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Durian Flan คัสตาร์ดทุเรียน

durian recipe
Ah, durian. Can you think of any fruit that’s more controversial and divisive? You either despise it or adore it.

Those who hate it, please avert your eyes (Now that you’re here, may I interest you with some Thai or gluten-free recipes in the archives?). Those who can’t have enough of it, please read on.


Durian (ทุเรียน), as is the case with most fruits, is best eaten fresh. The opportunity to enjoy perfectly-ripe Mon Thong (หมอนทอง) or Kan Yao (ก้านยาว) durians in their natural state alone justifies flying half way around the globe, if you’re a durian fiend like me. Short of that, the only durian avatar that does any justice at all to fresh durians would be durian in sweet coconut cream over sweet coconut sticky rice (ข้าวเหนียวน้ำกระทิทุเรียน). On a good day, I’m also willing to make an exception for sweet durian paste (ทุเรียนกวน) — the concoction most commonly used as one of the most popular mooncake fillings. That’s as far as I’m willing to go.

But durian cakes or cookies? Nah. Growing up or these days whenever I visit Bangkok, it has never occurred to me to seek out or make any treats wherein durian serves merely as a perfuming agent. I don’t have anything against durian chiffon cake or durian-flavored spritz-type cookies — the most common of all inferior durian avatars; I have eaten tons of them and would still continue to do so, if force fed. I just don’t think those are the best applications for such an expensive fruit whose greatest virtue lies in the creamy, custardy texture and sublimely sweet taste. I’ve seen tons of durian cake or cookie recipes where you’re supposed to whip up a huge batch of batter with just a tiny bit of durian pulp added. The exiguity of durian used in those recipes only serves to magnify their pointlessness.

You don’t really taste durian that way. You detect mild durian scent and that’s about it. (At a risk of undermining the width and depth of my love for durian, the scent is not the best part about durian; the texture and flavor are.) I’m sure there are people who don’t agree with this, but such is the fate of all opinions in this world.

Besides, I don’t really see the point of consuming any durian derivatives if you live in a place where plump, golden, sweet, and creamy flesh of the incomparably delicious fruit can be found any time, anywhere.


Alas, things are different here in Chicago and I am forced to drastically lower my standard. In my neck of the woods, “fresh” durians are available in two forms: frozen whole durians (sometimes thawed and sold at room temperature to lead people into thinking that they’ve never been frozen) and frozen prepared durian pulp (pitted durians wrapped in cellophane and frozen).

Both are barely edible.

In this case, transforming durian into durian-flavored treats is more than justified in my biased mind. Still, some respect needs to be paid to the king of fruit. Though undressed, abused, gutted, and previously-frozen, the thawed-out monarch still reigns and I am obligated to treat him accordingly. If he can’t be restored to his former glory, at least I need to make his avatars as close as possible to the taste and texture of the original.

And that means sweet, creamy, and custardy.

In future posts I will be writing about three ways which I like to use frozen durian pulp: durian in sweet coconut cream over sweet coconut sticky rice (ข้าวเหนียวน้ำกระทิทุเรียน), durian coconut gelato, and durian coconut flan. While the first is strictly Thai, the second and the last are obviously not traditional Thai desserts. I’m doing my best to keep them as Thai, or at least Southeast Asian, as possible. The use of coconut milk certainly helps make that goal possible.

In case you have been distracted by my rambling, we’re making durian flan today. I’m offering two ways in which you can make this.

durian recipe
1. Do you have a favorite sweet potato or pumpkin flan recipe which you’ve successfully used over the years? If so, all you need to do is:

  • Replace the sweet potato or pumpkin with equal amount of durian pulp.
  • Reduce the amount of sugar in the flan proper(not the caramel) by 30% as durian pulp is much sweeter than sweet potato or pumpkin.
  • Replace all or half of the milk (or half and half or cream) with coconut milk.
  • The only caveat for this method is that if your favorite recipe calls for sweetened condensed milk, it’s too complicated to swap out ingredients. In that case, your best bet is to go with the other way to make durian flan.

