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12:08 p.m. - Tuesday, Apr. 15, 2003
Ms Leslie Learns Your Dog's Secret
If you haven�t owned one, you have surely at least known a dog in your life who seemed to consider the kitty litter box to be the licorice counter in his own personal Candyland. This seems to be a widely-held opinion among canines, albeit it a secret one, given the reaction generally encountered from humans who catch them in the act of savoring the coated delicacies they extract from beneath the surface of the clay granules.

Have you ever noticed the look on your dog�s face in the split second between the time you realize what he�s chewing and the moment the screaming and retching begins? Have you seen his eyes roll back in his head in ecstasy and the trademark grin of pure enjoyment that has made the term shit-eating grin a clich� in our language?

I have never known a dog who, once he has discovered the flavorful delights of kitty poo, not to mention sun-ripened cow patties and the soft bread-like rolls of horse droppings ever to be willing to give these things up. Why is that? Why do they smile so? Why are they willing to suffer the wrath of their humans to return over and over again, stealthily, to this addiction?

Thailand is, as I�m sure you know the home of dozens of varieties of fruit.

Many of these are familiar to us, like the pineapple, coconut, several kinds of banana and even watermelon. Others we have never seen and often cannot even name. Rambutan, Jack-fruit, Rose-apple, and the list goes on.

There is one fruit, however, that seems to be as popular with hotel mangers, dining room staff, and anyone else who is responsible for a closed space of any kind as cat poop is to those who own and kiss their dogs. If you rent a room in Thailand, you may take just about anything you desire to it. Girls or boys, they ask that you register before you take them up, but food is wide open. Nothing is too stinky or too messy to both cook and eat in your room. Cigars, though not popular and cigarettes, which are popular indeed are welcome everywhere. But posted in the lobby of most every hotel I�ve been in, in several languages and with a picture is a notice banning the durian fruit from the rooms.

This is durian season in Thailand. I see pickup trucks loaded over the sides with the spiked green fruit. It�s about the size of a pineapple but much less attractive. It has an armored look that reminds me of the plants that must have grown alongside the dinosaurs in prehistoric times. Since I�ve gotten here, I�ve begged Wannee to stop alongside the road and let me buy a durian to sample. Disapproved. She says it�s bad for my diabetes and then hands me a sugar-saturated coke. Ees too, has been singularly unhelpful in my quest. When I�ve said I wanted to try one, she has only laughed as if I was joking.

But finally, finally, the other night, Dr Suporn�s wife Aoy, took pity and sent with Wannee a small container filled with durian flesh. I was not allowed to open it in Wannee�s new car. But we were going to get some Phad Thai for supper and she gained permission from the waiter for me to sample my new fruit at the table.

They say durian smells exactly like human feces. I�m not going to characterize it that way. After all, that odor varies with the age, health and recent diet of the, umm� donor. But it does smell bad. I have to agree. It smells so bad that it�s impossible to smell it on a spoon just before putting it in your mouth. Each time I attempted this, my inner child pushed her emergency stop button and I would found myself involuntarily dropping the spoon back into the container.

While it doesn�t smell exactly like poo-poo, durian certainly does look like it. It has the light yellowish-green color and the semi-creamy consistency of the contents of a diaper that has just come off of a baby who�s had a bit too much milk and creamed asparagus. This is not a pretty sight and serves as a first warning to the squeamish and uncurious that they are crossing the threshold to a new and disturbing experience. One from which there may not be an easy return.

Well, you know me. Anything this disgusting, yet so enjoyed by so many Thais, has a fascination I cannot long ignore. It took a few tries, mainly because I kept insisting on trying to sniff the stuff before eating it. I eventually abandoned that idea and held my breath as I shoved a big spoonful of the creamy goo past my new lips.

I didn�t know what to expect, exactly. I closed my mouth on the stuff and allowed it to spread across my tongue and palate. It seemed at first to be really pretty mild, with little taste at all. And then� and then� The full flavor rushed through every sensory organ inside my head. OMG! It was slightly sweet, and nutty, and creamy, and delicious in a whole new way. I can compare its texture to a barely overripe avacado, but the taste is so much more lovely. I hated to swallow, only because then the mouthful of this divine fruit would be gone. I found myself� can you guess?� GRINNING.

I thought that perhaps I could savor the next bite this time in both aroma and flavor. I was wrong again. One small sniff sent my little girl for the panic button with the exact same results as before. So I learned to eat durian. It�s simply not meant to be smelled, only tasted. And with that lesson firmly engraved, I enjoyed bite after bite of this crazy stuff. I grinned, I rolled my eyes, I moaned as if in the throes of teenage passion. My Thai hosts only watched in a kind of amused dismay as I became totally possessed with what will soon be an addiction impossible to satisfy.

I know that when I leave here, I will not likely ever taste durian again. That�s my deep, deep loss. But in that loss is a gift, an understanding I have gained. I come home with the precious knowledge of just why it is your dogs grins when he eats that cat poop.

He grins because it tastes so f***ing good!

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