A Christmas Eve tradition, preparing chestnuts for a holiday lunch no one wants to attend.
1
It was late on Christmas Eve and Joyce was experiencing an unwelcome sense of déjà vu.
She was exhausted from teaching all day, she was homesick for Christmases back in the States and she had no appetite to attend nor prepare their annual Christmas family lunch.
Joyce’s husband and daughter had wisely made themselves scarce leaving her to do battle with a 6kg raw turkey and a mountain of unwashed, unpeeled and uncut vegetables. What’s more, she couldn’t find her recipe box. As this was the only meal Joyce prepared from scratch her mother’s recipes were paramount to its edibility.
“Has anyone seen my recipe box?” she called out.
Izzy who was glued to the TV pretended not to hear.
“Izzy, a little help,” her mom shouted.
Trying to stall Izzy called back, “Ask Dad!”
“I am asking you, Izzy!” Joyce snapped.
Groaning Izzy shouted back, “I think Dad moved it.”
“But why?” Joyce’s voice reached a hysterical pitch.
Giving up on her episode Izzy explained, “Dad said you cook once a year so he put it in the basement.”
“Oh for….. ! Can you get it, please?” Joyce asked.
“Mom, it’s late.” Izzy whined.
“And…?” Joyce asked.
“Moooom, it’s dark.” Izzy pleaded.
“You’re in luck,” Joyce said. “Here is a flashlight.”
“You’ve been making this chestnut stuffing forever,” Izzy groaned. “Why can’t you remember the recipe?”
“Because I’m old! Now go!” Knowing better than to argue with Joyce’s tone Izzy heaved herself from the sofa with a dramatic sigh and did as she was told. As she wandered back into the kitchen holding the well-worn Chestnut Turkey Stuffing recipe card Joyce heaved a sigh of relief.
“You know,” Izzy ventured. “If we take out the peppers and the milk it might ….”
“Might what?” Joyce snapped. “Sit! I need you to start shelling chestnuts.”
“Mom, it’s already 11 pm.” Izzy cried.
“Yes? Oh good!” Joyce said, “We’re an hour ahead of where we were this time last year. And NO! We’re not changing anything in the recipe.”
Sullenly Izzy said, “But no one likes the stuffing.”
“I like it!” Joyce exclaimed.
“No, you pretend like everyone else. Can’t we try something different?” Izzy asked.
“No,” Joyce said firmly. “Your grandmother would be upset with us.”
“Grandma is dead!” Izzy exclaimed.
“Yes, but she’s up there watching.” Joyce insisted.
“Mom,” Izzy asked. “Have you been inhaling the vanilla extract?”
Joyce eyes filled with tears.
“Mom, I was kidding,” Izzy said.
Joyce said quietly, “Look, I just want to make this recipe the way my mom did. Is that ok?!”
“Sure, but can I ask you something?” Izzy said, “Did anyone like it when Grandma made it?”
“No, of course not,” Joyce shot back. “It’s terrible…but it’s tradition. »
Joyce turned back to the stove her shoulders sagging.cIzzy stood up and gave her mom a hug.
“That’s ok, Mom,” Izzy said. “Make it like you always do and when I’m older I’ll make it like this, too. Promise.”
2
Preparations for Christmas lunch typically started the day before when Izzy’s parents finished work. Her dad, Paul, would drop off her mom, Joyce, at home to start ironing linens and try to remember where she had hidden the family silver while he and Izzy battled crowds in the supermarket.
Paul approached shopping like a general approaches a military campaign. He stood in the store entrance scanning the flow of shoppers. Next, he made a mental map of the layout, re-ordering Joyce’s shopping list to maximise efficiency and time his arrival to the tills at the precise moment one freed up. Year after year this otherwise excellent plan faltered in the executional phase and by the time Paul and Izzy stumbled home Joyce quickly scanned the bags to spot what they’d missed and send them out again before the shops shut. This year was no different.
“Well, darling you’ve done it again,” Joyce said. “You forgot the chestnuts! Off you go.”
“It’s a bloodbath out there,” Paul groaned. “Will anyone notice if we don’t have any?”
“Blasphemer!” Joyce hissed. “Go, now!”
