給榴蓮的情書

When my friend Bob Halliday thinks about 1）durians， the tropical fruit that some say smells like garbage， he not only 2）salivates with delighted anticipation， but he also “foams like a 3）geyser.” Those were the words he used on the eve of our visit to an orchard north of Bangkok that was filled with these green spiky fruits dangling dangerously from towering trees.

I confess to the same passion with what must be the world’s smelliest fruit.

What is it about the durian？ Shaped like a rugby ball with large thorns that can pierce even the most callused hands， durian stinks so badly that it’s banned from airplanes， hotels and mass transit in most Southeast Asian cities.

Yet 4）aficionados like Bob and I will travel terrible distances， cancel important appointments—do anything—to scarf down globs of 5）custardy flesh from a durian. While many Thais like their durians harvested early so the interior is still hard and can be neatly handled， I like an over-ripened durian， which has the 6）consistency of cottage cheese. It’s a very messy affair.

It goes without saying that durian is a 7）polarizing and controversial fruit. There is a long tradition of durian haters who cannot get past the smell and gooey-ness of durian， especially among Western visitors to Southeast Asia. Simon de La Loubère， a French diplomat who came here in the 17th century and wrote with unusual empathy about the Kingdom of 8）Siam， drew the line at durian， describing it as “unbearable”because of its smell.

But as a foreign correspondent for nearly two decades， who has always sought to write fairly and dispassionately， I 9）dispense with objectivity for a moment and attempt an ode to what the Malaysians rightly call the king of fruits.

Yes， I freely admit that when ripe it can smell like a dead animal. Yes， the fruit is difficult to handle， bearing likeness to a 10）medieval weapon. But get down to the pale yellow， creamy flesh， and you’ll experience overtones of hazelnut， apricot， 11）caramelized banana and egg custard. That’s my attempt at describing durian. But words fail；there is no other fruit like it. Bob compares it to the works of Olivier Messiaen， the 20th-century French composer： complex， 12）dissonant， but with an overall impression of sweetness.

The first time I tasted durian was when I was posted in 13）Kuala Lumpur 15 years ago. Trucks piled high with the fruit would come in from the Malaysian countryside， and I would spend evenings sitting with friends on plastic stools by the roadside sampling different varieties. Unlike the Thais， who cut durians down from trees， Malaysians usually wait for them to fall. The result is a much riper and stronger-tasting durian， sometimes slightly 14）fermented. Durian farmers in Malaysia have been known to wear helmets： No one wants to be on the receiving end of a five-pound spikebomb. Malaysians also believe that durian is an 15）aphrodisiac. When the durians fall， the 16）sarongs go up， goes a Malaysian saying.

We live in a time when chemists and cooks have joined hands to 17）concoct foods of unrivaled complexity， in everything from packaged snack food to wallet-crushing meals at Michelin-starred restaurants.

What I love about durians is that there is no laboratory needed to achieve the depth and range of tastes they offer. It’s one of nature’s masterpieces， dangling 18）tantalizingly in the jungle. Durians， even those harvested from the same branch， can be so 19）nuanced and dissimilar that tasting them is something akin to sampling fine wine.

Bob， one of the foremost experts on the food of Thailand， who has written restaurant reviews there for decades， said that durian reminds him of 20）crème br？lée. “It tastes like something that was prepared in a kitchen， not grown on a tree，” he said after sampling a particularly delightful durian.

Durian season starts in May and tapers off around November in Thailand， depending on the latitude. But these days orchard owners have managed to 21）coax the fruit from trees year round. They are prized by the Thai elite， who offer gan yao durians， a delectable variety with a long stem， as gifts to business partners or senior government officials. （Yes， a durian bribe.） One fruit can easily sell for $50.

Durians also grow in Malaysia， Indonesia， the Philippines and other parts of Southeast Asia. In Malaysia， the season extends until around the end of the year.

Bob and I recently traveled to three places around Bangkok to sample durian： a high-end Bangkok fruit market； roadside stalls in Chinatown， where durian lovers can get their fix year round until the wee hours o f t h e s t e a m y Bangkok night； and the durian orchard outside Bangkok， cherished by durian 22）groupies for its more than two dozen varieties and 300 trees.

Durian is a very social fruit， usually eaten among friends. But I confess that I have sometimes eaten durian alone. Like eating birthday cake by yourself or drinking a 23）tall boy out of a paper bag in a public park， it feels somewhat sad and illicit， which brings up another point. As any durian fan will tell you， durian and alcohol don’t mix.

With every durian season comes stories about people who have collapsed—or worse—when they’ve had large quantities of durian and alcohol. I have never read or heard of a scientific explanation for this， if there is one. But it is widely recognized that durian season can be 24）deleterious to your health. A few years ago， after a routine physical checkup， I was told by my doctor that my 25）triglycerides， a type of fat in the blood， were above normal. She gave me a 26）pamphlet in which the first piece of advice was to cut down on durian or avoid it altogether.

But many of my fellow durian-loving friends are getting along in age， and it reassures me that， well， they are still alive. There are， after all， much more dangerous foods to consume than durian. 27）Blowfish comes to mind.

After a recent and particularly indulgent durianeating marathon， when we felt like rolling away instead of walking， Bob quoted 28）William Blake.“The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.”

當我的朋友鮑勃·霍里德想起榴蓮——那種被某些人形容為聞起來一股垃圾臭味的熱帶水果，他不光會滿心歡喜，口水直冒，他簡直就是“垂涎三尺”。在我們去曼谷北邊一處果園參觀的前一夜，他就是這么說的。那果園里到處都是這些綠色的長滿粗刺的水果，在高聳的果樹上搖搖欲墜，很是驚險。

我承認，對于這種絕對是世界上最臭的水果，我有著和鮑勃一樣的熱情。

榴蓮到底長個什么樣兒？它形狀像一個插滿粗刺的英式橄欖球，手上最厚的老繭也能被它刺穿。由于榴蓮惡臭非常，大多數東南亞城市都禁止攜帶榴蓮上飛機、進酒店以及搭乘公共交通工具。

然而，像鮑勃和我這樣的榴蓮“發燒友”，會不遠萬里，取消重要的約定——做任何事——只為了能狼吞虎咽地吃下一團團軟嫩香滑的榴蓮果肉。雖然很多泰國人喜歡提前采摘榴蓮，這樣里面的果肉依然硬實，易于處理，但我更喜歡像農家奶酪一樣濃稠的熟透榴蓮。不過吃起來就要弄得一團糟了。

不用說，榴蓮是一種兩極分化、富于爭議的水果。討厭榴蓮的人有一個悠久的傳統，他們無法忍受榴蓮的臭味和粘乎乎的口感，這種情況在到東南亞造訪的西方游客中尤為嚴重。在17世紀來到此地的一名法國外交官西蒙·德·拉·盧貝爾，他曾帶著不同尋常的同感心來描寫暹羅王國，卻也對榴蓮劃清界線，稱這種難聞的水果“讓人無法忍受”。

但作為一名從業近20年的外國通訊記者，在寫作時我總是努力尋求公正客觀，如今我卻要暫時放下客觀性，來為被馬來西亞人尊稱為“水果之王”的榴蓮唱上一曲贊歌。……