Snack Review: Durian Cream Roll Soft Cake

So there I was, treasure-hunting in the Vietnamese Market, seeking more little-known snacks to introduce to the world. Okay, so I’ll admit an ulterior motive: ever since Alissa found the guts to try Van Holton’s uber-sickening Pickle-in-a-bag, I’ve harbored a secret yen to try something equally disgusting - or more so! I’ve chosen to undertake this mission with full knowledge that it’s likely to prove, in the best case, fruitless, and at worst, life-threatening.

I found plenty of “different” and “uniquely Southeast Asian” snacks at the market - coconut cookies and such - but nothing to rival the puke-inviting loveliness of a single cucumber mummified for god-knows-how-long in brine and plastic. Resigned to a life of snack experiences running the too-narrow gamut from “really good” to “pretty bad,” I took my place in line. But, lo and behold - amid a mess of pastries and sticky rice balls from local Asian bakeries rested my potential salvation. Standing there like a golden, oozing shrine to the Saint of Stench was a simple roll cake starring the durian.

I’ve never tasted durian, but I know that, like uni and okra, it’s a polarizing food; one which seems to be culturally divisive. It’s known as “the King of Fruits” in Southeast Asia, despite being one of those plants which seems to shout at every opportunity “don’t eat me!” Enormous and covered with long spikes, durians resemble nothing so closely as green porcupines. However, the fruit is most
(in)famous for its smell, which has been described as everything from “rotten eggs ‘n onions” to “sweaty gym socks.” The delicacy’s taste and texture are said to resemble custard. Even Andrew Zimmern, host of the Travel Channel’s “Bizarre Foods,” who’s been known to feast on live ants and rotten shark meat, has trouble stomaching durian. In the absence of a real durian, I reasoned the roll cake might come closest to filling my masochistic snacking needs.

By the time I got home with my precious cargo, I was hit by a slight suspicion I’d been ripped off. Frankly, the cake didn’t stink like I’d imagined durian would. Don’t get me wrong - even through the plastic wrap, it wasn’t pleasing to the nostrils. Then again, it hardly smelled at all. I placed it in the fridge, planning on reviewing it the next day, and hoping its unwrapping revealed more of the putrid odor I’d heard so much about. This morning, I thought I noticed an unpleasant, kind of “sweaty” smell hovering over the fridge’s entirety. Was the essence of durian asserting itself, or was I confusing another smell, such as Tiger’s litter box, for the smell of sweet success?

Apparently, I was. On a hunch, I actually read the ingredients. Sure enough, “durian flavoring” was the closest thing to actual fruit listed. Drat! I’d been suckered. Yet, I’d purchased the roll with the intent to review, and review I would, even if the results wouldn’t be as deliciously vile as I’d wished.

I withdrew the cake from its wrapper and gave it a final halfhearted sniff. YUCK!!! I mean, woohoo! That little plastic barrier really did make all the difference. I’m sure they have terms in Vietnamese or Tagalog for the pungent scent of durian, but the closest English equivalent I’m able to muster is “rotting corpse in a polluted bog.” In any language, it’s far from appetizing - and worse than any pickle I’ve ever sniffed. If this is the smell of durian flavoring, I don’t know how people bring themselves to eat the actual fruit!

Cutting myself as small a slice as possible, I prepared to take a taste, half-wishing the cake’s taste would be similar to its smell and half hoping for comparative blandness. Making sure not to breathe through my nose, I took my first bite. It wasn’t bad - vaguely sweet, golden sponge cake with a tropical fruit filling kind of like banana in syrup.

Taking a second bite, I gathered my courage and drew a nasal breath while chewing. The result was horrid - not quite so much as my first smell of the cake had been, but awfully yucky nonetheless. A new and different scent/taste introduced itself. Penicillin? Eww… now I knew exactly what that corpse I’d smelled earlier had been floating in. I finished my diminutive piece in one more bite, rewarding my courageous chew-smell with… no more smells. I promptly tossed the remaining 99.9% of the cake into the apartment dumpster, lest its musk ripen, intensify, and draw complaints.

I don’t think I quite succeeded in my mission of finding a disgusting snack to shame the Pickle-in-a-bag travesty. Although the durian-cake has just about everything beat in the smell department (save, presumably, a real durian), it doesn’t have the wretched taste, or even appearance, to match. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know if I’ll ever find the ultimate disgusting snack - and after this experience, I really don’t know if I want to. Then again, accidents happen.

Buy Durian Flavored Products Online:

• at Amazon.com

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