Last weekend I was invited to a
lesbian friendly poker party. Alternating between making bets and small talk, I commented to my Chinese friend on how envious I was every time I saw a Facebook post from her about discovering a new durian flavored treat. Upon hearing my comment our gracious host ran to fetch me a durian popsicle from the freezer. As I gently unwrapped the plastic cover, everyone fled from the poker table (alright two people remained but of course one was the now not-so-gracious host and the other one also eating a durian popsicle). Windows were immediately opened. People were fanning themselves.
I took a bite out of the popsicle. It was an orgy in my mouth.
I grew up gorging on the famously (infamously?) putrid yet succulent “king of fruits” every summer. But ever since I moved Stateside, I have always had roommates and never dared to bring a fresh durian home at the risk of being murdered in my sleep. Not only does it taste and SMELL delicious to me, as cliché as it may sound, durian has always reminded me of my childhood in Hong Kong. Due to its smell and sticky yellow texture, durian is nicknamed “cat poo” by Chinese.