Knowing better than to argue, Paul and Izzy trudged out but at 7pm on Christmas Eve finding fresh chestnuts was harder than locating an oasis in the desert. The supermarket had sold out. Tins, which Joyce likened to cat food, were going fast. The corner store didn’t stock them. The green grocer only had dried, reconstituted. The deli had frozen. They paid a staggering sum for 6 bags of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor who spotting their desperation cannily instituted a price surge. As a last-ditch, they even begged a handful from the neighbours.
When they finally returned home around 9pm fearful of Joyce’s wrath they were astounded to find her, feet up on the sofa, adding bourbon to her eggnog.
“Finally,” she said. “Where have you two been?!”
“Scouring the city for chestnuts!” Paul retorted.
“Well, you shouldn’t have bothered,” Joyce replied. “I waited and waited and then used pecans instead.”
“Now you tell us?!” Paul exclaimed.
“Well, it only occurred to me after you left,” said Joyce defensively, “and to be fair you took forever!”
Gritting his teeth, Paul ventured, “And what do you propose we do with all these chestnuts.”
“I don’t know, Paul,” Joyce said pouring another finger of bourbon. “You may wish to hand them out as presents. Lord knows your folks don’t give presents although they seem to enjoy receiving them. Izzy, fetch your father some Christmas ribbon.”
Lacking the energy to defend his family, Paul shrugged.
“Mom. Does this mean I’m not going to get the jeans I asked Grandma and Grandpa for?” Izzy whined.
“Probably not dear,” Joyce replied.
“God, I forget how much I hate this time of year,” Paul muttered.
“Well, look on the bright side,” Joyce said. “We’ve got about 20 hours to go until we are off the hook until next year. Fancy some spiked eggnog before you help me lay the table?”
3
Throughout her childhood, Christmas Eve at Izzy’s house followed the same pattern. In preparation for their annual Christmas Lunch tables were hauled from the basement, chairs were borrowed from neighbours, silver was unearthed from its hiding place, the good hand towels were displayed in the bathroom and chestnuts were prepared for Grandma Tania’s Famous Christmas Stuffing.
Year after year, this deceptively simple seeming task fell to Izzy and her father, Paul, who feared and despised it in equal measure.
Around 8pm Izzy’s mother, Joyce, would marshal Izzy and Paul into the kitchen. While she seasoned the turkey, peeled the vegetables and rolled out pie crust she barked orders.
“Pick the plump, shiny chestnuts. Discard the duds,” she called out. “No Paul, not that one!
Izzy, I said plump. That one looks anaemic.”
No amount of reasoning could convince Joyce to use tinned chestnuts. Substitutes were out of the question. Any suggestion of omitting them was sacrilege! Thus, Izzy and her dad sat side by on the kitchen bench and resigned themselves to another Christmas Eve of separating, scoring, boiling and peeling chestnuts. It was at this second hurdle where Izzy and her dad would falter because scoring a chestnut is an impossible task. If your hands are too big, too small, or too slippery you simply cannot grip a chestnut firmly enough to slice through it with a sharp implement. Scoring one or two was beginners’ luck but any attempt to do more would inevitably result in an exasperated Joyce wrapping bloodied fingers in band-aids whilst she tried to keep the pumpkin soup from curdling.
Once the chestnuts were scored, they had to be boiled, heated up, cooled down then peeled. At each arduous step, Izzy and Paul devised games to keep themselves entertained which merely resulted in more minor injuries. Joyce indulged this mayhem because preparing chestnuts was the task she loathed most as a little girl. She also secretly loved the uninterrupted family time spent in the warmth of their tiny kitchen.
At lunch on Christmas Day, the chestnut stuffing was always the big hit. The turkey was dry, the potatoes were overcooked and the soup was runny, but the chestnut stuffing was heroic. The extended family who didn’t much care for one another and generally avoided family gatherings were militant in their attendance to Christmas Lunch and even brought their own Tupperware for leftovers.
After college, Izzy stopped going home for Christmas. When she got married, she and her husband were living too far away to travel home for the holidays. By the time Izzy started to spend Christmases with her family again, Joyce and Paul had slowed down and it was easier to buy a ready-make turkey with all the trimmings.
When her own daughter, Amelia turned 9, Izzy found herself in the supermarket eyeing a bag of raw chestnuts. She reached for them realising that her favourite part of Christmas was those hours she spent with her mom and dad on Christmas Eve preparing chestnuts.
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