    2. Follow my recipe:
    Print It

  • In a blender, liquefy 16 ounces of durian pulp (thawed), 3 egg yolks, 2 whole eggs, 1 1/2 cups (12 fl. oz.) of full-fat coconut milk (I use Chaokoh, of course), 1/3 cup of granulated sugar, and 2 tablespoons of cornstarch; set aside.
  • Preheat the oven to 350° F. Get some boiling water ready, along with one 8-inch pan and a larger pan into which the smaller pan can fit.
  • In a saucepan, melt together over medium-low heat 1/2 cup of granulated sugar and 4 tablespoons water. Do not stir, but swirl the pan gently to allow the sugar to melt and caramelize evenly. Watch the caramel very closely. When it takes on the dark amber color, immediately remove the pan from heat and pour the caramel into the 8-in pan, trying your best to cover the bottom of the pan entirely. Should you fail, fret not; the problem will somewhat solve itself after the custard is baked.
  • Pour the prepared durian mixture over the caramel. Place the filled pan inside the larger pan, place the whole thing in the oven, and pour boiling water into the larger pan just enough to come half way up the side of the smaller pan. Bake for 45 minutes or until the center is barely jiggly. Remove the custard from the water bath, let cool, refrigerate for 3 hours, and unmold by running a knife around the edges and turn the pan over gently onto a serving plate.

 

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Fruit Som Tam: Som Tam Phon La Mai ส้มตำผลไม้


It seems to me that the food scenes in Thailand have in the last few years eased off of the east-west fusion trend. Panaeng curry pizzas are now the thing of the past. The somewhat new trend is to reinvent the old-fashioned, classic dishes. Som Tam(ส้มตำ), the beloved salad featuring crunchy green papaya strands, has been given numerous innovative makeovers. Vegetable tempura Som Tam. Som Tam with salted duck eggs. Som Tam with steamed roe crabs. The list goes on and my head hurts.

Just when I thought I couldn’t keep up with all the Som Tam variations, when I visited my beautiful cousin in Ayutthaya last summer, she regaled me with this most unusual version of Som Tam, made with fresh cabbage and raw shrimp. I have seen many versions thus far, yet I’m sure I haven’t seen even half of what’s available out there. Apparently, the modus operandi behind this is: if you can fit it into a krok, you can make Som Tam with it.


One of the many new versions of Som Tam wherein various seasonal fresh fruits are used in lieu of green papaya is among some of the most popular reincarnations out there. And it’s for a very good reason too. Fresh tropical fruits are inexpensive, plentiful, and available all year round. It would be a shame not to take advantage of them. Besides, Som Tam Phonlamai (ส้มตำผลไม้) makes perfect sense. After all, the original version with green papaya as the main star is also a fruit salad even though the Thai mind regards green papaya as more of a vegetable than a fruit.

Regardless of the variations, the basic procedure of Som Tam is the same, i.e. some garlic and fresh chillies are pounded together in a mortar and pestle, then thin strands of green papaya, pieces of long beans, and fresh tomatoes go in, and the whole thing get seasoned with fish sauce, palm sugar, and lime juice. That’s the bare-bones version. Sometimes, pickled crabs are added to it. Sometimes, roasted peanuts and dried shrimp. Sometimes, all of the above. Basically, Som (a dialectal word meaning “sour” or “tart”) Tam (“to pound” or “to be pounded”) is all about fresh vegetables lightly-bruised and seasoned in a wood or terra cotta mortar. (Make Som Tam in a granite mortar in the presence of a Thai person and s/he would most likely have a hard time holding in a laugh.)


With the standard procedure and the list of essential ingredients in mind, this Thai fruit salad, Som Tam-style, should be a cake walk for everybody. The key is to use fresh fruits with firm and crunchy texture. Your choice of fruits should have flavors that lend themselves well to a sour-salty-sweet salad such as this. Anything soft, watery, gooey, pasty, or sticky does not make a good candidate. (Durian or mangosteen, for example, shouldn’t be part of the mix. Nor should bananas or ripe mangoes.) Some crunchy, mild-flavored vegetables can also be used. Grated zucchini, carrots, or chayote squash come to mind. I’ve also had used under-ripe avocados in the past with great success.


