socks in a fruit.

i used to run out of my room when i smelt durians. i'd get really excited and would start jumping around my dad, urging him to crack open the durians "faster, faster, faster!"

eating durians is an entirely different experience altogether.

first, the smell hits you hard. caucasians usually find the smell offensive, someone once said it smells like socks in a locker room. not that i found that comment offensive, but i found it extremely insulting to the fruit. if you love durians, you know what i mean. you practically welcome the smell. the smell, sweet and creamy, lingers around, encouraging you to "come, eat me."

then your heart will beat faster, in eager anticipation for a taste of the King of Fruits. dad will slowly remove the heavy durians carefully by the stalks from the paper bags and onto the kitchen floor. by now, the entire family would have gathered round. i would not offer my precious hands to help dad. my hands would be half the circumference of a durian and a heavy spiked fruit could easily tear me apart. i only eat.

part of why the smell is so strong is because dad would have already asked the fruit sellers to cut through the thorny thick shell enough for him to pry open later, but not enough for the fruits to go bad.

dad will then remove the thin rubber bands wrapped around the durians and rest the base of his palms just below the thumbs on opposite sides of the split durians and apply pressure downwards and outwards to split them open.

the immediate increase of strength in smell would always be heavenly and welcome one.

i would always be tempted to immediately grab the first piece but remind myself not to because dad would get really angry. after all, after the first split, you can always split one half into two quarters to get more meat, then split the quarters into eighths and get even more meat! it was always a sweet surprise to keep splitting the durian into smaller fractions just to find more sweet meat! it was like opening a treasure box over and over again!

it was always a family affair. we'd sit around the durians just savouring the soft yellow flesh of the fruit, licking the seed clean. it was almost always so enjoyable, we'd be eating durians in silence. i always went for the bittersweet flesh, creamy variety. those are my favourite. the ones that were too creamy, slimy and sweet were too boring, somewhat bland. the bitter, hard ones were just not worth the excitement. the ones in between, with just the right texture, the right blend of bitterness and sweet creaminess if always worth getting your fingers pricked by the thorns.

once done, we'd wash one of the durian shell eighths, drink water from the hollow shell. must be an asian old wives' tale, that drinking water from the shell will help cool down the 'heatiness' that comes from eating durians. a fight-fire-with-fire approach to durians.

you'd usually sleep very well after that.

we have not had this ritual for years now. dad's gotten too busy to do it. i thought i could continue this ritual with my kids. then i find out that rv hates durians. he hates even walking by durians.

we'd walk past packed durians (air-tight) and i'd stand there giving him an absolutely pathetic look that falls on blind eyes. "no", says the eyes.

i'd walk away dejected.

no way my kids will ever enjoy watching their dad splitting open thorny durians and taking in the smell that even monkeys welcome.

but tonight, finally, tonight, i get to eat durian once more. albeit without rv. we went over to Geylang, famous for its durians (and prostitutes). we chose our durian, found ourselves a table, and once again, enjoyed durian in silence.