A neighborhood tart.

As much as I enjoy traveling, I also enjoy being settled—in part, because the idea of ‘neighborhood’ is so important to me. I love developing a few favorite local spots, recognizing other people who live and work near by, and getting in synch with an area’s unique character. And keeping check on the flow of people in the neighborhood can bring unanticipated benefits, as well. Bordeaux and I have a general rule that if we see large crowds gathering in unexpected places around our neighborhood, we investigate. This could conceivably be a faulted plan, should we stumble into a high-tension political rally, or some sort of riot, for example. But our experience has more often proved that where we see parked cars and gathering families, there’s often something good to eat.

Thankfully, these instincts proved correct on Saturday. Though the parking spaces across the street from us are generally empty on weekend mornings, on this particular morning the sidewalk was lined with cars, with more pedestrians ambling over from spaces found further away. We postponed our trip to the supermarket, and followed them into the leafy pedestrian avenues of the public gardens.

Immediately, a group of boys surrounded us, brandishing Styrofoam takeout boxes.

“Hey, buy from me!”--“Eight Rand! Eight!”--“Fine, O.K., two for ten Rand!”

“I don’t even know what you’re selling…”

But by that point, they’d moved on to other potential clients. Continuing in, we discovered a teeming high school fair. Kids and parents were crowded around folding tables, competing for customers. We found tables crowded with curried mince wrapped in roti, boerewors on the grill, and slap chips drowned in vinegar. Desserts were even better represented, with heaps of traditional South African treats like milk tart, malva pudding and pineapple cheesecake, and some non-traditional treats, like marshmallows speared on bamboo skewers. But these could hardly distract me, as I quickly found a table selling my favorite South African dessert—peppermint crisp fridge tart.

I’m guessing that some people may be unlucky enough never to have encountered such a thing, so let describe it for you. A peppermint crisp fridge tart is not a delicate dessert, not a carefully crafted confection. Any aspirations the word ‘tart’ may have at evoking qualities of refinement are made impossible by the awkward and overbearing bulkiness of the word ‘fridge’ preceding it. But this is exactly why it’s so delicious. There are no pretensions here—just an incredibly rich, decadent, homemade dessert consisting mostly of very simple ingredients. The base of course is a healthy supply of ‘Peppermint Crisp’, a brand of flaky chocolate bars filled with a green honeycomb of biting minty flavor. These are crushed, mixed with a sweet milk sludge, and leveled into a crust of ground biscuits. It is then left on its own to chill in the fridge, as if even the act of baking would be too extravagant for this dessert. The result is spectacular.

The easiest way to conjure its taste is by evoking—though I know this benefits only my American audience—Girl Scout cookies. While some may favor those odd coconut rings or the shortbread children (and maybe one or two people like the hard little oatmeal-raisin discs), the best of the cookies is obviously the Thin Mint. The melty chocolate coating, the biscuit crunch, the fresh peppermint flavor—this may be the only reason Girl Scouts continue to exist. Eating a slice of peppermint crisp fridge tart is like taking a box of Thin Mints, churning it with vanilla ice cream and graham crackers in a blender, and then eating the end result with a spoon. Only better.

The entire pie was purchased on Saturday, and as of this writing there is a slim slice left in the fridge. We had a little help, but the two of us did most of the consumption. Which brings me to a realization. While being involved in your neighborhood can certainly have some major benefits, it doesn’t always benefit your health.

This is not a story about wors.

Though it sort of starts out that way. Hungry for lunch and nothing on our schedule, Bordeaux and I hopped on a train to Claremont, following a tip from the Rough Guide that advised that women often set up grills to sell boerewors around the station. Of course when we got there, there were no ladies, no grills, and no boerewors for sale. Thankfully, we found Maheera's.

Maheera's is the kind of shop that sprouts up near railway stations, selling cold cream soda, tubes of chapstick, and airtime vouchers. And in Cape Town, they're one of the best places to sample local fast food, which is an offbeat mix of British, Afrikaner, and Malay flavors. We ordered two wors rolls with chips, a small dessert to share, and took them back to the train station, where we ate them on the steps. The roll was not accompanied with chips, as I had assumed, but filled with them-- even better. And the whole thing was doused with a tasty soaking of vinegar, and a drizzle of salt.