Since living in Chicago means I don’t have access to some tropical fruits which would be perfect for this salad, I made do with what I’ve got: a Granny Smith apple and a Fuji apple cut into thin slices, honeydew melon balls, some big dice of cantaloupe and pineapple, grated green mangoes, and some clementine sections. I also threw some vegetables into the mix: a jicama cut into matchsticks, a carrot grated thinly, some halved cherry tomatoes (let’s just agree for convenience’ sake that they’re vegetables in this case) and radishes. (Some sugar snap peas would have been perfect in this, but I didn’t have them on hand at the time.) Use what you like. Mix up flavors and textures. Cutting the fruits into various shapes also makes the finished dish even more interesting to look at and eat.

All you have to do is follow the procedure laid out in my post on Thai papaya salad, replacing the shredded green papaya with a mélange of fresh fruits cut into bite-size pieces. For this fruit Som Tam, I usually leave out the long beans. But that’s a personal preference.


Be sure to serve the salad immediately. It does not keep.

Notes:

  • Cut up the fruits that are most susceptible to oxidation, e.g. apples and pears, last.
  • To make this salad vegan, use salt instead of fish sauce. Leave out the dried shrimp.
  • To make this salad vegan and raw, omit the shrimp, use sea salt in place of fish sauce, replace the sugar with raw agave nectar, and use chopped raw almonds instead of roasted peanuts.

 

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Coconut Panna Cotta-Filled Steamed Squash and Dale, the Bangkok Taxi Addict


Can I give you a word of advice?” my cabbie said to me as we were approaching my destination, Central World, a huge mall in the center of Bangkok. “Of course,” I said. After over an hour of discussing every topic imaginable, from the state of the country to the state of his dermatological and prostate health, our bond, at that point, was stronger than titanium. “I noticed when I picked you up that you were carrying your purse on your right shoulder,” he assumed a parental role now. “It’s better to carry it on your left shoulder when you walk in the same direction as the traffic like you did. That way, it’s harder for the thieves on motorcycles to snatch it from you.” In a left-hand traffic country like Thailand, this makes perfect sense.

That was not the first time I learned something valuable from Bangkok taxi drivers. It would not be the last.

All photographs of Dale Konstanz by Jason Tonio Woerner

There weren’t many taxi rides for me growing up, but when I visit Bangkok, my hometown, these days, taxi is my preferred mode of transportation. The Sky Train and subway are for the times when I’m really in a rush. It’s not that I like getting stuck in traffic; it’s just that I enjoy interacting with taxi drivers whose lives are often drastically different than mine.

Though my globetrotting life began since I was – literally – in diaper, ironically the small, confined spaces inside Bangkok taxis remain some of a very few places wherein the deepest and richest learning experiences occur. The vast majority of taxi drivers in Bangkok are from economically-disadvantaged provinces, bringing with them experiences and stories that a city-dweller like me, unless blessed with opportunities to engage in meaningful conversations with them, would only know of through the media.

Dale Konstanz, an American who lives and works in Bangkok, shares my sentiment. Still Life in Moving Vehicles is an excellent blog where he brings to your computer screen the curious and wildly amusing world inside Bangkok taxis. Ever since Dale rode in his first taxi in Bangkok six years ago, he has been fascinated by what he sees inside local cabs. “Amazing” is how he describes the various collections of religious and superstitious charms, the quintessential พวงมาลัย (fresh flower garlands offered to the gods), the personal photographs and effects of the driver, and the random stickers and knick-knacks.

Even before he started blogging, Dale began taking photos inside Bangkok taxis as he started taking them regularly to and from the university where he teaches. “It was the perfect opportunity to do something creative and constructive with my time stuck in Bangkok’s infamous traffic jams,” he says.

A competent photographer, Dale carries a small camera with him everywhere he goes. His original goal was to create a body of work to be exhibited in art galleries and possibly a photo book. He also thought more research was necessary as the photos needed written descriptions and stories to give viewers more insight into the objects and experiences in the taxis.

