DURING the second World War (1939 – 1945) when France was occupied by Germany, there was food rationing.
For those who lived in the countryside and had some land, it became a necessity to cultivate potatoes and almost everybody out there had a garden plot of vegetables.
That was way before the arrival of supermarkets.
Around the same era, in peninsular Malaya where I was born, there was rice shortage when the country was occupied by the Japanese (1940 –1945).
Harvest time: The chestnut tree standing tall behind my home. There was then a dire need to substitute rice with ubi like tapioca and sweet potatoes, tubers that those who lived in the rural areas, could cultivate.
That was way before the launch of housing estates with rows of identical houses and small garden plots in this country.
Many families with an average of five children lived in rented rooms in towns or in the kampung.
Of course, nobody, the world over had yet to see a plastic bag, a trolley and anti-theft gadgets stuck on to clothes.
At this juncture, we will defer momentarily from discussing austerity during war times, the spread of housing estates and the advent of shopping malls.
The focus will be on the chestnut tree that has Castanea sativa for its botanical name. And why the chestnut tree of all trees?
Because, this is now the chestnut season.
Recently, when I was staying in a country home belonging to my French in-laws, I hardly slept throughout the first night as I constantly heard the sound of falling chestnuts.
The house had been built inside a private woodland and there were at least 50 Castanea sativas surrounding it.
After each audible thud, what followed were the sound of tiny, scurrying feet and some rustling.
I was left to wonder whether squirrels and field mice were running for a feast of chestnuts or just moles trying to tunnel out yet another storage hole in the ground.
Throughout the next day, the chestnuts kept falling and while the creatures of the woods slept or hid themselves, I was the one who ventured outside with a wicker basket to pick up chestnuts that looked like green rambutans when they were still on the trees but when they fell, their green spiky outer skin burst open and spilt out lovely dark brown chestnuts with a hardskin that resembles smooth, polished wood.
When one green pod dropped near my feet, I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten my hat.
What if one exceptionally big chestnut fell on my head! I should always be as prepared and remain as circumspect as Miss Maple or Pierrot, the debonair detective in Miss Agatha Christie’s crime series.
Anyway, I quickly filled up the basket although I had also forgotten to wear protective gardening gloves.
Then I returned to the house to weigh my pickings on the kitchen scale. I had collected about two kilogrammes of chestnuts!
At ED, the supermart around the corner from where I reside in Paris, chestnuts are sold at five euros per kilo.
This is the chestnut season and soon there will be street vendors hawking roasted chestnuts at two euros for ten.
When Christmas approaches, pricy marron glacé or whole chestnuts iced with melted sugar are bought as a delicacy.
One can also prepare a simple dessert by opening a tin of chestnut cream and top it with fresh cream.
I, for one, have concocted an instant chocolate cake recipe from mashing up a big tin of boiled chestnuts and mixing it with some melted butter and black chocolate.
Add some sugar and fresh milk. Pat mixture into a loaf mould and leave to chill inside the refrigerator.
The heap of brown chestnuts in front of me, needed to be cracked open, one by one.Then its fine and hairy inner skin that seems to be stuck to the edible kernel, has to be carefully peeled off with a small knife, also one by one.
Mentally, I went through again, the list of things that have been commercially produced out of chestnuts.
Then I calculated the time I would need to get my harvest of chestnuts all ready for the cooking pot. All that I could do was to boil them and make a chestnut purée.
It would entail a few hours of work.
Small wonder that many people would rather drive to the nearest supermarket for a tin of boiled chestnuts.
However, it is also useful to be reminded of war times as I now know that if there is food shortage again, I would peel every edible chestnut that I could pick up.
Finally, I went out to look up at the chestnut trees in all their green glory and majestic heights that tower above the double-storey house and I decided to leave my chestnuts to the small animals in the woods. For the moment, they need them more than I do.
Sometimes, one can’t see the trees for the forest.
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