Scent of rotten eggs, garlic adds to durian’s appeal
Cynthia David/Canadian Press
Malaysian durian grower Ah Cheng Yee sells the world’s smelliest fruit to locals and tourists at his roadside stand in Penang.
One whiff of the King of Fruits and you will understand why this prehistoric-looking football, studded with fierce spines, is banned from public transit, taxis and hotels throughout Southeast Asia, as well as from most airlines.
British novelist Anthony Burgess once compared eating durian to “eating vanilla custard in a latrine.” Other westerners have compared its scent to fried onions and mouldy cheese, rotten eggs, raw garlic, sheep manure or worse.
But the durian’s pungent smell hasn’t deterred the thousands of locals and tourists who flock to Malaysia’s markets and farms in the summer to feast on the creamy custard inside.
“Some say durian smells like hell and tastes like heaven,” says our tour guide, Jeff Low, at the 10-hectare Tropical Fruit Farm on the island of Penang, pointing to a tall Dr. Seuss-like tree with gangly lichen-covered limbs and tufts of narrow green leaves.
After a tour of the farm, everyone is invited to help themselves to a lush colourful salad bar of cut-up tropical fruit — although no durian is offered — from the farm and sample fresh-squeezed juices whizzed in a blender.
As we drive back down a hill from the farm, it’s easier to make out durians hanging from trees high above us on either side of the road. Since the fruit falls to the ground when ripe, farmers string hammock-like nets between the trees or tie a rope from branch to each durian stem to ensure their precious fruit gets a soft landing.
It’s time to taste the world’s smelliest fruit. And what better place than a roadside stand where locals come to feast on durian from April to September.
Ah Cheng Yee, who runs a fruit stand under a canopy near the fruit farm, has been growing durians for 30 years on land rented from the government. He now owns 800 trees boasting 30 varieties, each with its own taste and texture.
Most prized is red-fleshed Red Prawn, he says, though newer hybrids such as D11 and D16 have become popular. An annual Ministry of Agriculture competition selects the year’s finest varieties.
The choice of fruit depends on your budget, says Yee, who sells Red Prawn for 15 Malaysian ringget — about $5 — a kilogram. Durians typically weigh one to three kilos, and families will often buy several at a time. Some connoisseurs even reserve the fruit of certain trees before the season begins, he says.
Cynthia David/Canadian Press
Opening a durian fruit takes a knife and brute force.
Since we couldn’t tell the lumpy fruit apart, Yee chose one for us. He slit it open at the bottom to reveal a triangle of yellow flesh, then grasped the two halves of the husk and forcefully pulled them apart, handing us each a spiky half containing one sunny yellow lobe that resembled stringy scrambled eggs.
The garlicky smell was distinct close up, but not as dreadful as we’d feared. We each scooped up a slippery mound of smooth flesh from the white pith with our fingers and, reluctantly, half sucked and half chewed until we reached the brown seed.
The flesh was surprisingly sweet and creamy, with hints of almonds and butterscotch and a definite hit of onion at the end. We looked at one another in amazement, hardly believing we were eating durian and liking it.
We picked up another mound, then another, until we had each polished off our half.
| for more information: |
|
