You should see her face when I bring back durian and suggest we share it. Or when the day is nearly over and she hasn't had any.
Just the other day she even asked if one could get addicted to durian. Of course you can. And she is.
Before we came to Asia, Jamie wasn't even keen on the fruit - or the smell of it. They say it smells like hell, but tastes like heaven. But now she eats and caresses every bite like it's going to make her look 15 years younger. And perhaps it will. Durian is supposed to be great for the skin and also is rich in minerals, vitamins and is cholesterol free (though high in fat for a fruit).
He taps his stock with a stick, almost like he is playing the drums, listening to the sound to tell which one is ripe. Then, while holding the durian with one hand and wearing a glove (to protect against the thorny shell), he cuts a small part open so I can feel it. Usually, it's always soft - soft enough for me, anyway - though Jamie occasionally complains I've not done a good enough selection job.
The durian doesn't last long once it's inside the house. Even Kobra laps it up - if mum spares her a piece. And Kobra usually gets it everywhere else too, smearing it over her face, hands and arms. I think Jamie's jealous of that part.
That's what it's like living with a durian-addict. I have to be supportive. The withdrawals can more hellish than the odour. So I keep feeding it to my wife and pray the season lasts for as long as we're in Chiang Mai.