Chestnut and Lentil Soup

 

I recently had a piece published about the act of peeling chestnuts which came out, ironically, just as I missed the annual chestnut harvest day at a friend's property in Gembrook. Thanks be, other friends made it and came back with an extra bag they had collected just for me.

I'm sorry to have missed the harvest, but I must admit I'm also a little relieved. Collecting chestnuts is not unmitigated fun. They drop from the tree in prickly bundles, which you must roll with a sturdy boot to open up and then, with gardening gloves, you fish the nuts out. Spines slip through the weak points in your gloves, leading to much sucking of fingers. One child or another always manages to fall in the chestnut grove and land knees first on the prickles and, cold hearted mother that I am, I find the annual screams a little tedious.

Meanwhile, there are so many chestnuts lying around that I find it difficult to collect only what I can reasonably cook. Some years I come back with a long labour of peeling chestnuts ahead of me, too many to be enjoyable.

But this year, thanks to my friends, I have a couple of kilos, just enough to eat this week. No little kids have had to shout about the prickles in their knees, and my fingers are unscathed. Next year, my kids will be older, my gloves will be thicker, and we will go again.

Chestnut and lentil soup is one of our favourites. The sweetness of the chestnuts is beautifully balanced by the earthiness of the lentils; the result is simple, nourishing and deeply satisfying. I like to keep the elements separate, so that one experiences little explosions of sweet chestnut; but it is also good as a purée, if rather unfortunate in appearance.

Chestnut and Lentil Soup - 1 kg chestnuts in their shells - 1 cup brown lentils - 1 tbs olive oil - 1 brown onion, chopped - 2 cloves garlic, chopped - 1 stalk celery, chopped - 2 medium sized carrots, chopped small - 2 cups chicken stock or vegetable stock, or water - 1 cup extra water - 1 bay leaf - ½ tsp salt - 4 or 5 stalks parsley - extra virgin olive oil to finish Prepare the chestnuts. To do this, using a small sharp knife cut a cross in the rounded side of each chestnut. Drop the chestnuts into a pan of boiling water. Simmer for fifteen minutes, then turn off the heat. Remove the chestnuts from the water a few at a time, and peel them. Do not let them cool down too much, as in cooling the skin adheres to the nut. Discard any hard or discoloured bits as these will be bitter. Chop roughly. Soak the lentils in hot water for ten minutes. Warm the olive oil, then add the onion. Cook over medium heat for ten minutes, but do not let it brown. Add the garlic and celery, and cook for another minute. Add the carrot, and cook for a few more minutes or until the vegetables look shiny. Drain the lentils and add them to the pan. Add the stock or water, plus an extra cup of water, the bay leaf and the chestnuts. Cook for 15 minutes with the lid on. Test a lentil. If it is soft, salt and turn down the heat; if it is still hard, give it a few more minutes before salting. Cook for another 5 to 10 minutes then turn off the heat. Let it sit for an hour or so for the flavours to meld. You may need to add a little more boiling water to get the consistency you like. (I like it very thick, more stew than soup.) Remove the bay leaf. Chop the parsley and throw that in. Serve with a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. (Backyard / gleaned: bay leaves, parsley. Gembrook: chestnuts. Wimmera: lentils, olive oil, salt. Other bits of Victoria: onion, celery, carrot. Mixed sources: homemade stock. Can't remember but it might have been Colac: garlic.)

Peeling Chestnuts / Mindful Parenting Magazine

[P]eeling chestnuts has unlooked-for gifts. Ours come from a friend’s place in Gembrook. As I sit in my inner-city kitchen, peeling and listening to the traffic, I recall the gently rolling fields, the way the chestnut trees are tucked into a valley below a slope of proteas. I remember picnics under their dappled shade, and relive the stroll across a meadow to persimmons aflame with colour. Our neighbourhood may be dominated by traffic, but the glossy brown nuts, so smooth in my hand, remind me of a quieter landscape. Memories of trees and green shadows descend.

***

To read more, follow the link and flick to page 60, or click on the embedded magazine below - and don't miss the other fantastic articles on mindfulness, creativity, and children!

