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PIMWIPA VATANUTANON
SPECIAL TO THE NATION
Amsterdam

    Mention durian to Westerners and chances are you’ll get mixed reactions. Yet to Thais, a single specimen of their “king of fruits” can be worth upwards of Bt7,000.
    Following attempts to extend its glory beyond the national borders, the durian is finally making inroads into major European cities where there’s a sizeable Thai community. But, with the durian “tasting like heaven and smelling like hell”, as the saying goes, foreigners tend to either love it or loathe it.
    In Amsterdam, it seems to be developing a mini-following – despite its smell remaining a turn-off for most.
    The latest international trial of its fame came when this writer, having successfully tucked a large piece of Bangkok-bought durian into her flight hand luggage, produced it as the showpiece at a Sunday picnic in a park in the heart of the Dutch capital.
    After a Frisbee prelude, the durian delight brought together a multinational bunch of friends for what became their major discovery of the day.
     Dr Emmanuele, an Italian academic especially enthusiastic about the fruit’s potential, had heard about its tough, spiky reputation and come prepared.
     “I’ve brought all the biggest knives I have at home – this zigzag blade should do the trick.”
    Left sitting on the grass, the fruit had been attracting a string of curious onlookers. A Dutch guy sitting on the next mat approached with a look of confusion: “Sorry guys, what is that?”
    “It’s a fruit, man,” shot back a bearded Romanian in our group. “It’s called ‘durian’.”
    “I thought it was some kind of melon!”
    The doctor’s dissection was successful if unorthodox: he cut the durian like a cake and peeled the rind off pomelo-style.
     More Dutch people gathered round as Emanuele pondered how best to extract the edible flesh from its spiky hide. By now the park air was perfumed with the fruit’s unique smell.
    “How can I take it out nicely?” he asked. I stepped in to show him the trick.
First to pop a piece in his mouth was Jacques, a Frenchman who’d tasted durian before.
“So how is it?” asked Saskia, his more cautious compatriot.
    “Umm, better than the ones I’ve had before,” said Jacques, giving it the French culinary thumbs-up.
    Saskia and her Dutch boyfriend were next to take the plunge, and also gave a positive review. “This is amazing, yummy,” echoed Emanuele, chewing away happily.
    More reluctant was a young Romanian woman who, after much coaxing from her friends, finally put a tiny morsel of the yellow flesh to her lips.
    It came spraying back out. “Ca pula!”
    “What?! Why..? Why don’t you like it? This is good stuff!” said Emanuele.
    “I really can’t handle this. You take it,” she grimaced, handing the rest of the piece to Jacques. “I need a cigarette to get rid of the taste, where’s the lighter?”
    “Okay, let me try it,” said a bearded Romanian, undeterred.
    He took a big bite –“Oh! Ca … s**t! … pula!” – and jumped up off the mat. “How can you guys keep eating this!? It’s disgusting! Ohhh man, give me a cigarette too!”
    The frantic reaction was too much for this Thai writer, who collapsed in stitches.
The experiment, however, was a success, yielding confirmation of a long-held theory – that the beauty of durian is indeed in the tongue of the taster.
   
(Ed’s note: If you want to know what the Romanian profanity “ca pula” means, you’ll have to look it up – this is a family newspaper.)