Durian Season

Love it or hate it, you just can't ignore it - at least, not if you live in Southeast Asia. Durian has hit the streets and aficionados of this controversial fruit are in raptures.

I have never seen fresh durian in Europe which, on the one hand, is surprising as should be very easy to export, yet on the other hand is perfectly understandable as every supermarket would stink of durian all year round! Durian is native to Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia but also grows in the Philippines, Cambodia as well as here in Thailand. It looks like a spiky version of a jackfruit and once opened has large fleshy parts surrounding stones the size of an egg - the colour and sizes depend on the precise variety and country. However, what is controversial is the smell that durian exudes once opened.

The 19th century British naturalist Alfred Russel Wallace rather kindly described it as "a rich custard highly flavoured with almonds," although even he had to admit to certain wafts of "onion-sauce". The novelist Anthony Burgess is less complimentary, writing that eating durian is "like eating sweet raspberry blancmange in the lavatory." The overarching stench is often described as like rotten onions, yet to me it smells as if someone has thrown up after eating a crème caramel.

Thais are not immune from the smell but, like many other foods here, they've grown to like it. In spite of the popularity of durian it is banned from most public places such as hotels, trains and buses. I've seen 'No Durian' signs in hotel lifts just in case anybody was thinking of taking one up to their room as a snack. You can, however, get a feel for the fruit's popularity from these articles from Malaysia and Cambodia's The Phnom Penh Post.

Much of what we describe as the flavour of a food is also partly due to its smell - witness our lack of taste when we have a blocked nose. The taste of durian flesh is not unpleasant and it has a thick rich consistency like soft bananas and high calorific content, but it's just not feasible to try and eat it whilst holding one's breath! I've almost got used to it - my stomach doesn't churn at the durian haze enveloping the market - but I'm not about to rush out and buy any as can eat fresh watermelon, pineapples and bananas at a fraction of the price. Maybe one day I'll try some again... just not today.

Missing Breasts

I'm a breast man myself. Thighs are good too but hard to compete with a succulent breast. However, I've often experienced that breasts go missing!

We have chickens and turkeys and every so often this daily source of fresh eggs becomes the source of our main meal. They're pretty quick on their feet once they smell death and it takes some skill to catch, gut and fillet a whole chicken. Thais throw nothing away and consider offal to be a delicacy. Our dogs and cats can also sense death and loiter around expectantly, usually to be disappointed with just a few bones at the end of the meal.

Well, a whole chicken is usually enough for a coconut curry and a big pot of spicy aromatic soup. As the Thais gnaw the flesh off some bone or chew on a particularly tasty bit of liver I'm left wondering: what happened to the breasts?

I chanced upon the solution to this on one particular evening. I was feeling hungry and the children often eat before the adults – so I joined the kids. Thais take pride in being able to swallow blisteringly hot food and chuckle at the inferiority of foreigners who can't handle their chillies. However, this isn't due to some genetic mutation but is purely cultural. On the whole, children too don't like overly spicy food (and love the Italian food I make, but that's another story) and are slowly weaned onto it. So there I am, sitting around with the children, a big pot of steaming rice, some sweet chilli dipping sauce (it really is hard to get away from the chillies!) and a plate of soft white breasts. They give it to the kids!

How sweet, I thought. Except that, to the adults, breasts are just tasteless white flesh and they'd much rather tuck into the wilder flavours of internal organs. Perhaps I should eat with the kids more often!