But the unexpected star of the meal, the focus of this entry, was the dessert. A golden ball of fried dough called a koesister. The Malay cousin of the Afrikaaner koeksister, it's smaller, rounder, less syrupy, and infinitely more flavorful. The glazed exterior is flaked with coconut, and gives way to a doughy interior studded with spices, sharp with cinnamon and clove. Had we not already eaten the wors and chips, we easily could have returned inside to buy a few more-- as it is, the koesister provides more than ample reason to make a return trip to Claremont.

Street Treat: Paleta.

Looking out at the frosty breezes whipping around my house this morning, it's a little hard to imagine-- but up until yesterday evening, we were sweltering in the tropical Mexican heat. There was one treat in particular we sought out to cool us off: paletas. They're described as Mexican popsicles, but popsicles conjure images of flavorless coloured ice, melting into sticky syrup in the wrapper-- these are too tasty for that. They were sold in street-corner shops and out of bell-ringing push carts, and came in both water and fruit base varieties. I tried pistachio, creamy and full of chopped nuts; pineapple, packed with frozen chunks of fruit; and vanilla, coated with crunchy granola and chocolate. There were more tempting flavors that I never got to sample, unfortunately-- like rice, lime, and sour tamarind.

Eggnog Cookies and a Celeb Sighting at the Nob Hill Shop & Stroll.

Christmas last year in Bangkok was an odd experience-- lots of lights, Christmas music, and homemade treats, but it all felt strangely disconnected in the tropical clime. So this year, we planned our return to my hometown of Albuquerque, New Mexico with the holidays specifically in mind. So far, it's been great-- we were greeted upon arrival with a chill in the air, my sister has helped Bordeaux with some holiday treat making, and we've even gotten to join in some local festivities.

Last Thursday, we took part in the Nob Hill Shop & Stroll. Nob Hill is Albuquerque's hippest neighborhood, a stretch of Central Road lined with cafes, salons, and boutique shops. For the event, the street was closed down, and pedestrians were free to browse in shops, sample street-stand treats, and enjoy roving musicians (pictured above: mariachis in Santa hats, of course).

After squeezing through the crowds in a few shops we ducked into the Flying Star Cafe, for a rich glass of hot chocolate and a giant eggnog cookie. Coming in from the cold, the decadent treat was the perfect cap to the evening. We also got a little bonus celebrity sighting: Ewan McGregor looking very handsome one table over-- thanks to New Mexico's burgeoning role as a low cost filming locale.

Eating Malaysia with the help of Eating Asia.

Recently, my jet-setting friend Tim found himself in Taipei, where he encountered a number of the tasty and unusual treats that I wrote about during my time there. Coincidentally, I was also in a new city on the same day that he posted his entry, and I too was following the tips of another blogger in order to track down some delicious dishes. However, while I had for Tim only an odd collection of stumbled upon snackfoods to recommend, my informant-- Robyn, of Easting Asia-- offered me a fantastic list of well researched tips.

Her first tip led us to Jalan Transfer, where we found a sidewalk roti stand. We joined the other patrons, who were eating on communal tables under the shade of a slanted metal awning. Bordeaux and I were each served a toasty roti fried with egg, and a bowl of a rich tomato based chicken curry. Though I'm normally a coffee drinker, I ordered instead a glass of hot milky tea. It was served lightly frothed, and so hot that the glass had melted the ice cubes placed around it even before it got to the table.

We followed her next tip to dinner, to a Chinese Nyonya restaurant called Shing Kheang Aun. We were lucky to find a vacant table, because the place was packed-- crowds of families and groups of old friends all enjoying their dinner. I had come with a list of recommendations, and while my efforts at pronouncing our order amused the proprietor, it worked perfectly. We were treated to an outstanding dinner of kiam hoo masak Belanda (pork and salted fish with sweet red chilli), assam heh (crispy shrimp coated in a tangy tamarind sauce), and our favorite dish, gulai tumis (fish in a red curry soup).

All of these dishes were just a prelude to our next morning, where a tip from Robyn directed us to the Pulau Tikus market. There, we had a long palm-sugar sweetened breakfast as we sampled various treats and snacks. Our first stop was a 'pan cake' stand, where we got a slice of giant spongy pancake. It was filled with a layer of dark palm sugar, laced with crunchy broken peanuts.

