Dishing on Durian

You can smell it for miles. There are signs on hotels that forbid it on the premises. Most cities in Indonesia have a street named after it. It is one of the things I am asked if I like whenever I say I love Indonesian food. It is obviously famous in Indonesia, and it is the weirdest fruit I have ever seen- durian.

The off-white stuff on the bottom right is what you eat.

 In the Indonesia language duri means thorn which is a perfectly fitting name for a fruit about the size of a football that is covered in thick, yellow-green spikes. Durian looks more like a medieval torture device than a fruit- and believe me, if put in a bind it would make a great weapon (the spikes are actually quite sharp).  The smell of durian is very distinct- not distinct in a pleasant- honey-suckle- way, but distinct in an o god- what is that smell-way. Long story short you can smell it long before you lay eyes on it- hence the aversion of hotels to have it on the premises. The smell alone was always reason enough for me to politely avoid tasting this Indonesian specialty; however, with my time here dwindling I decided it wouldn't kill me to try it just once. So, when a few of my students asked if I would like to eat durian with them I hesitantly agreed.

Indonesian culture is a culture of ghosts and superstitions and eating durian is laden with unfounded beliefs. Before we could eat durian we had to have dinner, and it had to be rice because if you don't have rice before eating durian you could die. While stuffing ourselves with nasi (rice) the girls filled me in on some other durian superstitions- eating durian will make you feel hot, but if you drink water out of the durian husk the heat will dissipate- if you eat too much durian you can get sick or feel drunk-if you eat durian followed by mangosteen (another local fruit) you could get cancer or die (they cited several cases to prove their point). I was reminded several times to be careful since this was my first time- like someone who has never had alcohol before on their twenty-first birthday.

The durian hawkers attending the stand we stopped at chose a few good ones for us and hacked them open with a machete before plopping them on our table. I hesitantly pried one of the mushy, white pieces of fruit from the outer husk and took a bite. The only way I can describe the taste is to say that it tastes like it smells- a little sweet at first and then...I can't describe it. The texture is somewhere between mashed potatoes and warm pudding- not smooth or juicy or in anyway delicious like fruit is supposed to be. After eating several pieces and starting to feel very hot (the power of suggestion?) I began to wonder about durian's appeal. In this hot climate it is in no way refreshing, and it doesn't even taste good- yet, Indonesians love the stuff. I pondered this later that evening while gulping water and chomping tums to try and rid myself of the cottonmouth and indigestion that I was left with. Eating durian was like an Indonesian rite of passage, and I guess I succeeded since I didn't die in the process.

After my success the durian hawkers wanted a photo...