If you feel inspired to cook with chestnuts, check out my recipes here.

Open publication - Free publishing - More children

Cabbage with Chestnuts and Apples

Somewhere deep within me is a German harrumphing to get out. Whenever the weather turns cold, my thoughts turn to pork sausages, apples, cabbage, potatoes and chestnuts. This is odd, because we don't usually cook meat at our house, and 40% of my household won't eat it.

But every now and then, my German genes erupt. My great grandfather Gunter was born in Australia to German immigrants. He was a stern and arrogant man who owned a butcher's shop, and was deeply offended when his daughter, Constance, married below her station; she wed Bill the apprentice. Grandfather Gunter did his best to make their marriage a misery, and I am told he largely succeeded. His own marriages were nothing to smile at, either. He wed three times, each time to a Mary; the first two Marys predeceased him. My grandmother was the daughter of the middle Mary.

Grandpa Gunter loved to save a penny. He knew every bend and dip in the road between Katanning, his home town in the West Australian wheat belt, and Perth; and would coast for miles to save on fuel. He put the money he saved into a big house on the riverbank in Perth, and towards his annual holiday to Melbourne to watch the Cup.

And that's about all I know. It's not much of a heritage to go on, but it's enough – enough, at least, to justify the fact that every now and then I absolutely must grill sausages (pork for 60% of the family, soy for the sorry 40%); mash a heap of potatoes; stew some apples; and fry up some cabbage in some sort of porky-Germanic-homage.

This week was one of those times. In the fridge was a lovely local Savoy cabbage and chestnuts from a friend's farm. Inspired by a variation on a red cabbage-and-apple-thingy in Stephanie Alexander's Cook's Companion, and a Brussels-sprouts-and-chestnut thingy we love from Nigella Lawson's Feast, I thought we could make a Savoy-cabbage-and-apple-and-chestnut-thingy of our own. So I sautéed half a small Savoy cabbage in butter until it was glossy, threw in a couple of handfuls of cooked chestnuts and a dash of apple cider vinegar; and when the chestnuts were warm I mixed through some chunky apple sauce. With mashed potatoes, a good pork sausage, and rain falling steadily outside, dinner, and life, was perfekt!

Cabbage with Chestnuts and Apples - 300g fresh chestnuts in their shells, to make about 200g chestnut meats - walnut sized lump of butter - ½ small Savoy cabbage, shredded - 1 tbs apple cider vinegar, or, for a nuttier flavour, dry sherry - an apple, chopped and lightly stewed; or half a cup or so of chunky apple sauce First, prepare the chestnuts (These instructions are taken straight from the recipe for Chestnut and Celeriac Soup; if you know how to do it, skip to the double asterisk(**).) (I usually prepare the chestnuts a night or two ahead, after dinner, and store the chestnut meats in the refrigerator until I am ready to cook them.) Hold a chestnut flat side down on a sturdy chopping board. Place the tip of a sharp knife at the top of the nut, and lever it downwards so that the nut is bisected from top to bottom, but the knife does not cut through the shell on the flat side. Place the chestnut into a bowl. When all the chestnuts have been treated thus, place the bowl of chestnuts into the freezer for ten minutes. Bring a large pot of water to the boil. When the ten minutes is up, remove the chestnuts from the freezer and slide them into the rapidly boiling water. Boil for eight minutes, then turn the heat down low. Remove several chestnuts from the water with a slotted spoon, and quickly pop each nut half out of its shell and skin (or peel it). Continue until you have liberated all the nuts. Work fast, because as the nut cools the skin reattaches itself very firmly. If one or two chestnuts will not easily relinquish the inner skin, just sacrifice a little chestnut and slice it off rather than send yourself batty trying to peel it. Now the chestnuts are ready, and here you can pause for a day or two to suck your scalded fingers and recover, or, bless your soul, continue. **Warm a walnut sized knob of butter in a wide skillet. Add the cabbage and sauté briskly, stirring, until the cabbage goes glossy. Add a tablespoon or so of apple cider vinegar (or sherry), and cook until the liquid has reduced, mere seconds. Add the chestnuts and apple sauce, and warm through. Very nice by itself or with potatoes, but for the ultimate experience, add a good pork sausage! (Local: chestnuts, cabbage, apples, apple cider vinegar. Not always local: butter, sherry, salt.)

