Before I came to France, I couldn't quite grasp Mr. FdC's obsession with the lowly chestnut.

 

While I could certainly comprehend his yearning for a decent baguette or some cheese other than cheddar or brie (the only French variety our local supermarket deemed fit to carry), I must admit that the day he finally struck gold and found a can of crème de marrons at a local specialty shop – and later that night polished off the entire can, with a spoon – struck me as rather intriguing.

Having eaten chestnuts myself only a very few times, and then only in Martha Stewart-style Thanksgiving stuffing, I couldn’t understand what the fuss was about.  Thick, nutty and sweet -- in the way that a whole box of sugar cubes is sweet -- this chestnut spread tasted good, to be sure, but an entire can with a spoon for dessert? 

I remember waiting anxiously for his sugar-induced coma to set in -- while he patiently reassured me that what he was doing with that spoon was not how it is normally 'done' -- yet he simply couldn’t help himself, such was his yearning for an annual dose of autumn chestnuts, French-style.

 

It wasn't until visiting France during the fall for the first time that I could see just how attached the French really are to this particular variety of nut, and why.

Second only to their obsession with hazelnuts (which they seem to want to put into any and all things chocolate), these chataîgnes (the common chestnuts) or marrons (the larger, prettier and tastier version) -- or is it the other way around? -- make up an integral part of French cuisine.

 

Last weekend, in fact, Mr. FdC -- something of a chef in his own right -- threw a handful into a pot of fresh cassoulet, and the result was spectacular.

In Paris, it's rare to walk down a street this time of year without encountering someone selling them -- freshly roasted over a piping hot half-barrel of embers -- and a couple of euros will buy a nice afternoon snack rolled up neatly in a paper cornet.

 

But it's the strolls through the forests (why do French forests always make me think of Druids and medieval times?) and castle grounds surrounding Paris that I have grown to truly love this time of year.

Forests where, upon entering, one will be met with the unmistakable thwack! of falling chestnuts (from such heights as are necessary to break open their spiky green casings on the ground below), which then lie scattered about the forest floor, there for the collecting – and 'collect' them we do.

In fact, the weather having been so unseasonably warm for the last few weekends, we have taken full advantage of our desire to hike around these nearby forests with our little one and our dog, and to fulfill my own new-found craving for chestnut hunting.

But it would appear that this endless 'Indian Summer' of ours has at least a few disadvantages, as nothing is more unpleasant than accidentally slipping out of one's sandals (sandals which, by all rights, should have been stored away a month ago) and onto one of those spiky green pods.

Except, maybe, being thwacked on top of the head by one – just ask Mr. FdC.

Feel free to email FdC at: fdc@expatica.com

The full Française de Cœur blog can be found at:

 www.francaisedecoeur.com

November 7, 2005

Copyright Expatica

Subject: Living in France