Chestnut War Part 5

"I am giving these away to the neighbors," my wife said as she pulled out the ceramic bowl in which I kept the chestnuts. My research said to keep them refrigerated so I had it tucked in the azure bowl behind the ranch and lettuce.

"WHY!?"

"You don't want them to eat. You just want to keep this dumb game going."

"I want a divorce!"

"We can't afford it"

Which was true. But, I did want to eat them. And there were thousands of recipes online tied to quintessential holiday memories, but all made with imported European chestnuts. Could these "wild" chestnuts work?

I learned that any recipe needed these to be roasted. Unless I made chestnut butter which sounded like something I would stumble on Porn Hub to be honest. Hundreds of variations to the roasting technique going in circles and countervailing Catch-22s. Soak them. Don't soak them. Score them. Don't score them. Wrap in aluminum foil. No, put straight down on the cookie sheet.

Did I mention I am awful at cooking. I can feed myself but bake/cook? That's dicey. Its a combination of my lack of fine motor skills and a willingness to just say fuck it. There is no difference between lemons and limes to me because fuck it. I once made a cake for a girlfriend but it was Sunday and the tiny town I lived in, it was one of those where the sidewalks roll up on Sundays. The only store open was the Family Dollar which did not have eggs. So I used more vegetable oil because fuck it. And it baked but it was, as she put, "like eating a pimple." Fuck it.

I decided to not soak. But I would score and I would try two batches. One in aluminum foil and one on the cookie sheet. My wife suggested I sprinkle some salt and oil on one batch and that was the cookie sheet one.

They looked amazing. Tiny blistering warm brown orbs with peeling skin. Inside the bloom was the pale nut that looked like a walnut happily swollen with water. I didn't pick up any particular smells which seemed disappointing but I hoped they tasted yummy.

They tasted like wet hot chalk. Very wet but still sloughing off in mushy meal balls like peanut butter stuck in the hot recycling bin jar.

"Maybe they need to be fire roasted! Like in the Christmas carols!" I said trying to salvage the situation. We had a fire pit in the backyard.  A lovely handmade brick one with a grill and decorative chimney. Lets get that going and cook these up Bing Crosby style.

"It could just be these nasty knockoff Chinese Chestnut nuts grown on the side of West 214th, also" my wife said.

Science would say that I should buy a bag of imported classic chestnuts from the store and try to roast those. Do a taste test. But, I had spent all fall hoarding these nasty prickly bois and if I paid for nuts then the neighbors would have won.

"I wonder what the neighbors do with them?," pondered why wife. "That one lady said she makes a chicken soup"

Then I felt betrayed. She spoke to them!?

"Yeah, her name is Kay and they make a soup"

"I want a divorce"