Chocolate Chestnut Spread

 

My daughters are big fans of an overly sweetened nut paste, which has got me thinking. We sometimes buy a certain chocolate hazelnut spread ('half the fat of peanut butter') as a school holiday treat. Right now it's the middle of term, but I wondered if I could fiddle around with chestnuts and make a spread that contained no vegetable oil, and far more nuts than sugar, sort of a not-school-holiday treat.

Chestnuts are naturally mealy, so they're a great candidate for a spread-type-of-thing. Recipes for chestnut jam abound; but they usually call for one part sugar to one part chestnut meats, a ratio I find rather sickly. Instead, I warmed puréed chestnuts with cocoa and sugar, tweaking proportions until it tasted just right: rich, nutty, chocolately, and certainly not too sweet. It went down a treat at the after school munchies, and powered a good long session in the garden – including naked trampolining at 14°C, I might add – before nightfall.*

As I used the medium disc of the food mill, the paste is slightly textured; if you want a perfectly smooth paste, use the finest disc of the food mill and perhaps drizzle in a little unflavoured vegetable oil until it looks glossy.

Chocolate Chestnut Spread - 300g fresh chestnuts in their shells, to make about 200g chestnut meats - 4 tbs cocoa - 4 tbs sugar - 1 tsp vanilla - ½ tsp salt First, prepare the chestnuts. Hold a chestnut flat side down on a sturdy chopping board. Place the tip of a sharp knife at the top of the nut, and lever it downwards so that the nut is bisected from top to bottom, but the knife does not cut through the shell on the flat side. (This is far more straightforward than it sounds.) Place the chestnut into a bowl. When all the chestnuts have been treated thus, place the bowl of chestnuts into the freezer for ten minutes. Bring a pot of water to the boil. When the ten minutes is up, remove the chestnuts from the freezer and slide them into the rapidly boiling water. Boil for eight minutes. Turn the heat down as low as possible. Remove several chestnuts from the barely simmering water with a slotted spoon, and quickly pop each nut half out of its shell and skin (or peel it). Continue until you have liberated all the nuts. Work fast, because as the nut cools the skin reattaches itself very firmly. If one or two chestnuts will not easily relinquish their skin, just slice it off rather than send yourself batty trying to peel it. Now the chestnuts are ready, and here you can pause for a day or two to suck your scalded fingers and recover, or, bless your soul, continue. Place the cocoa, sugar, vanilla and salt into a saucepan. Slowly add ¾ cup hot water, stirring, to make a paste. Now push the chestnuts through the medium disc of a food mill directly into the pan. (If you don't have a food mill, purée them in a food processor or beat the crap out of them with a potato masher and scrape into the saucepan.) Turn the heat on low, and, using a wooden spoon, beat the chestnuts into the cocoa paste. Cook over low heat for ten minutes, stirring constantly, until all is amalgamated and the cocoa smells cooked. You may need to add a little more hot water. Scrape the paste into a 310g jam jar, using a small spatula to ease it in and to press out any air bubbles. There will be enough left in the saucepan for a couple of tester slices of bread. As it does not contain as much sugar as a normal jam, eat quickly, and store it in the fridge. *Don't panic. The trampolinist has a good decade to go before she hits puberty, and is too short to be seen over the fence. (Local: chestnuts. Not local but fair trade: cocoa, vanilla. Other: sugar, salt.)

 

 

Chestnut and Celeriac Soup

Ah, chestnuts! Ours come from Gembrook. The trees are tucked into a fold in the hill, below a slope of proteas. To the left, persimmons flame orange in the autumn light; near the house at the top of the hill, an old apple tree rustles with kids. We find a sunny spot to picnic, or flop in lime dappled shade to chat with old friends; then don our toughest boots and gloves and free the fallen chestnuts from their spiky casing.

The chestnut harvest is an annual event; but this year we couldn't make it. Instead a friend collected us a basketful of nuts for which I am thankful; and after a year of good rain, this was a bumper crop indeed, the nuts gloriously fat and swollen.

