Like pungent rotting eggs… one whiff can send grown men fleeing or scrambling to the nearest durian stall for a quick fix.  The smell is so strong that “No Durian” signs are posted everywhere in Singapore (and other durian-loving countries) from trains to hotels.  As if the odor wasn’t enough of a warning to stay away, this proclaimed “king of fruits” also bears sharp spikes that have to be deftly bypassed in order to gain access.  Depending on who you ask, the flavor of the flesh inside is like either an ambrosia or spoiled milk.

I’m not a fan, but G and her family love eating the spiky fruit.  Sadly, she was banned from eating it due to her pregnancy.  Or so we thought…  Traditionally, the Chinese prohibit pregnant women from eating durians due to their heaty/yang nature.  However, our family friend (who’s been right about our pregnancy concerns so far) believes that a bit of yang will give mom and Junior that extra push needed for a healthier development.  After a bit of online searching, it turned out that she was right.   According to western medicine, a bit of durian is quite ok.

So G had what amounted to a minor craving, prompting the in-laws to go and make a durian run, buying about a dozen one recent evening.  I had a introduction to picking and opening them (from the same family friend).  Apparently, durians have a relatively short “eat-by date”.  One day can make all the difference between enjoying unique flavors like buttery mocha, or wondering why god is punishing you.  So, I tried durian as it was meant to be eaten.  Have to admit that it’s wasn’t half bad.  While I won’t be fighting with G over who gets the last piece of fruit, at least I don’t mind now being in proximity to the king of fruits.