Later, with an encouragement of a writer friend, Dale started blogging with his photos as a way to further document his experiences inside the cabs as well as a method to organize his thoughts, research, and the photos. He also thought it would be a fun way to share his photos and stories with others.

Dale was right. I, for one, was hooked the first day I discovered his delightful blog.

I find the way Dale looks at things inside Bangkok taxis to be refreshingly childlike. Children notice things which adults often take for granted. Children find wondrous the things which we find mundane. Out of playfulness and vibrant imagination rather than irreverence, they see humor in things we consider sacred. They see (and point out) the absurdity in what makes perfect sense to us. And, as anyone who has been around children for any length of time would tell you, they ask questions – probing, innocent, unedited questions. Their indefatigably curious minds just want to know and reasons behind everything are never irrelevant to them.


This is not to say that Dale is juvenile in his worldview. Far from it. It’s just that I believe adopting a childlike attitude when one is a foreigner in a land/culture different from one’s own is what facilitates the learning and adaptation. It’s almost like being incarnated into a different world, at a risk of sounding absurd.

The best students of a foreign language or culture, from my observation, are often the ones who take on the traits of a child: highly observant, curious, and eager to learn from anyone and about anything. From what I’ve seen of Dale’s blog and the little I know of him as a person, I think he’s not only surviving, but thriving as a foreigner in a very quirky city like Bangkok, his struggle with the different tones in the Thai language notwithstanding.

I had always wanted to live abroad,” says Dale. From an early age, he’s been attracted to other cultures and often befriended foreigners when he lived in the States. A few years before his very first trip to Asia, Dale had bought an old edition of the Lonely Planet Thai Phrase Book at an estate sale. Whether it was a premonition of sorts or a coincidence, he had no clue at that time he would soon be offered a position to teach art-related courses at a university in Bangkok on a 9-month contract. Neither did he know that 9 months would eventually turn into 6 years and counting.


Looking at my own culture through the eye of a foreigner is amusing, enlightening, and humbling. I guess that’s one of the reasons I like Dale’s blog. A foreigner’s perspective often reminds me of the fact that I’ve taken for granted many things in my culture, accepted as truth teachings and tenets that I’ve never fully understood, and regarded as normal things that, upon closer examination, are anything from contradictory to downright absurd.

Allowing the perspective of an outsider — someone who did not grow up in my culture and is impervious to the cultural or creedal indoctrination to which I’m susceptible — to penetrate the arrogant veil of my ignorance has helped increase my awareness. Their questions make me look afresh at the things which I thought I knew only to oftentimes find that I really don’t know them at all.

I consider the experience of riding in the cabs as well as taking photos to be metaphor for life,” says Dale. “This project, like life itself, is a journey that has taken me to unforeseen places. I’ve met so many interesting people through this project, including the cabbies.” Much of what he has learned, Dale adds, has come directly from the drivers who have taught him about Thailand, Thai beliefs and culture, and even life itself.

Taking photos of religious and superstitious objects in the taxis has caused Dale to think deeper about his own beliefs and philosophies of life.

There’s an excellent quote from Buddha that I’ve included on the blog that states, ‘It is better to travel well than to arrive‘. I like that statement because it reminds us to live in the moment.”

Too often, Dale observes, we’re focused on the next thing instead of stopping and appreciating the here and now. “I think it’s interesting that photography inherently does that; photography seizes the moment.


I promised Dale that if he told me what his favorite Thai dish was, I would feature that dish along with the post on him. Khao Mok Gai (ข้าวหมกไก่), a southern delicacy, a Thai-Muslim version of Chicken Biryani, is what he has chosen, not only as his favorite Thai dish, but potentially the dish he would like to have as his last meal on earth.

My initial plan, then, was to make the famous chicken and rice dish. Unfortunately, I am a lazy, wicked, deceptive Thai woman who often changes her mind at the last minute and for no particular reason. Having been craving Thai steamed pumpkin custard, I decided my needs were more important than Dale’s.

His Khao Mok Gai would have to wait.


