The King of All Fruit.

Most American publications I have seen use the phrase "King of All Fruit" are referring to the apple. I might be inclined to argue this, but regardless the extent of the Apple Kingdom does not reach to Malaysia, where the fruits have an altogether different king. One which posesses an ungodly stench and occasionally attacks bystanders.

I hadn't intended to post at all tonight, but while Googling about trying to find a website I'd long since forgotten, I came across an amusing site: Durian OnLine (DOL). (I also discovered that Sue, proprietor of Snackish and one of my earliest readers, posted a link to this site in her own durian post a month ago. I'm clearly falling down on the job here, not even noticing a fruit post over there. My deepest apologies, Sue.)

It's easy to think that the author of Durian OnLine is insane. He may well be. But that is how durians seem to make people. This isn't the sort of fruit where people say "Oh, yeah, durians. They're okay." No, any one who has actually encountered a durian has pretty strong feelings on it, one way or the other. Frankly, most of the opinions I have heard on it have been of the "gas leak mixed with poo" (Sue) or "complete ass" (guy I met at market) variety, but the people who like durians really like durians. People plan vacations around them, and there are literally people who have quit their jobs and sold all their belongings so they can sit all day and eat durian. You'd think it would get old but apparently it doesn't.

Few if any other fruits make such an impression with their odor. Otis Barrett, a plant explorer, once described it as combining cheese, decayed onion and turpentine, or "garlic, Limburger cheese and some spicy sort of resin". (He appears to be mostly remembered for this quote nowadays, although he made several other notable contributions to plant exploration). He also said that once a bit of the pulp was eaten "the odor is scarcely noticed", which sounds a bit like wishful thinking to me, but everybody who loves durian swears this is the case. A friend's boyfriend recently forgot to seal one in it's bag when stashing it in the fridge and actually ruined an entire refrigerator full of other food. Supposedly there are now scentless cultivars, but if that's the case I've never encountered one. I kind of think it might take some of the fun out of it.

If you can get over the smell (a big if), the actual taste isn't bad. I don't think I've ever heard a single fruit compared to a wider range of flavors. An American chemist working in Sumatra described it as "a concoction of ice cream, onions, spices, and bananas, all mixed together", while Richard Sexton described it by saying "It's a bit like cherimoya, for those who have tasted it - a sort of blend of pineapple, coconut, cream and apple. Except in the case of the durian, you add paint thinner and dogshit." Alfred Russel Wallace (Darwin's co-author on the theory of natural selection and all around interesting guy) described the durian as follows: "a rich custard highly flavored with almonds . . . but there are occasional wafts of flavour that call to mind cream cheese, onion-sauce, sherry wine and other incongruous dishes. Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor sweet, nor juicy; yet it wants none of these qualities, for it is in itself perfect. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop." I kind of tend to think any description of a delicious fruit which ends with "it produces no nausea" is a little suspect, but the things have their fans. (For more of Wallace's thoughts on Durians, try here.)

The durian is an entertaining fruit for a number of other reasons besides the smell. There's also the fact that they are occasionally deadly. Durians weigh in at as much as 18 pounds, are covered with spikes, and have a tendency to drop from trees on folks when ripe. Imagine waking from unconsciousness, bleeding and reeking of durian. (Of course, you'd have to have been out for a stroll in a durian orchard, so the smell would be a little less unexpected). I also like the fact that they appear to be pollinated by bats (search for "durian" or scroll down). In that sense it reminds me of the Stinking Toe Tree, a fruit species I know little about besides the fact that it is pollinated by bats, reminds me of durians, and is the source of the stuff they filled my tooth with when I had a root canal.

Botanically, the durian, Durio zibethinus, is among the most ancient and primitive of fruits, though by some to be among the oldest woody plants. British botanist E.J.H. Corner published an entire, expansive "Durian Theory of Evolution", which although a bit thin at spots is really quite fascinating to read...David Quammen wrote a great article on it back in 1993.) It's a member of the Bombaceae family, which also includes baobob, balsa, malabar chestnut, and bombax, a species whose name I absolutely love). It's a native to southeast Asia, probably originating on Borneo or Sumatra, where there are 28 other native Durio species (only five are edible, however). The fruits are roughly the shape and size of footballs (maybe somewhat smaller) and covered in spikes, although sometimes you'll find them "de-spiked"...as if the spikes were the main reason people weren't buying them. The inside is divided into five compartments, each filled with the distinctive white to pinkish flesh and one or more chestnut-like seeds. The trees are large (100+ feet tall) and shaped distinctly like Christmas trees. (More on durian botany here).

