The King.

Of fruits, not pop music.

I stopped eating it the year I turned 14. That's about 10 years ago.

I've never gotten anywhere near them since, it's just one of those things. And I flatly refused my previous employers to do any product using it.

The Durian fruit is so strange, isn't it? It just looks so prehistoric, dramatic, and probably suffers from extreme insecurity, hidiing behind those clueless thorns. I don't get the thorns, squirrels still can get to it, monkeys play hamtam-bola with it......

And that smell, heavenly to some, but I would strongly recommend using it if we ever decide to venture into chemical warfare. There's probably nothing more insidious than the smell of ripe Durians. It lingers on and on. And 3 years later, after you've moved to a new apartment, have new kids and a new chin, you can still smell it on the new Gucci bag that you've just bought.

Erm, however......

A recent visit to my childhood home kinda changed my opinion of the King. Technically, my childhood memories did. I was reminded of the beauty of the fruit, the fragrance of blooming Durian trees, the fun of picking and plucking them (yes, you do actually have to pluck at times); the adrenaline pumping sound of Durians hitting the ground, the nerve wrecking moment of being just a metre away when it did, and the excitement of opening them. Most importantly, the exquisite taste (like truffles, sold like gold) which I deemed unnecessary to go into.

With luck, and forgiving neighbours, I foresee Grumpy churning out puffs after puffs, laden with gold, creamy yet bitter, pungent yet sweet. Ooooh, the wonders of locally grown, organic Durians: You ain't heavy, you're my Durian.

You know, I still don't get the thorns.
What dumb snake is going to take a walk under Durian trees?