Out of the Fire

After a half day’s drive and a horrific Tuscan traffic jam, my husband and I finally found Dicomano, a tiny hillside village outside of Florence, where a chestnut festival was alleged to be underway. We’d walked the length of the main street’s flea market and fought our way through an agricultural fair in the local soccer stadium. We’d bought pecorino cheese and witnessed free beauty make-overs. We’d seen plenty of characters but not a single nut. Where, we wondered, could they be hiding them?

The October sun was setting and my panic rising. Then I spotted people with small white bags, satisfied faces and a trail of crushed brown shells at their feet. We rushed past them and up the street to a throng of boisterous villagers. They were gathered five deep at a counter, watching men stir pans of chestnuts over wood fires in oil drums.

The roasters’ faces were intent as they heatedly discussed technique. Timing is crucial in chestnut roasting. Undercooked, the nuts will be unpleasantly al dente; overcooked, they will be dry and tough. A perfect chestnut is moist, sweet, a steaming fluff of starch in the mouth. A chestnut is more like a potato than a nut, with a high water and low fat content. So much water that a fresh one has to be “castrated,” as the Italians say, its shell slashed so that steam can escape during roasting.

The chief roaster finally decided that this batch of charred mahogany lumps was ready to pour into a blanket-lined barrel, where they continue to cook while resting for a few minutes. Too many minutes for some. An elderly woman walked over with an authoritative swagger and jammed her walking cane into the barrel, stirred it around and pronounced them done. Nut-filled sacks and money flew through the air. The lucky recipients, their hands shaking with excitement, cracked shells, peeled off brown skins and ate the scalding nuggets with a fervor usually reserved for religious rites.

Biting into my first straight-from-the-forest chestnut in Dicomano was cause for real celebration. A freshly harvested and roasted chestnut has a comforting sweetness, the alimentary equivalent of a shearling jacket worn against autumn’s chill.

Returning home, I’ve learned that chestnuts are more than a nostalgic tradition, they’re a primal rite of fall. For six millennium they have been cultivated by man, savored by both the wealthy and the poor. Chestnuts have nourished entire populations during wars and famine. Why, I wanted to know, weren’t we growing them in California?

It turns out that we are--sort of. Asian blight nearly wiped out the American chestnut tree during the first half of the century. Fresh chestnuts now sold in markets are usually imported, dried out and past their prime. But the American Chestnut Foundation in Vermont is dedicated to bringing back the American chestnut with blight-resistant trees. The West Coast has several small, new orchards that ship fresh chestnuts in the fall. I boiled the first of this year’s California crop of “Colossal” chestnuts for the sweet puree used in this Monte Bianco, a traditional recipe from Nick Malgieri’s “Great Italian Desserts” (Little, Brown and Co.). I roasted some, as well, over the gas barbecue. My fingers were burnished red from peeling hot chestnuts, but it was worth the pain to discover that our West Coast crop is every bit as good as Dicomano’s.

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Monte Bianco/Mont Blanc

Makes 8-10 servings

1 1/2 pounds fresh chestnuts

3 quarts water

1 teaspoon salt

2 cups milk

2/3 cup sugar

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons Italian brandy or cognac

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1 cup heavy whipping cream

Chocolate shavings, confectioners’ sugar

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Pierce chestnuts on rounded end with small knife. Boil water in large pan, add salt. Add chestnuts, return to boil over medium heat. Lower heat and cook for 20 minutes or until tender.

Test chestnut by shelling and peeling off brown skin under warm running water. If skin peels off easily, remove pan from heat, drain chestnuts in colander. Keep nuts warm for easier peeling (I kept chestnut-filled colander covered with a towel and placed over pan filled with hot chestnut water).

Place peeled chestnuts in heavy saucepan with milk, sugar and butter and simmer uncovered over low heat until very tender, stirring often, about 20-30 minutes.

Cool cooked chestnut mixture and puree in food processor, adding brandy and vanilla. Force cooled chestnut cream through potato ricer onto platter into cone-shaped mound. Whip cream until firm and spread atop mound; this is the “snow” capping the “mountain.” Sprinkle with chocolate shavings and dust lightly with confectioners’ sugar.

Chestnut cream can be made 3 to 4 days in advance. Assembled dessert can be refrigerated up to 4 hours before serving.

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Food stylist: Christine Anthony-Masterson