The durian is the reverse snob&rsquos dream fruit. It is stinky beyond your olfactory imagination and its flavour has been described variously as mushy rotten onions, the inside of an unwashed toilet bowl, a used gym sock and the &lsquoshit of God&rsquo. After making its acquaintance, &ldquoyour breath will smell as if you&rsquove been french kissing your dead grandmother,&rdquo says Anthony Bourdain. The durian is derided by hotels and airports throughout its native Southeast Asia. Airlines will do everything to prevent you from carrying it on board. And overindulgence can land you in hospital. Naturally, it&rsquos one of my favourite fruits. I speak on the strength of one, brief fling with this spiny cousin of the jackfruit. That was in the flesh. In its mediated form&mdashice cream, cake, candy&mdashthe durian is a bit more approachable, and, since I&rsquom not shy in my declarations of love, over the years, fellow travellers have offered tribute in the form of durian trinkets, candies and fruit leather. A prickly activist friend gifted me this odourless totem in plaster of Paris and it has adorned my desk ever since. Collateral damage colleagues now give me a wide berth. Am I prickly too Or is it just durian envy