Durian Mornthong
Created | Updated Aug 5, 2009
Probably, someone once tried launching the durian mornthong as the
next big food fad. Probably they invited a party of people, presented
the big, hedgehog-lookalike to their guests with much oohing and
ahing. Probably, by about five minutes after they sliced this fresh
delicacy open, all their guests had vanished through the nearest
aperture. Probably they were considering doing likewise themselves.
Some things you just have to grow up with.
A small expedition that included bored Researcher Leo headed into
NYC's Chinatown looking for something interesting to eat. We came out
with, among other things, this rare and virtually unknown fruit. As
far as entertainment went, it got five stars. The gastronomic
experience, though... We'll get to that.
The durian mornthong looks a bit like a horse chestnut the size of a
human head but is about half
as heavy at 4 - 8 pounds. Unbelievably, they grow on full-sized
trees. The exact fatality rate for people who nap in their shade is
unknown. (Yes, I whacked my head with it to get the feel. Let's just
say it's a good thing Newton wasn't Thai.)
It is also unknown (to me) if the Chinese really eat them, or if they
just hang them up outside their grocery stores in Chinatown to lure
curious Americans so they can tout the fruit's sweet, delicate taste,
and then collapse behind the counter in a hysterical fit of giggles
when the tourist walks off with 7 pounds of mornthong at $1.20 a
pound. (We pretty much did that.)
Once a durian mornthong is purchased, good luck getting it home.
Durian mornthongs do not cuddle well, being covered in sharp woody
spikes. Handling can be difficult for those who aren't used to
sleeping on a bed of nails. Purveyors customarily tip it into a
regular shopping bag, after which it's the customer's problem. People
who have purchased durian mornthongs are easily discerned from the
crowd by their pained expression every time the bag bumps their leg
and gouges little holes through their clothes. Which is about every
other step. (The memory makes me wince.)
Like many prickly personalities, the durian mornthong is all softness
inside. Cut open, it looks rather like a brain in a skull; not a
regular brain, but more like the 'this is your brain on drugs' kind of
brain. The flesh has a scrambled-eggs colouring and a scrambled eggs
appearance when disturbed. (It failed to inspire appetite even among
the brave of our party.)
Each 'lobe' of the durian mornthong "brain" is a delicately membraned
sac of thick, pale yellow cream—rather like a large egg yolk—around a
smooth, brown seed. The seed actually looks a lot like a chestnut, so
maybe a durian mornthong is what happens when a chestnut tree takes
steroids. The cream has been compared to custard—a comparison that is exceedingly apt. The flesh of the durian mornthong is exactly like custard, except that custard is less slimy, less smelly, and goes down much more easily.
The fruit's odour is not immediately apparent. It kind of sneaks up on
you and then won't leave. Most people stick their nose into the shell,
sniff, and say 'I don't smell anything... wait, maybe there's
something?' Then they sniff again and say, 'Yes there is, but it's not
so bad… ooh wait - maybe it is!' The scent is pungent and penetrating.
Three shopping bags cannot mask its unique and flavorful scent, which
fills the room and creeps beyond at a dismaying rate. If you ever
wanted to know how the malodorous homeless feel when everyone crowds
to the other end of the subway car, take an opened durian mornthong
onto the train. (Been there, done that, got the strange looks.)
If the fruit is opened carefully, you can remove a whole sac and,
theoretically, suck the thick cream out of it at your leisure.
Theoretically because we couldn't find anyone to try it. All in our
expedition (and all my neighbours afterward) were quite happy with a
small taste and preferred not to lick their fingers clean. It's not
because it isn't a sweet fruit – it is. But, as my younger sister
declared, taking her second knifeful, 'It doesn't taste so bad at all.
It's just the smell and the consistency that sort of... oh, eugh. Quick—pretzels!' Let's just say it gets overwhelming fast.
In the opinion of our party, the durian mornthong has about four
really practical uses, none of which involve the human digestive
system except the last.
- Food fights. The gooey filling, conveniently packed in
easily hurled, explode-on-impact sacs with a hidden, hard-hitting seed
will have the opposition diving for cover. If you're really going in
for the kill, you can throw the shell after. - Sophomoric entertainment. These would make ideal stink
bombs. Alternatively, drop it from a 4th story and watch passersby
wonder if someone had an unsuccessful pancreas transplant on the
sidewalk. - Self defense. Nothing makes a girl doing late-night subway
travelling feel safer than having 5 pounds of morningstar
in a thin plastic bag, ready to swing. - Geneva-sanctioned torture. The Geneva Convention neglected
to outlaw force-feeding prisoners their daily value of Asian delicacy.
They'll be talking by the third spoonful, guaranteed.
Ask about durian mornthong at your local SE Asian grocery. It's
probably full of antioxidants or something healthy. Go on—give it a
try.
