Durian

We met up with our two grown-up children and their partners yesterday for a meal and a visit to Tate Modern, in celebration of our daughter's upcoming birthday. In the course of the meal our son shared a recent experience which I am simply going to steal for your amusement and edification.

So, have you ever heard of durian? I've certainly known about it for ever – I think I must have read about it in a book by either Gerald Durrell or David Attenborough – but have never actually eaten or even seen one in real life. Essentially, the satanically spiny durian fruit stinks to high heaven, but the soft inner flesh is supposed to be ambrosial: comparisons are generally made to custard or cream.

Now, both of our children live in fashionable parts of East London, where a wide-range of cuisines are available, and culinary "fusions" of many sorts take place. As it happens, both are adventurous eaters – which is hilarious, given how picky they were as kids – and prepared to give pretty much anything a try. So our son was recently at what he described as the biggest ripoff "gastro" event ever. They were charged £20 to enter some premises that were usually free, where various food vans and counters were offering the usual artisanal fusions of foods and flavours that appeal to the sophisticated young these days, but all at a price – absolutely nothing was included in the entry charge – and delivered at that leisurely artisanal pace that leads to long queues.

So, spotting some ice creams were for sale in an upstairs spot, his partner went up to buy a couple, while he stood in the line for some gastro-treat or other. As you would expect, various flavours were on offer, some of them exotic combinations; you don't look for vanilla or plain chocolate at an event like this. One of them happened to be "durian". His favourite flavour combo not being available, and knowing his adventurous nature when it comes to foodstuffs, she thought it sounded unusual enough to be tempting. "Um, are you sure?", said the vendor. "Look, if he finishes it, you can come back for a free one, any flavour!" Unfortunately, these are words that, to an open-minded foodie, are not a warning but a challenge.

At the word "durian" our daughter exploded with laughter: she'd already been there. Expecting ambrosia, the taste was instead compared to "licking out the juice from the bottom of a bin bag"; quite the most disgusting thing either of them had ever tasted, by some margin. In an ice cream, no less.

So someone, somewhere is having a laugh. Or perhaps they're using the wrong part of the fruit to make what they imagine to be "durian" flavouring? Or maybe it's a typo for "drain"? Whatever: take heed. This is not a challenge to be risen to, but a zero-stars, nul-points red alert not to be ignored. Although... I bet some of you are durian-curious now, aren't you? How bad could it be?

Well, bad enough "to make you contemplate cutting out your own tongue", apparently. You have been warned.