Time capsule. Brooklyn chestnut blossom on our windowsill in May, 2021.
Have you ever tasted chestnut honey? It is dark, and slightly bitter, and smells of springtime in a small German town, then only recently released from the East, where Goethe built his theatre, and where I sang, disguised in heavy make-up, false eyelashes, and bespoke costumes. That was long ago.
But the smell of chestnut honey (more than the blossoms, strangely) whips me instantly to the park in the town where the trees in bloom soared like green cathedrals.
From the forage kitchen, too, last May. How different the season, and how encouraging. A bowl of pokeweed shoots, waiting to be blanched (the pokeweed chapter of Forage, Harvest, Feast explains this in detail, along with lots of recipes, including one for Kentucky Egg Rolls - you'll just have to read it). Pine cone jam and green fir cones, to the right beside the laptop. Some of the cones were pickled some are still buried in miso and must be tested. And who else tapes over the camera on their computer when not in use? I know I'm not slone.
The books on the counter? Let's see: Koji Alchemy, by Rich Shih and Jeremy Umansky, The Complete Bocuse by Paul Bocuse, America - The CookBook, by Gabrielle Langholtz (I contributed the wild recipes), and Larousse Gastronomique, a grand and dated but wonderful reference. Half the stack was for reference and half was for a video meeting (I perch my laptop on them). In the days when culinary residencies were beckoning, only to be tanked by COVID.
In the background there is a damp paper towel draped to dry over the Frenchman's Nespresso machine. Paper towels are one of weaknesses. But I recycle them.
May is a a busy time. Recipes. Notes to be taken. Constant exploration.
Tuesday confessions complete.
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May... my favourite month, and not just because it's my birthday. So much detail in that time capsule! But the chestnut blossom you show is from Aesculus hippocastanum, the "horse chestnut" beloved of English schoolboys for the conkers it produces in autumn. Chestnut honey, at least in Europe, is made from nectar and honeydew from the sweet chestnut, Castanea sativa, a quite different tree that goes on to produce the chestnuts we all enjoy. How do I know? My father was a teacher but also kept bees (40 hives, 1000kg of honey every Summer!)
ReplyDeleteYes, I should have noted that the blossoms are horse chestnut! We have very few of the (edible) American chestnuts (Castanea dentata) or even European ones (your sativa), because of their near-decimation by disease, although they are being reintroduced. But it does beg the question - why the smell memory when I sniff chestnut honey...? Because the German trees I remember were horse chestnuts. Maybe some of the other were mixed in. Their flowers are so different (oddly, there are many in Cape Town). But I was different, too, and wouldn't have seen what I see now. And one THOUSAND kgs of honey!? Wow. My mouth waters.
DeleteWe have lots of horse chestnuts in France too - planted for quick growth, shade and resilience in many urban settings. But I can't say I've ever detected a smell from their flowers. I suppose I've never thought about it. Perhaps they do smell of honey-from-the-other-chestnut. This year I will get close and sniff! Then I will think of you and Goethe and honey when I encounter the smell again. Harvesting a ton of honey is hard work, especially with manual equipment only. Most of it was sold over the summer, thank goodness. Imagine eating 3kg of honey a day, every day...
ReplyDeleteYou are indeed not alone about taping the camera.
ReplyDeleteKorien