Nutz

Chestnuts remain one of my favorite nuts. I associate them with so many fond bits of autumn days past; of grandma patiently peeling them at Thanksgiving; or my kid brother's attempts at extracting a pristine nut; or my poppa's winning smile home from work a bag heavy with nuts. Available for a short time of the year chestnuts were a childhood marker of the transition into winter and the holidays to come.

But memories aside chestnuts are simply stinking good eats. At their best they're flavor is subtle and sweet and unlike most tree nuts they're starchy in texture more akin to a potato rather than a peanut. The month-long harvest begins in mid-September and ends by the mid to late October and I recently discovered on the return from a neighborhood run, they grow here in Portland. The inedible horse chestnut also grows here who's hull is reminiscent of a medieval flail, a contrast to the sweet chestnut's full head of spikes.


A search of "urban foraging in Portland" yielded Urban Edibles a comprehensive site with a map flagging all sorts of edible eats growing on both private and public lands. I set my sights on neighborhood Laurelhurst Park where trees on public lands wait a mere two blocks from our house. A drive-by recon mission would reveal that the neighborhood trees were already claimed turf. Two Chinese grannies well padded beneath layers of quilted vests stood sentry, one wielding a stick, the other wrist crossed at the small of her back, both guarding and waiting for falling nuts. Public lands you say, I know but we all know no one stands a chance against Chinese grannies in vests.

So Eddy and I consulted our map that told of another patch located in a cemetery and that's where we struck pay dirt.

We had so much fun hunting for these guys! While scanning the ground for fallen nuts we kept our ears perked for an audible; a crack, a shuttering leaves, then a delay followed by a solid dull thump and hop. The final thud is the kind of sound that elicits deep tireless satisfaction, like a weighty pebble tossed into a pond or the sucking pop of an extracted cork. I left the quiet cemetery with its giant trees and eroding stones feeling satiated; my basket heavy with memories and nuts.