Chestnuts

Oh precious chestnut, why do you taunt me so?

Chestnut season is here and they fell to the ground by the hundreds this last week as the autumnal winds kicked up.  I gathered a large bowl full and then spent the entire next day making jam from them.  I’m not exaggerating; it took four hours to get their shells off: two hours for the first layer and another two hours for the second one.  I’ve tried just about everything to speed up this process: steaming, boiling, and even freezing the nuts to see if I can get the shells to pop off like a peanut shell, but no luck.  (Happily, peanuts are much easier to shuck, or I would have grown up eating jelly and jelly sandwiches.)  That’s before they’re boiled and ground, which is not even the final step of adding sugar and cooking the concoction.  It’s long work and by the end of the day I’m completely feed up, but it’s worth it at the breakfast table.  We’re already ¾ of a jar down from the five I made.  Christophe is hinting that I should have another go at it before the ground freezes; I’m hinting he should attack that “honey do” list I posted on the fridge.  Neither of us is budging, for the moment.  But, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve: I have just over 4 jars to wait and then we’ll see what can be negotiated.  I'm thinking....painting!

The Potimarron

This is my new favorite vegetable: the potimarron.  It was planted for the first time in our garden last year and I find it amazing.  Its name is part pumpkin (potiron) and part chestnut (marron) and tastes like a supped- up pumpkin and with hints of chestnut.  I asked Christophe if he knew that’s how it got its name and he just laughed at me, “You love both pumpkin and chestnuts so I thought would have been obvious.”

Regardless of my vernacular oversight, it still intrigued me.  Many resources say it has Japanese origins, but I found one French resource that states it from South America and was probably first named Hokkaido squash by the Japanese.  Whatever its origins, it seems to be lacking a clear history.  What I do know is that it is coming back into fashion in the haut-cuisines of France.  Last year, we had dinner at Le Jardin des Sens in Montpellier, and not only did the potimarron grace their menu, it was used as autumnal table decorations.  I’m guessing it fell out of fashion since it’s smaller than other pumpkins, but is becoming popular again for its rich and delicate flavor.

We told Madame Gousse we ate our first potimarron last Sunday and she gasped, thinking we should save it for the middle of winter.  Little does she know we have a dozen growing, so happily we don’t have to horde them.  With our first poitmarron, Christophe made a creamy soup, tossed in sautéed vegetables and topped with a grilled sole fillet with fresh fennel sprouts.  I couldn’t think of a better way to meld the flavors of summer and the beginning of fall.

Soupe de potimarron aux légumes croquants de saison, filet de sole tropicale aux pousses de fenouil