Next we ordered some treats from a table serving Nyonya sweets. We ordered our soul savoury bite, a slice of white carrot cake. It had been a favorite dish of ours in Taiwan, but we especially liked how it was served here, topped with chili and garlic. Next, we ordered two sweet snacks-- a glutinous bar of brown rice, and a moist slice of a darkly flavoured cake.

Finally, we managed one last stop, to grab a coffee and check out one more recommendation: appom, Indian coconut milk pancakes. They were baked in clay pots over charcoal stoves, and had a nicely toasted flavour, tempered by a slight creaminess. It was the perfect morning of sampling new treats, even if I did get a little sweetened out-- though I did still have to stop by the first stand again before we left, for another slice of the giant palm-sugar pancake.

Thanks again to Robyn for the outstanding tips! If you're interested in food in Asia, you're probably already reading her blog-- but if not, be sure to check out Eating Asia.

Be sure to check out I am a Viking too, for his entries on unusual food discoveries in the British Isles, original cartoons, and essays on Japanese culinary culture.

Sinh to bo.

The avenues of Vietnam are dotted with shops and stands offering an incredible variety of sweets, from chewy mung bean parcels, to creamy ice creams, to buttery pastries, to colorful glasses of che'. As plentiful as the options are, however, nothing can compete with sinh to- the simple fruit and milk shake.

It's hard to choose a favorite- dragonfruit is refreshing, and ripe mango is pretty hard to beat- but lately I'm really fond of sinh to bo, avocado shakes. I first tried a variant in Taiwan, which was made with creme caramel pudding. Though the Vietnamese version is sans pudding, it's still relatively sweet, as its often made with condensed milk. When the balance is right though, the earthy flavor of the avo melts through, lending an offbeat nuance to the rich creamy shake.

Taiwan Treats: Avocado & Pudding Shake.

I've written before about Taiwanese pudding- a ubiquitous treat, rather similar to a spanish flan, or a caramel custard. Somehow, it seems to find its way into everything. At a seaside market in Hualien, Bordeaux and I sampled one of the strangest Taiwan treats yet- a smoothie of ripe avocado and Taiwanese pudding. We simply ordered an avo shake, but apparently the pudding is added to sweeten the mixture. It was blended until the ripe avocado and the chunky custard were smooth, then plopped into a plastic cup. And- surprisingly- it was delicious. Rich, creamy and decadent, with a richness from the avocado, and a caramel sweetness from the custard.

PS- Bordeaux and I totally got spotted by a reader while we were out shopping yesterday! This is a big world, and we definitely don't have a huge readership, so it was a totally surprising experience. Thanks for coming up and saying hi, and I hope all of my readers are as hip as you!

Taiwan Treats: Shaved Ice.

Of all the Taiwan Treats I've cataloged, likely none are as distinctly Taiwanese as shaved ice. It's designed with Taiwan's climate in mind, as it's the perfect refreshment for a steamy-scorching subtropical summer. It can feature a variety of toppings that evoke the cuisines and produce of the island, from syrupy mango to starchy-sweet redbean and taro. And perhaps more than any other dessert, it shows off the playfully inventive nature that makes Taiwan so unique.

First, a layer of shaved or crushed ice is taken from a larger cube. Sometimes it is served 'fresh', elsewhere it is soaked in a sweet syrup. This is heaped generously into a vessel, which can range from a modest cup, to a family-sized platter. Next, toppings are heaped on- one topping, two toppings, or maybe nearly a dozen, depending on the creativity of the vendor.

I had read about shaved ice before coming to Taiwan, and I was intrigued to try it. So on our first afternoon in Taipei, Bordeaux and I found a rather modern shop that specialized in it. With stark white walls, glowing red lanterns, and an open hi-tech kitchen, it hardly resembled the simple shaved ice shops described in out guidebook. We later found out that this was a national chain, with locations all over Taiwan. The shaved ice we sampled that afternoon was 'pineapple ice', which sounded tempting, and was described on the menu as being the most traditionally Taiwanese. We took the glass mug out onto the porch, and tasted it. Though the flavor was pleasant, the pineapple flavor was way too sweet, and the syrupy consistency was terrible for the tropical heat of late afternoon. I left the shop feeling more sickened than refreshed. We tried another Meet Fresh a week later, and sampled an entirely different concoction- shaved ice with red bean, taro, and lentils. Though the wholesome starchy flavor was delicious, the ice was again way too syrupy and filling.

