Shared from the 12/10/2017 The Providence Journal eEdition

Recalling roasted chestnuts

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I have vivid childhood memories of the wonderful traditional Christmas Eve feast of the fish and all the trimmings. I need not write more, as many have written so much about La Vigilia, the Feast of the Seven Fishes. However, I must tell you of one thing that comes to mind as I remember that dinner and those frosty days of Christmas: chestnuts.

Yes, chestnuts. A recent trip to southern Italy during chestnut harvest time reminded me of Christmas Eve and an October visit to Italy a few years back.

My cousin Vincenzo, who lives just north of Naples, in Roccamonfina, Italy, is the owner of a chestnut farm. We had the good fortune to visit with him and his wife, Anna, some years ago, but I did not call him this time because I knew he would be harvesting his chestnuts from dawn to dusk; too busy for him and Anna to enjoy quality time with family.

On the previous visit, Vincenzo told me that my grandfather had lived nearby on a chestnut farm and was to inherit it. However, when he emigrated to America in the early 1900s, he lost his rights. I stared into space thinking, “You mean I could have inherited a chestnut farm! In Italy! I could have been a chestnut farmer in Italy!”

The edible chestnut, the one familiar at holidays or on the streets of New York, was easy to spot in those fields. They were still in their spiny, needle-sharp husks. The inedible, backyard horse chestnut we knew as kids has a smoother husk and was good only for the game of “kingers.” We loved that game, but we appreciated those delicious, savory treats that ended our meal on those Christmas Eves even more.

Maybe that’s why chestnuts come to mind when I think of La Vigilia. At the end of the abbondanza, or feast, came the chestnuts that had been roasted on the Barstow stovetop. Grandma had gently rubbed them with olive oil. Grandpa cut them so that they would roast evenly and open without a burst. Using his sharpened jackknife, he scored them with an “X” on the rounded side and placed them on the stove, flat side down (none were geometrical).

Roasted chestnuts were the snack that complemented the meal. When done, Grandma brought them to the table mounded in a large dish. They had opened so that, when cooled, they were easy to peel.

Notwithstanding the fact that we had eaten for hours and thought we were satisfied, we started on the chestnuts … some still hot, so we shook them around in our cupped hands. They unwrapped easily. Mounds of chestnut skins were centered on the tablecloth.

I recognized then how good the chestnut was, but not until recent years did I realize how healthy they are (low fat, high protein, gluten free, high in vitamins and fiber).

The roasted chestnut was more than a healthy, delicious, nostalgic Christmastime snack. It symbolized the end of a beautiful evening and the thought that Christmas Day would soon be upon us.

— Ed Iannuccilli, a retired physician and now a writer, can be reached at edwritesri@gmail.com

See this article in the e-Edition Here