Durian Durian

There's a lot to be said about the cultures of other countries; their customs, traditions, their delicacies... Unfortunately, in this case, we're saying that some should be forgotten because they are dumb and awful.
Southeast Asia, home of the Durian Fruit. This formidable contender weighs in from 4-7lbs and wears a coat of armor that is fully capable of drawing blood, so that the men walking beneath their looming branches are required to wear helmets when harvesting them.
During bar trivia Sunday, our friend Street Traffic Greg, boasts that he has found one of God's abominations in an obscure oriental market in the city and is going to try it Tuesday night for all interested. I am leary of his invitation, presuming that he wishes those around him to share in his foreseeable mistake. I crave excitement, even on new-fruit-small scale, so I accept. The big night rolls around and question as to the means of opening this fortress-fruit comes up. How do you break into heavily guarded produce? A few years ago, my cousin brought me an actual handmade machete from deep in El Salvador's womb. Obviously, I have never had a chance to use it, so defying all intellectual objection, I decide this is the way: Death By Machete. So I roll up my pant legs, weave the machete through my belt, put on a pirate hat and head to ground zero.
Despite its intimidating outward apprearance, the Durian is best known for its funk. Its scent ranges broadly from molding, sweaty gym socks to a molding, sweaty compost heap. Many places make it clear that while you are welcome, your stink-fruit it not, and take security measures to ensure compliance - like, checking bags and purses with their highly trained stank snouts.
Awaiting a sulfuric toxin to engage my gag reflex, I do not anticipate an enjoy-me-in-a-salad type of fruit, but rather the I-immediately-regret-this-decision type of fruit. And that's what I get. Gently persuading it open with the machete, we carefully split it into its three sections and are left looking a bit disgusted and a bit bewildered. Picture a fetus made of egg with the texture of oily, yellowish custard. And we're supposed to eat this. Some people crazy enough to like Durian claim that the worse it smells the better it tastes. This is not so. Your olfactory sense makes up a large portion of your sense of taste, so even science hates the durian fruit. I have my bite, swallow, and plan on it metastisizing in my stomach as it grows into an alien spore and bursts out through my chest, meanwhile vigorously scrubbing the scent off my hands. Being a good friend, I put a sample snack into a ziplock (read as: petri dish) to take home and make Mike try. He is less of a girl about it, but not by much.