Thankfully, I wasn't put off from trying it all together. We searched out a different shaved ice shop, and tried a new dish- pudding shaved ice. As I've written before, pudding in Taiwan is more like a flan, or a caramel custard. The pudding was placed in the bowl first, and it was topped in a mountain of ice and sweetened condensed milk. Against all expectations, this dish was actually less filling and far more refreshing than the two we'd tried before. The non-flavored ice nicely countered the sweetness of the pudding, instead bringing out its rich milkyness.

But perhaps the best bowl we've had came after out lunch at Hsinchu's Eating Temple. In a neon-painted four story tower next to the temple, we ordered a bowl of mango shaved ice. The ice was crushed into a feathery texture, and spooned over a bowl of fresh mango and pineapple. The tropical fruits mixed perfectly with the finely shaved ice, making the ideal tropical treat for a humid tropical afternoon.

Taiwan Treats: Pudding Milk Tea.

I've written about pudding milk here in Taiwan- but pudding milk tea is something entirely different. Not milk tea flavored like pudding, but rather milk tea filled with chunks of pudding. It's an unusual idea, distinctly Taiwanese, and it works rather well. Ideally, the milk tea should be creamy but not too sweet, so that it can balance out the richness of the pudding. And of course, an extra large straw is a requirment.

Taiwan Treats: A Birthday Eggtart.

Never one to be thrown by having to celebrate my birthday in a different country, Bordeaux surprised me this morning not with a birthday cake, but with a two-tiered birthday egg tart. Along with the archaic name 'Isla Formosa', egg tarts are one of the few traces of lingering Portuguese influence on the island. They're also one of the tastiest confections available in Taiwan. We haven't had these ones yet- I'll update tomorrow to let you know how they were.

Editor's note: Thanks for the birthday messages! The eggtarts were great, and even had a little surprise jelly inside. So Taiwan!

Taiwan Treats: Log Cabin Cake.

Cuteness is very important in Taiwan. It's visible in the adorable corporate mascots of major businesses, in the smiling plastic toys sold at 7/11, and in the mannerisms of little children, groomed to be adorable. And it was visible in this cake, a slice of a chocolate roll decorated to look like a tiny log cabin. I should point out that cake in Taiwan is generally not very good. This one, for example, was more spongy than rich, with a sugary cream frosting that had almost no chocolate flavor. At least it was kind of cute, right?

Taiwan Treats: Pudding Milk.

"Pudding" is an unusual term in that it seems to mean something different in every part of the world. In the US, pudding is a very specific smooth, custard dessert- most commonly associated with the Jell-O Brand and Bill Cosby (are pudding pops still on the market?). In South Africa, 'pudding' tends to be used as a general catchall for desserts; an invitation to a potluck might ask that you bring a salad, drinks, or 'the pudding.' I have no idea what it means to the English, but I imagine it involves some sort of meat and an obscure Anglican holiday.

In Taiwan, like in the US, pudding specifies a specific dessert- only here, it's a formed caramel custard rather similar to flan. It was this kind of pudding that found itself as the flavoring for a milk-box that Bordeaux picked up for me at the minimart. The drink itself was a little unusual, though not as much as I expected. It had a slightly off-putting buttery flavor, but that was outbalanced by the pleasant taste of a creamy caramel.

Taiwan Treats: WOW Frog Eggs.

I'm really not one for novelty drinks or treats sold on any gross-out qualities. Maybe it was the silliness of the concept, or the fun graphics of the toad leaving a trail of bubble eggs. Or maybe it was that the drink itself- a lemony lime juice with chunks of lemon jelly (i.e.- the frog eggs)- was actually really tasty, and a nicely refreshing treat to help cool off from the crowds of the Guangzhou night market. But whatever it was, WOW Frog Eggs totally won me over.

Circus Sweets.

While browsing in Bangkok's Siam Square, I came across a small candy shop selling these unusual sweets. While the rather hard 'caramels' aren't particularly tasty, I rather liked the vintage animal illustrations that adorned their wrappers. They seem to be inspired by scenes from a circus- aside from the badger with a handkerchief, which has left me rather puzzled.

Cafes of Phnom Penh.

