X Marks the Chestnut
By Lucie Lehmann Snodgrass
Special to The Washington
Post
Wednesday, October 22, 2003; Page F01
On a perfect pumpkin-carving afternoon many years ago, my Swiss father taught
me to use a knife on a much smaller, less colorful canvas: the chestnut. My lesson started at a local farm stand, where I'd dragged him to select a
pumpkin from an alp-like pile. My frugal father, who couldn't fathom the
American ritual of carving faces into an overgrown, but still edible piece of
squash, was examining the produce instead. Suddenly, he started like a man who
had just put a wet finger into a socket. "Look, Lu," he said in a wondrous, even reverent tone. "Chestnuts." In an unadorned bushel basket, next to piles of apples and sheaths of glowing
Indian corn, was a mound of plain brown chestnuts, each the size of a silver
dollar. I shrugged, unimpressed. I knew what chestnuts were -- my best friend,
Teresa, had a huge chestnut tree in her back yard, and we used the nuts to pelt
her little sister and irritating brothers. According to her, you couldn't eat
them. Rather smugly, I told my father so. "But these aren't horse chestnuts," he replied. "These are edible and they're
delicious. Grandpa and I used to gather them in the fall in Switzerland for
Grandma to use in her cooking." Horse chestnuts are not for eating. Though they appear similar in some
respects to the sweet chestnuts, the horse chestnut husks are covered with blunt
spikes, while sweet chestnuts' are very sharp and spiny. The horse chestnut nut
is almost round, while the sweet chestnut nut has a pointed end with a small
shriveled flower tip. The most important difference is the taste. And it was the
tasty sweet chestnuts that were spread out before us. My father grabbed a small paper bag and began filling it. Whatever tepid
interest he had shown in the pumpkins was gone, replaced by a determination to
get home as soon as possible. The pumpkin would have to wait. At home, my father spread the chestnuts on the white, speckled Formica
kitchen table and examined each one carefully, holding it up to the light, like
a diamond. Then he laid them down, flat side up, and took out his trusty Swiss
Army knife -- the real thing -- from his days as a young recruit. "Look," he said, his long, tapering hands holding the knife and its sharp
blade over one chestnut. "Each one must be slit just so." He demonstrated with precision, marking a careful "X" into each chestnut,
digging the knife's tip into the nut, like a skater's blade on ice, and
explaining that the cut would prevent the chestnuts from exploding when we
roasted them. Soon, it was my turn to try my hand, and then my brother, Dan's,
and my sister, Alexandra's. The oven heated up while we worked. "Someone will have to whip some cream," my father announced. Three sets of
ears perked up. He hadn't said anything to us about whipped cream! We quickly
decided that if chestnuts were somehow connected to whipped cream, they couldn't
be all bad. We couldn't wait to put the chestnuts onto the cookie sheet and
slide them into the oven. When we took them out, the shells had darkened and folded back, like flower
blossoms. The chestnuts gave off a delicious, slightly smoky smell. "Now we have to work quickly," my father explained. "If we let them get too
cool, we won't be able to peel them properly." The furry jackets that protected the nuts had to be rubbed off, which wasn't
always easy. Some of the chestnuts crumbled. And my little fingers, while
dexterous, were singed and tender. Somehow, I didn't care. My father seemed
happier than I had ever seen him. He popped a freshly peeled chestnut into his
mouth and then rolled it around, making exaggerated faces until it cooled enough
to chew. After that, I tried one, too. It was slightly sweet and smooth, like
eating velvet, I imagined. When we had the whole pile peeled, my father divided it into four bowls,
which he then garnished with a generous dollop of the sweetened whipped cream.
We sat around the table and devoured the whole pile. "That was the best thing I've ever tasted," my sister said, and Dan and I
nodded in vigorous assent. My father smiled, his appetite for things Swiss temporarily slaked. That
afternoon, he took us back to the farm stand and bought us all pumpkins. Big
ones. And another bag of chestnuts. Marrons Glaces (Makes about 4 pounds) Though time-consuming, these candied chestnuts are worth every bit of the
effort. You must use fresh chestnuts. They can be individually wrapped in foil
or cellophane and offered as gifts or reserved as garnish for cakes and
mousses. 4 pounds unshelled fresh chestnuts 21/2 cups water 2 pounds sugar (about 41/2 cups) 1 vanilla bean Using a sharp knife, make an "X" on the flat side of each chestnut, making
sure to pierce the outer and inner skin. (This allows moisture to escape during
cooking and prevents the chestnuts from exploding.) Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the chestnuts and boil for 5
minutes. (May need to boil in batches.) Carefully drain the chestnuts,
discarding the water. Set aside until cool enough to handle. Peel the chestnuts,
discarding the outer shells and inner skins. Rinse the pot. Return the peeled chestnuts to the pot, add the water, sugar
and vanilla bean and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat to low and simmer gently
until the sugar is completely dissolved, about 5 minutes. Increase the heat to
medium-high and boil for an additional 5 minutes. Remove the pot from the heat
and carefully pour the chestnuts and the syrup into a heatproof bowl. Cover and
set aside for 12 hours. Return the chestnuts and the syrup to the pot, bring to a boil and boil for 1
minute. Remove from the heat, transfer to a heatproof bowl, cover and set aside
for another 12 hours. Repeat process a third time, until much of the syrup has
been absorbed. Preheat the oven to about 150 degrees or place it on the warm setting. Line a
couple of rimmed baking sheets with wax paper or parchment paper and place the
drained chestnuts in a single layer. Bake for 11/2 hours or until firm but not
dry. Set aside to cool. Transfer to a resealable container lined with wax paper
and store at room temperature. Per serving (based on 12): 469 calories, 4 gm protein, 107 gm
carbohydrates, 4 gm fat, 0 mg cholesterol, trace saturated fat, 5 mg sodium, 14
gm dietary fiber Lucia's Chestnut Stuffing (6 servings) This moist, old-fashioned stuffing may be simple but it is far from plain.
Chestnuts lend a rich, subtle sweetness to the celery flavor. 8 tablespoons butter, plus additional for baking pan 4 shallots, finely minced 2 stalks celery, thinly sliced 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper 1 teaspoon dried sage 1/2 teaspoon celery seeds (optional) 3 cups cubed, day-old bread, crusts trimmed if desired 3 cups roasted, peeled chestnuts (from about 11/2 pounds whole or 15 ounces
peeled chestnuts)* 11/2 cups chicken or vegetable stock Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 9-inch-square baking dish. In a large skillet over medium heat, melt the butter. Add the shallots and
cook, stirring frequently, until softened, about 3 minutes. Add the celery and
cook, stirring, until softened, about 7 minutes. Add the salt, pepper, sage and
celery seeds, if using, and stir to combine. Remove from the heat. Place the bread and chestnuts in the baking dish. Drizzle with the butter
mixture and toss until well combined. Drizzle slowly with the stock and toss
until combined. Cover and cook until warmed through, about 30 minutes. If a slightly crunchy
surface is desired, uncover and bake for an additional 10 minutes. Set aside to
rest for about 5 minute prior to serving. *Note: To roast chestnuts, preheat the oven to 375 degrees .
Roast the scored chestnuts in a single layer for 25 minutes if they are
going to be cooked further in another recipe; about 45 minutes if you are going
to eat them plain. Per serving: 580 calories, 12 gm protein, 84 gm carbohydrates, 22 gm fat,
46 mg cholesterol, 11 gm saturated fat, 1040 mg sodium, 5 gm dietary fiber
Lucie Lehmann Snodgrass is a writer who left Washington for a farm in
Street, Md.