Culturally, the durian is difficult at the beginning and becomes progressively easier. Propagating the species is not especially easy: seeds remain viable for a very short period of time, especially if exposed even briefly to light. A week would be impressive...even sterilized and tightly climate controlled about a month is the record. Seed propagated trees take many years to produce fruit. In the fruit's native range, seedlings may fruit in as little as seven years, but in other areas, such as India, it's not uncommon for it to take 15 to 20 years. Vegetative propagation is not much easier. Air-layering doesn't work, cuttings don't root. Cultivars are generally propagated by budding onto seedling stocks, but budded trees rarely attain the size and productivity of the best seedlings.

Although young trees require a fair amount of care to establish, mature trees receive virtually no attention at all aside from harvesting, which is conducted basically by clearing the area under the tree and waiting (preferably elsewhere) for fruit to fall. They suffer from few diseases or pests (though a handful of each are known.) Outside of it's native range, it needs to be hand-pollinated, as the local bats don't seem to do the trick. It's also highly self-incompatible, so one should plant a variety of genotypes.

Although historically rarely grown outside of southeast Asia, durians are gradually becoming more and more available in other areas, occasionally showing up in U.S. markets, where they seem to inspire the same sort of insanity they've inspired for years elsewhere. They've been successful established in Central America and the Caribbean (albeit on a small scale). I saw a stack of them in an outdoor (thankfully) market in Costa Rica, and I assume they were locally grown. The species is what is called "ultra-tropical", which means prospects for establishment in the U.S. are pretty bleak. Seedlings survived only briefly in South Florida, and fared relatively poorly in Puerto Rico (I haven't heard anything about Hawai'i, though I imagine it might be vaguely possible there.)

Frankly, I don't know how any one could resist trying a fruit which smells like a gas leak, grows on a giant Christmas tree, occasionally attacks and kills innocents, and is pollinated by bats. At least once.

Update: I'd meant to add these links, but forgot them:
Durian Palace
Large print durian site, for those with bad eyes and noses, I guess.
Bao Sheng Durian Farm in Malaysia

Frankly, there's really no end to the durian sites out there...it's truly awe inspiring. Hit Google and read durian to your heart's content.

Update 2: I changed the photo in the sidebar...the more I looked at that photo, the more I got to think that those were jackfruit, not durians, despite the photographer's claim to the contrary. They just looked too big and lumpy. And jackfruit stink too.

Triploid Apples

Like most higher organisms, apples generally have two sets of chromosomes. This is a useful arrangement, providing each gene with a backup, and allowing such helpful features as sexual reproduction. (This ought to be a review of high school biology for most of us, but I assume that for people who don’t deal with this daily, as I do, it may have snuck away to wherever it is my knowledge of trigonometry has gone). The large majority of plants conform to this arrangement (diploid), but the occasional error in cellular mechanics has resulted in an array of species with more than the standard two sets. This phenomenon, called polyploidy, is an important mechanism of evolution, and it exists in many fruit crops.

As long as the number of sets of chromosomes remains even, things can continue to function pretty well (though it’s by no means guaranteed…plants are complex things). Reproduction can occur normally, with each parent contributing half of its complement of chromosomes. Uneven ploidy numbers pose a problem for reproduction, though (three sets of chromosomes doesn’t divide neatly), and as a result such plants are often at least partially sterile.

Since sterility equals no fruit, one would think that apples with three sets of chromosomes (triploids) would be of no value to anyone. While not fully sterile, these trees produce very little viable pollen, and set a fruit on a fairly small proportion of flowers. Yet there are an amzing number of triploid apples. A trip to the grocery store up the road from me would turn up at least two (depending on the time of year), ‘Jonagold’ and ‘Crispin’ (aka ‘Mutsu’). The early American cultivars ‘Tompkins County King’ and ‘Rhode Island Greening’ are both triploid, as are the British apples ‘Bramley’ and ‘Ribston Pippin’ (mentioned in an earlier post). The earliest known triploid apple is ‘Gravenstein’, known as early as the seventeenth century in Denmark, and a popular apple of the colonial era, still grown occasionally today.

The reason why such trees have been popular, despite their obvious problems, is simple: size. Polyploids are generally characterized by larger anatomies, and this includes the fruits. ‘Jonagold’ and ‘Mutsu’ are among the largest apples in commerce today (averaging over 150 grams, with the occasional 300 gram fruit). I, personally, feel these particular apples are often too large, pushing the lower limits of meal-sized, rather than snack-sized, but there are plenty of firm believers in the “bigger is better” school of thought out there.