One of the worst things about only having a few days in Phnom Penh was that there was not nearly enough time to get to all of the cafes and coffeeshops that we wanted to. When Bordeaux and I first visited Phnom Penh, we had been traveling for the two months previous, and we were thrilled to be able to recharge in so many different wonderful cafes. But more than just relief from homesickness, Phnom Penh's elegant cafes offer delicious baked goods, well executed meals, and, most importantly, excellent coffee. On this visit, we nostalgically visited a few we'd made it to last time. We had breakfast at Java, a second floor art gallery/cafe that makes strong Vietnamese drip coffee and serves an excellent bowl of muesli, yogurt, and locally sourced honey. We made it back to The Shop, a bakery and deli where I tried the decadent crepe with mango, banana, and passion fruit. We also made time to try a new place, Chocolate, where we paired a dark chocolate brownie with equally dark coffee.

Cambodia Cooking Class.

After fifteen minutes of waiting outside locked doors, we started to worry we were in the wrong place. The sign advertising The Cambodia Cooking Class suggested that we were in the right place, but there was no on there to greet us and no where to sit and wait. Finally the doors opened, and we were greeted by a man rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “I just woke up,” he explained. We moved inside to continue waiting in the darkened shop interior. The man who greeted us disappeared out the front door, while another man, our cooking teacher, came downstairs yawning. He began sweeping out the shop and cleaning up empty beer bottles, giving us no sign of what was going on.

When Bordeaux and I first came to Southeast Asia a year ago, we set as a goal to take a cooking class in every country we visited. We easily accomplished that in Thailand and Laos, and eventually we managed to take a class in Hanoi. The classes had all been wonderful. We got to prepare some good dishes, learned a little about Asian cooking, and got to learn a little about different culinary cultures. But as this class got off to its rough start, I was wondering if I was going to have to right my first bad review.

Close to fifteen minutes later, the other guy returned with a tuk tuk. We piled in, and headed for the market. Most cooking classes begin with a tour of a local wet market as a way to introduce some local foods, ingredients, and cooking methods. At the Thai Farm Cooking School, we were shown different qualities of rice, given a demonstration on making coconut milk and coconut cream, and lectured on the differences between different kinds of curry powder. In Luang Phrabang, we were shown a variety of fresh herbs and spices. In this cooking class, we walked through the market in a hurried single file.

Thankfully, the tone of the class shifted rapidly once we got to the cooking school. This was no doubt helped by the setting of the kitchen, which was as relaxed as the market was hectic: a quiet top-floor patio, where we looked out over a busy baguette bakery and the lush garden of the Royal Palace. As we settled into the open-air surroundings, out teacher apologized for giving such a rushed tour of the market, and explained that the setting there is so crowded and busy that he wasn’t able to give any explanation. Instead, he took a selection of fresh herbs and vegetables out of the refrigerator, and talked us through them.

Over the course of the day, we each made (clockwise, from upper left corner): fish amok, a delicious custard-like curry that's steamed in a banana leaf cup; saing jayk, peppery pork and chicken 'sausages' that are fried in a banana flower roll; a citrusy prawn and pomelo salad made two ways- one with the prawns cooked, the other cured in a lime dressing; and for dessert, a creamy durian custard steamed in a pumpkin. We ate these dishes as we prepared them throughout the day, which gave the class a nicely languid atmosphere that fit with Phnom Penh's tropical heat. In between, we were given tastes of banana flower soup, and bites of fresh durian.

In the end, the class really was wonderful- enough so to make the rocky start totally irrelevant. Every class we’ve taken has had its strengths- whether it was the atmosphere of the class, the setting of the kitchen, or the glimpse into local culture afforded by the lesson. In this class, our guide was a trained chef, and there was a strong focus on food presentation. He gave us great tips on how to make our food look its best, and as a result, these were some of the most professional looking dishes I’ve ever made in a cooking class. He was an outstanding teacher, who helped us to make the cooking as effortless as he made it look. And most importantly of all, I left the class with the strong desire (and ability) to make some delicious Khmer dishes at home.

Black sticky rice.

Yesterday, after loading up our shopping bags with fresh vegetables, Bordeaux and I came across an old couple selling black sticky rice at the Khlong Toei Market. I had first seen black sticky rice in Chiang Mai, during a market tour taken with my cooking class. Black sticky rice (kao niow dhom), or purple sticky rice as it is also called in English, is unhulled; the dark pigment of the hull bleeds in cooking, giving the rice its deep crimson color. I encountered it again among the markets of Laos; and though I ate countless balls of white sticky rice during my journey along the Mekong, I never got to try black sticky rice. So, more out of curiosity than hunger, Bordeaux and I bought a bag.