Not only are there now chestnuts in the fridge, but, at the organic shops at least, celeriac is cheaper than potatoes. Brisk mornings, cold nights, leaves changing colour: everything calls out 'Soup! Soup! Beautiful soup!' and I do too.

River Cafe Cook Book Green has an excellent recipe for chestnut and celeriac soup; but as is my wont, I have stripped back a few ingredients and made it a little more rough and ready. My version is perhaps not as precisely and delicately flavoured, but it is cheerfully delicious enough for me. Once the chestnuts are prepared, I can whip it together in a few minutes while kids are snoozing, then catch forty winks myself while the house slowly fills with the comforting smell of soup.

Two notes on chestnuts:

(1) Although they are usually sold unrefrigerated, they do go rancid and mouldy very quickly. As soon as you get them home, store them in the fridge until you need them.

(2) Most cooks recommend cutting a cross in the shell of the nut and boiling, which I have indeed done for many years. However, I have just tried the method described below and it is far more effective and forgiving on the fingers. Done this way, many nuts just pop out of their shell and skin; those that don't are quickly peeled. Even better, popping or peeling from a single cut rather than a cross means no pointy triangles to accidentally shove under your fingernails; thus no shooting pain; thus infinitely superior, indeed! A debt of gratitude to Jerry Traunfeld and his lovely book, The Herbal Kitchen.

Chestnut and Celeriac Soup - 600g fresh chestnuts in their shells, to make about 400g chestnut meats - walnut sized lump of butter - 1 brown onion, chopped - 2 celeriac, knobbly skin carved off and diced - 1 celery heart (this is the small inner cluster of a head of celery, rather more yellow than green), sliced finely from the base to the leaves - 2 bay leaves - ¼ cup dry sherry - olive oil and/or double cream - Parmesan - a hefty pinch of salt First, prepare the chestnuts. (I usually do this a night or two ahead, after dinner, and store the chestnut meats in the refrigerator until I am ready to cook them.) Hold a chestnut flat side down on a sturdy chopping board. Place the tip of a sharp knife at the top of the nut, and lever it downwards so that the nut is bisected from top to bottom, but the knife does not cut through the shell on the flat side. (This is far more straightforward than it sounds.) Place the chestnut into a bowl. When all the chestnuts have been treated thus, place the bowl of chestnuts into the freezer for ten minutes. Bring a large pot of water to the boil. When the ten minutes is up, remove the chestnuts from the freezer and slide them into the rapidly boiling water. Boil for eight minutes. Turn off the heat. Remove several chestnuts from the water with a slotted spoon, and quickly pop each nut half out of its shell and skin (or peel it). Continue until you have liberated all the nuts. Work fast, because as the nut cools the skin reattaches itself very firmly. If one or two chestnuts will not easily relinquish the inner skin, just sacrifice a little chestnut and slice it off rather than send yourself batty trying to peel it. Now the chestnuts are ready, and here you can pause for a day or two to suck your scalded fingers and recover, or, bless your soul, continue. Warm a good knob of butter in a soup pot. Add the onion and a pinch of salt, and sauté over medium heat for several minutes until the onion begins to soften. Add the celeriac and the celery, and stir well. Add the chestnuts and the bay leaf, stir again, and add the sherry. Let it reduce substantially, then barely cover the lot with boiling water. (If you have homemade chicken stock on hand, you can use it here instead of water. Just don't use the fake stuff because then the soup will taste of every other soup which is made with pseudo-stock, viz. metallic and salty; and in any case, it will make your tongue feel thick.) Season. Allow the soup to simmer until the celeriac is soft, about thirty minutes. Mash roughly with a potato masher, or pulse-chop half the soup in a food processor and return to the pot. This way you get some texture, and some soupy suspension. Taste for salt, undersalting rather than otherwise as the parmesan adds extra salt. To serve, ladle out a bowlful. Drizzle with some peppery olive oil and/or a spoonful of double cream, and sprinkle with freshly grated parmesan. (Local: chestnuts, onions, celeriac, bay leaves, olive oil, cream. Not local: butter, celery, sherry, parmesan, salt, pepper.)