Dining on durian is a lot like eating vanilla custard in a latrine.
> Anthony Burgess
It’s durian season at the moment, and when I got home last night the wife was in the kitchen getting the servants to get the pungent flesh out of these fearsome looking fruits.
And what a stink!
Even upstairs in the bedroom with the aircon on full blast, and with a cotton handkerchief drowned in Body Shop Eau de Toilette held to my face, the stench still wafted in (I think I forgot to seal the gap below the door).
Oh well – if you can’t beat em, join em I suppose.
So I ended up out on the porch – rather than in the bog – sampling this most exotic of Indonesian fruits. And you know what? It ain’t too bad really. Sort of like a very strong French cheese that has been left out in the sun for a few days. And there was always the chance that the durian had fermented enough so that I might be able to get inebriated into the bargain as well if I ate enough of it.
Not that I ever found out though. My stomach started rumbling after the first plate.
So I’ll now eat durian. At least in small amounts. But I certainly ain’t ever gonna use – for my wife’s sake as much as mine – the durian flavored condoms that are sold on the Indonesian market.
They do exist. Really. But watch out for the pricks!