Our black sticky rice was scooped into a plastic bag, and topped with a quarter-inch slab of caramel colored custard. Together, they created an interesting combination of textures and flavors: smooth and coarse, sweet and wheaty. The rice actually tasted best on its own, as the hull that gives it its color also gives it a grainy flavor that white sticky rice is lacking. The difference in taste between white sticky rice and black sticky rice is less like the difference between white rice and brown rice, and more like the difference between white rice and it's non-relative wild rice. I will definitely keep an eye out for black sticky rice again in the future, and I would love to see if I can find it in any savory dishes, where I imagine its grainy flavor would serve it well.

Spicy ice cream.

Siam Paragon is such an enormous shopping center that there are many corners I doubt I have ever seen. Today, on the way to check out the Beard Papa stand, Bordeaux and I stumbled upon Spice Story, a colorful shop tucked away on the ground floor near the Food Hall. It appeared almost unreal- an invitingly perfumed spice merchant, appearing out of place in the air-conditioned uniformity of the shopping mall. The shop front was decorated in a bold mix of lurid reds and purples, with glowing silk lanterns hanging in front of saturated paintings. Inside, under photos of Chinatown spice shops, baskets were heaped with bags, and shelves were lined with glass bottles, all filled with an amazing range of spices. Flavors on offer were both local (dried lemongrass, galangal, holy basil) and exotic (Chinese five spice, wolfberry, curry leaves, mustard seed). And somewhat surprisingly, the prices were drastically cheaper than at any Bangkok supermarkets.

As an added bonus, this shop featured a small cafe, which had an ice cream counter. They had only a few flavors, but each one was intriguing: chili, cardamom, ginger milk tea, lemon grass, green tea poppy, cinnamon and orange, and black pepper. According to a posted sign, each ice cream has its own curative properties, covering such ills as stress, fever, and stomach pain. We ordered two scoops to share, deciding that cardamom and chili would go best together, and sat down at one of the tables inside the store. The couple sitting next to us were enjoying lunch, which appeared to feature a mix of dim sum and one-pot dishes. It looked delicious, and gave off a strong, exotic fragrance. The waitress brought our ice cream in two glass bowls. The cardamom sorbet had an intriguingly citric sweetness that lingered after the first note of cardamom faded, making for a nicely refreshing dish. Served with a dash of chili powder on top, the chili ice cream was intensely creamy, with a rich milk flavor that faded into a sharp chili after-bite. We enjoyed both, and I'll likely be returning to sample more- if I'm able to find it again.

Durian.

Few fruits can be justifiably described as notorious, but the durian is highly deserving of that adjective. It's known widely for its noxious scent, which is best described through an incongruous hyphenate- for me, the durian has a vanilla frosting-burning rubber smell. I'd seen and smelled them often in markets throughout Thailand, being first drowned in their scent before seeing their green spiky shells- but had never had the chance to try one.

But, the more I encountered the pungent smell, the more curious I became. Finally, perhaps inspired by a report on another stinky Asian delicacy at Iamaviking, I resolved to try the durian. I ordered it a riverside cafe in Louang Phabang, as a dessert accompanied by sticky rice. It arrived on my table as a highly fragrant ivory colored pulp, unevenly spread over the mound of sticky rice, resembling the body of a whale decaying on a beach. I tried my first bite, scooping some of the durian away from the rice to taste it on its own. I found that unlike what I had been told, the flavor is not in fact much more subtle than the scent. As the flavor developed in my mouth, I was reminded of the scene in Alice in Wonderland in which Alice describes the successive flavors tasted in the "drink me potion", only to a more extreme form: "nail polish remover.... butterscotch pudding... rotting mango... melk tart... car exhaust fumes!" Bordeaux took two bites and refused to eat anymore, stating with disgust that he actually preferred the smell to the taste. I tried desperately to be open, searching out the more pleasant intricacies of the flavor. After eating several spoonfuls of it, however, I was forced to admit to myself that the overwhelming flavor was rather foul, and the noxious fumes were starting to make my stomach hurt. The custard like texture, which in most guide books is described as one of the fruit's redeeming qualities, actually added to the sense of putrification and rot that the scent and flavor gave off. So, I sadly have to add myself to the list of Westerners for whom durian is an unacquired taste. I can, however, appreciate the taste complexities of the fruit, and will look at durian eaters with an even greater amount of respect.