This panna cotta-filled steamed squash isn’t entirely unrelated to the story, though. Religious syncretism is something that is very apparent in Thailand. In theory, Buddhism, the dominant religion in the kingdom, rests on the teaching of Gautama Buddha. In practice, however, it’s a different story. Superstition, animism, and several practices neither prescribed nor mentioned in the Tripiṭaka, the Buddhist canon, are part of what people generally refer to as the Buddhist faith.

The fact that Buddhism is not a theistic religion in the strictest sense much less monotheistic, in my opinion, has played a big role in the inclusivistic attitude of most Thai buddhists. Seeing the statuettes of Vishnu or Ganesha, an image of Jesus, and animistic amulets together on the same altar along with various statuettes of Buddha is not at all uncommon.

Only the most learned and the most zealous of Buddhists would understand the real teaching of Gautama Buddha; the others seek spiritual guidance and comfort from whatever or whoever they can cling to. What we have here is an inclusive if-one-god-is-good-several-must-be-better belief system that is not endorsed by any one religion.

This dessert demonstrates, for lack of a better term, culinary syncretism. Call it “fusion” or whatever, but here I am borrowing the well-known Italian treat, panna cotta, and using that in lieu of the traditional Thai custard (สังขยา).

Traditionally, the famous Thai steamed pumpkin custard (ฟักทองสังขยา) is made by filling a hollowed out pumpkin with a mixture of eggs, coconut milk, and palm sugar and steaming the whole thing together. While this is not exactly rocket science, I have yet to find one single foolproof recipe. So in the manner of the spiritually-hungry syncretists who borrow gods from various religions, I am borrowing from the Italian their panna cotta to satisfy my unfulfilled hunger for Thai steamed pumpkin custard. This is my own idea which was born out of laziness.


No offense to anyone. Some of the steamed pumpkin custard recipes I have found out there work some of the time, but not a single one of them works all of the time. A one-size-fits-all recipe simply does not take into account the various kinds of squash, steamer, etc. I’ll save my rant for later. For now, suffice it to say that the factors that directly affect the outcome are too numerous. Those who have filled pumpkins explode or collapse on them, or those who have shed tears over shrunken custard once it’s cooled, know what I am talking about.

So what’s great about this panna cotta-filled steamed squash. It is a way of solving the numerous problems that you can run into when you attempt to make the traditional Thai steamed pumpkin custard. Instead of cooking the custard mixture along with the pumpkin, or in this case acorn squash, you steam the hollowed-out squash separately, let it cool, and fill it with panna cotta mixture.

The filled squash is refrigerated to allow the panna cotta to set. Then the filled squash is served and eaten just like you would the traditional Thai steamed pumpkin custard. The panna cotta filling is soft, jiggly, delicious, and goes very well with mildly-sweet flesh of steamed squash.


Granted, what you get here is not exactly identical to what you get from the traditional version. The absence of the eggs means that the texture of the filling is not, well, eggy or custardy. Also, if you like to eat your steamed pumpkin custard warm, this version is not going to do it for you. Panna cotta firms up with the help of gelatin; it is not heat stable. Room temperature is as warm as you could go without the filling losing its textural integrity.

But if after considering the downside, you still want to try this delicious treat, please read on.

Printable Instructions
Get 2 1.5-lb acorn or sweet dumpling squashes, wash the outside, slice 3-4 inches off the top, hollow them out with a spoon, and steam them (along with the tops) until just fork tender. Remove the squashes from the steamer and let them cool completely. While the squash is cooling, make the coconut panna cotta by whisking together in a medium pot two cups of coconut milk, 3/4 cup of brown sugar, and 1/4 teaspoon salt. Sprinkle 1 packet of unflavored gelatin powder over the surface of the coconut milk mixture and let the gelatin “bloom” for about 5 minutes. Heat the pot over medium heat, stirring constantly, just until the sugar and the gelatin completely dissolve; remove from heat. Whisk in 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract and pour the mixture into the squashes. Gently transfer the filled squashes to the refrigerator, cover each with its own top, and let them chill for 4-5 hours.

Coconut panna cotta-filled squashes are served cold or at room temperature. Eat it with a spoon. Make sure each bite consists of equal amount of the squash flesh and the panna cotta.

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