you asked me, my guess would have been a Maui Mango, though not entirely conjecture on my part—I can support my theory biblically and emotionally!

Okay, back to the Durian, the large and spiky, most luscious yet ugly, juicy yet sickly green-grey, perfumed and stinky-smelling fruit that grows on large trees in Australia, Thailand and South and East Asia. Ask anyone from those parts, “What’s the name of the King of all Fruit?” There’ll be no hesitation: Durian of course!

At an early age, I had acquired a taste for food—for any, and for all kinds of food. With several of those early years spent in a WW2 Japanese prison camp in China, I wasn’t fussy about what tickled my teeth and tongue—in fact, licking my plate was considered to be a form of ‘dessert.’

The term, ‘Acquired Taste’ had not yet become fashionable, at least in our family, so I ate every morsel of every kind of food Mom placed in front of me—I had to sit there until my plate was clean! I learned to have no prejudices towards vegetables or Vegemite, or Marmite, or Promite); nor Liver & Onions, Artichokes, Olives, Anchovies . . . you name it—I learned to love every one of them. My personal choices had little to do with my culinary decisions. “You can’t get up from the table until you’re done!”

And so it continued when we returned to post-WW2 Britain, where to my disgust, all-the-things-good-to-eat, came under the New Rationing Laws. After a few years, in order to escape from this form of draconian and deprivational bondage, I turned my back on the land of my ancestors, and fled to the New World, carrying little but my appetite and about $53.

Upon my I first encounter with a Durian, I felt that I was about to be ambushed—by of all things, a smell—a very malodorous and disagreeable stink. Up ahead about a block away, a group of people was gathered around a sidewalk stall, from which emanated this most sulphurous stench. As I crossed the street, in order to give the ‘cloud’ as wide a berth as possible (I thought of the priest who had avoided the wounded Samaritan!) Nevertheless, I was drawn to the clamoring crowd of men and women who seemed to be fighting over some ugly, putrid, foul-smelling and balloon-shaped ‘things.’

Durian season had officially opened.

I quickly I determined to try this mysterious fruit at the very next opportunity—and it came soon after, when I was invited to try it—with a friend.

Somewhat timidly and pusillanimously, I went to my friend’s home to partake of the royal fruit. You will be sad to hear, that my first ‘tasting’ was a failure—it was pretty horrible, and my breath and whole person stunk for days after. But I’m not one to give up on such a project, once I have set my mind on it.

The second attempt was kind of a tie—it was just okay—but was not something I would continue to search for. Wouldn’t you know it? . . . almost immediately, along came another opportunity—an invitation to a Durian party! A little hesitantly, I went along with some friends, and before you could say, “Mary Poppins,” I was scarfing down this deliciously, slimy, mushy—and nectary-smelling fruit.

I had acquired the taste! And you can, too!

P. Michael Jordan