It’s almost durian season again, so a post both extolling and denouncing the flavorful, pungent fruit seemed like a great idea. The British Naturalist Alfred Russell Wallace noted in describing the sight, smell and taste of a durian:
“The five cells are silky-white within, and are filled with a mass of firm, cream-coloured pulp, containing about three seeds each. This pulp is the edible part, and its consistence and flavour are indescribable. A rich custard highly flavoured with almonds gives the best general idea of it, but there are occasional wafts of flavour that call to mind cream-cheese, onion-sauce, sherry-wine, and other incongruous dishes. Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid nor sweet nor juicy; yet it wants neither of these qualities, for it is in itself perfect. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat Durians is a new sensation worth a voyage to the East to experience. … as producing a food of the most exquisite flavour it is unsurpassed.”
Having encountered Durians many times on my travels – but especially during my sojourn in Thailand – the original fruit species had a great deal of stink (like rotten onions) and a surprisingly mild but entrancing vanilla custard-like flavor. A valued gift to a hostess or to someone who has shown you kindness, the durian is banned from many public places because of its odor as noted in the, “No Durian” signs offered below.
The culinary uses in Southeastern Asia and the Indo-Pacific are many. In addition to sweet uses of durian fruit in ice cream, milkshakes, candy, mooncakes, sticky rice and popcorn (yes . . . popcorn), almost all cultures from Thailand to the Moluccas (except for the Philippines) have a savory or spicy use for the durian as well. In parts of Malaysia, durian is cooked with onion and red chili peppers and served as a side dish (not unlike the recipe for pat sataw) vinegar is sometimes added to this; in Indonesia a variety of sambals are made with both fresh and fermented durian, and in Sumatra it lends its distinctive flavor to fish dishes or other curries. Unripe durian is cooked like a vegetable all over the region and the leaves are used as greens. The Malays have both sweet and salty durian preserves, durian honey is a local delicacy in parts of Indonesia and Malaysia, the ash of burnt durian rind is added to some special cakes and blossoms are eaten in many ways – not unlike banana flowers.
So if the fruit and all of its parts are such traditional centerpieces of regional cuisine, why is it banned from so many public places? Is it really just the odor, or is it modernism squeezing out tradition with rules; or western “sensibility” pushing out native customs in the name of progress?
(Poem, “Durian” by Juli Herman. Photos of No Durian Signs borrowed from Google Images. For more Durian posts on Silk Road Gourmet, see East Asian Market Day from 2008.)