On dead grandmothers and foul smelling fruit...
0h grandmother is not coming over this Christmas I heard you say.
Well if either of mine did I’d be out of the house in a flash as they passed away a few years ago.
But Christmases usually invoke some kind of malingering hanger on; picture good old Uncle Albert sitting there in the arm chair, a glass of your most expensive port in one hand, holding court about politics and farting like a steam train.
Yes I do love Christmas and that feeling of gut filled apathy that one gets by 3 p.m. when the presents have been opened hours ago, they were as pathetic and useless as you thought they would be, and you are popping the coffee creams to dull the pain of the whole affair.
Anyhow this year I am considering spicing up Christmas by decking the house with durian fruit.
For the uninitiated durian fruit is living proof that God has a sense of humor. It has a spiky exterior, a gunky middle and is described as having an odor comparable to a dumpster full of rotting fruit, although it tastes a bit worse than that.
Let’s just say Andrew Zimmern, a man who will readily eat rotting meat in Morocco, cow’s brains and fried tarantula, couldn't stomach a durian in Thailand.
Anthony Bourdain, an admitted fan of the fruit, described it in less-than-inspiring terms when he ate it on No Reservations: “Its taste can only be described as… indescribable, something you will either love or despise… Your breath will smell as if you'd been French-kissing your dead grandmother.”
Oh dear we are back to dead grandmothers.
Anyway I am thinking about giving the extended family something to savor, or at least something I can savor – the look on their faces when I pull my durian special out of the oven instead of a turkey.