The fertility problems do complicate things a bit, though. The lower number of viable flowers is rarely an issue (apples produce far more flowers than they could ever actually bear fruit, and normally require thinning anyway), but the lack of viable pollen is an issue. Most apple cultivars are self-sterile, a problem overcome by planting two genotypes, allowing each to pollinate the other. Because triploid apples produce to no viable pollen (or at least very, very little), two other diploid apple cultivars are required (the two diploids pollinate each other, as well as the triploid…if only one diploid is used, it will pollinate the triploid, while remaining unpollinated itself.) And of course, one must also make sure that the three cultivars are all flowering simultaneously. Luckily, years of research has provided growers with a wealth of information on the ploidy of various cultivars as well as their flowering habits, making monster apples a reality with just a little extra orchard planning.

Polyploidy has been a major force in both evolution and breeding, providing both opportunities and difficulties. As some one who works with strawberries (octoploids), ploidy issues are something I spend a lot of time with. Future articles will likely deal with ploidy issues not only of apples and strawberries, but also brambles, blueberries, and stone fruits.

'Ohio Everbearing' black raspberry

When I first heard about the 'Explorer' primocane-fruiting black raspberry, I was convinced it was the first such variety. As it turned out, I was wrong, as numerous such cultivars existed by the turn of the century, although very few ever achieved any importance.

An exception to this, however, is the very first primocane-fruiting black raspberry, 'Ohio Everbearing'. Although not a major commercial success, this variety remains significant as one of the very first cultivated American selections of Rubus, and probably the first named black cap (given the abundance of wild black raspberries, it probably took an unusual trait such as fall-fruiting to warrant a name and cultivation).

'Ohio Everbearing' was discovered in the wild by Nicholas Longworth. Longworth was a self-made millionaire banker from Cincinnati, which in 1804 when he moved there was almost the western frontier. Although his family remained important in local and U.S. politics, and he left an estate worth $10 million when he died in 1863, Longworth's most lasting legacy is as a horticulturist. Often called "The Father of American Viticulture" (a title sometimes applied to his correspondent, John Adlum), Longworth was an avid collector and disseminator of fruit varieties. He championed first the 'Alexander' and then the 'Catawba' grapes and introduced at least one strawberry of his own creation.

Everbearing Black Caps listed in Fred Card's Bush Fruits (1920) American Everbearing Cottier Everbearing [Grigg's] Daily Bearing Earhart Everlasting Every Day Fadely General Negley Hixon's Everbearer Kagy Everbearing King of Cliff's Lum's Autumn Black Raspberry Lum's Yellow Canada Miller's Daily Bearing Munson's Everbearing Mystery Ransom's Everbearing Sweet Home Wonder

Longworth found the original 'Ohio Everbearing' somewhere in central Ohio, where he had retreated in the fall of 1832 to escape cholera outbreaks in Cincinnati. Despite it being September or October, he "found a raspberry in full bearing, a native of our state, the only everbearing raspberry I have ever met with. I introduced it the same winter into my garden, and it is now cultivated by me in preference to all others, and my table is supplied from the beginning of June to frost." Although the variety struggled somewhat on the gravelly soils of his fields, it performed better on clay soils, and Longworth was convinced it might have a future, especially in England. He sent plants there, as did A.J. Downing, though it seems have had little impact there. The legendary Dr. Hogg did note its existence in England as late as 1884, when it was probably gone in the U.S. (Incidentally, in my hypothetical strawberry-themed band, my stage name was going to be "Dr. Hogg").

Longworth was among the foremost horticultural authorities of his day, and an everbearing variety of raspberry would seem to be a major development, so it seems like it should have caught on, but while he and a few others cultivated it commercially, it never seems to have. Black caps, in general, have never attained commercial prominence, perhaps because they were foreign to European tastes, and thus unable to compete with the more familiar red raspberries. Many other everbearers, such as 'Grigg's Daily Bearing', 'Miller's Daily Bearing', and 'Lum's Autumn Black' were selected from its seedlings. (Indeed, I rather suspect most, if not all, of those everbearing black raspberries that appeared in the second half of the nineteenth century may claim it as an ancestor. Most of these seem to originate in Ohio, Kentucky, Indiana, or Illinois, the areas nearest the discovery and commercialization of Longworth's variety).