The Taste That Defined Me

The red haired boy sitting next to me glanced over, grimaced, and shifted his seat a foot away from me. I looked over, momentarily intrigued at his sudden repulsion and decided to ignore it. Everything afterwards happened fast. Within the next minute, kids all around me started to cover their noses and shifted their seats away. I heard “eww…” and “ughh…” and children were asking “what’s that smell?” and “where is it coming from?” I was now left in the dead center of the classroom with a mini circle of desks around me. As I looked around, I saw a multitude of disgusted expressions. Even the teacher showed displeasure and seemed to turn away. Astounded, I began to wonder what could possibly drive them away, “Was it because I was shy and spoke infrequently in class?”, and “What was this smell that they complained about?” My mind raced through the endless possibilities and I could hear my heart pounding louder. Thump, Thump, Thump… Suddenly, it hit me, my mother had cautioned me not bring durian to school and she was right. Its smell was simply too strong. In fact, the scent was so strong that it not only penetrated both my lunch box and my backpack but also wafted its way across my classroom. Embarrassed at the turn of events, I packed up my things, asked to be excused, and quickly walked out of class. I learned my lesson. I never brought durian to school again, but I never stopped eating it.

Growing up in Singapore has affected me and my tastes. Singapore is the home of many extraordinary and eclectic foods that suit all different kinds of tastes. Some prefer rambutan, a pinkish, translucent fruit which is covered on the outside with a reddish skin and hair, while others like jackfruit, a thick, prickly, and sticky fruit. I, however, like durian, a slimy, yellowish, clump of mouth-watering taste. Living in an environment where many cultures mixed, I was inundated with many different choices. Even at a very young age, my taste had developed out of this cultural assortment; I developed a taste for durian.

Durian is not only my favorite fruit, but also a mystery to many. Shaped on the outside like a larger version of a pineapple, it has a spiky, formidable thorn covered husk. As I sit in front of the prickly fruit, I carefully pick up the knife and slice it into fourths. A powerful aroma perfumes the air around me. The scent carries the mixture of rich custard with the essence of an overripe banana, a penetrating, forceful odor.

There are many inner pockets within the fruit. Each pocket holds clumps of slimy, gooey mass, covered on the outside with a thin layer of membrane and bursting on the inside with a creamy, mouth watering taste. When I cut durian, I can almost feel my saliva accumulating on the insides of my mouth as I craved its taste. I mash my hand into the slimy mass, pick up as much as I can, and quickly stuff it all into my mouth. The taste is a blend of banana, custard, and creamy nougat melting slowly on to the tip of my tongue. I savor the taste for a couple seconds, lick my hands clean, and dig in for more.

Despite the harsh words of critics or disgust of peers, I have chosen to continue to consume this “king of fruits”. I know I have an undying love for durian and that many others do not share the same pleasure in enjoying such an idiosyncratic taste. My disparate taste has differentiated me from others. As a child, I loathed being the “odd man out” or simply the “different child”. I always wanted just to fit in with the rest, and just to be normal, but even to fit in, I unwilling to give up the durian and the experience of home in its taste. When I eat durian, I announce to the world — with a very distinctive smell- that I value the culture, community, and taste of the world that shaped me. I suppose everyone has his or her own “stinky fruit” and it is up to them whether to embrace it as a virtue or neglect it as a vice. For me, I knew that I had to remain true to myself and who I am as an individual. In this sense, my taste has defined me.

By:

Simon Zhu