Dubious Dessert

Last year the New York Times profiled an American expat in Bangkok who explained his permanent move here by saying that he “didn’t want to live anywhere they didn’t have durian.” I read that and thought, I can think of better reasons to live in Thailand.

But that was before my recent conversion. This year’s durian crop has shown me the light. (Durian, for the uninitiated, is a seasonal fruit that, as the locals say, “smells like a toilet, tastes like a dream.”)

First I had to get past its appearance, which is best described as a cross between a medieval weapon and a sea creature. Then there is the odor: rank enough that many hotels in SE Asia post signs banning durian on their premises.

Even connoisseurs prefer that the fruit not appear on the table until the other parts of the meal are finished, in order not to mix smells. I learned this the hard way the other day, when my cafeteria companions strongly encouraged me to sit elsewhere. I had shown up with a tray that included both a main course and durian for dessert.

At first the flavor was so different from anything I’d ever eaten, and the texture so un-fruit-like, that I gave up trying to acquire a taste for it. But this year it hit me that durian’s closest American cousin is cake frosting. If you hold your nose and close your eyes, you might easily imagine that you’re eating one of those roses made of frosting that appear on the corners of some big birthday cakes. Not for sissies.