Roast chestnuts - traditional winter fare
One of the nicest smells in the world, I think, is the smell of roast chestnuts wafted towards you on the chill wind in a grey London street.
And the taste is marvellous. The creamy flavour of the chestnut flesh, with the smoky taste of the crisped up skin where the peel has split and the flesh has begun to burn. It’s very different from the smoothness of marron glacé - candied chestnut; instead, it’s earthy and packs quite a punch. And you’ll be chewing away for a couple of minutes - the slightly floury, heavy flesh is not light-weight food.
The chestnut seller is a traditional London sight with his grimy little grill pan. You used to get your chestnuts in a little cone of paper; now you’re more likely to get a paper bag, but in every other respect the fare is just the same now as it was forty years ago.
There’s one guy outside the British Museum. I remember one in Oxford Street, and one near Charing Cross. There also used to be a chestnut seller outside the Tower of London, though I didn’t see him last year - I wonder if he’s still there? And I think there’s a seller outside Harrods, too.
Roast your own
If you want to find your own, the park at Greenwich is full of sweet chestnut trees and you can forage for your supper. Hyde Park has chestnut trees too.
Don’t confuse them with horse chestnuts though. ‘Conkers’ are round, and come in cases with little green spikes like a medieval mace - and they’re poisonous. Sweet chestnuts, on the other hand, come in a case bristling with tiny little spines, like a hedgehog, are pointy and not round, and are very, very tasty.
Remember to cut a little X in the skin before you roast them, though. Otherwise, they can be explosive!
