Chestnut festival!

Celebrating food is something Italian just LOVE to do.  And food festivals are a great excuse to start drinking wine before 10:00 a.m. 

About 45 kilometers north of Florence lies a sleepy farming town called Marradi.  And if you live there, you grow chestnuts.  For the last 50 years, Marradi has held a festival (Sagra) for their chestnuts.  Being a chestnut cynic myself (is it a nut? a fruit? relative of the acorn?), I was wary.  But Michka's unconditional love for these bulbous treats convinced me to make the journey.

We arrived to Marradi with hordes of Italians, most with children in tow.  

As soon as the train door opened, the scent of baby wipes gave way to the smell of smoke.  And barely discernable was that (now familiar) smell of caramelized chestnut casings.  

The walk into town was quick, and once we arrived, the fun began.  Hundreds of vendors sold dozens of chestnut-themed items; everything from chestnut flan to chestnut ravioli. 

Food carts were set up throughout the sagra, and we had perhaps one of our best piedina (Italian style pita bread) of the trip; sauteed onions, pepper, fresh arugula and pecorino cheese.  

Conveniently, every vendor made wine readily available, doling out a cup for only 1 Euro. 

A local brewery was on hand (yes, the local beer thing is catching on everywhere), and their IPA was not bad.  In fact, I forced myself to taste it twice, just to make sure.

The highlight of the day came when we found the "renegade" chestnut anarchists (my nickname for them); a rowdy group of 20-somethings rocking dreadlocks and tatoos, roasting their chestnut directly over a raging fire in what amounted to an oversized bingo-hopper.  Their chestnuts tumbled and popped inside the cage, until they were on the edge of burning.  They were served steaming hot by shouting nut-handlers with soot-covered fingers (exact change was advisable).  

About 1/3 of the nuts were without shell, and had a smoky-earthy character that was different than all the other chestnuts we tried.  It's no wonder there was a frenzy every time the giant "bingo-hopper" came off the fire...

We spent the rest of our time perusing the sagra, sampling cheese, oils and finally satisfying our sweet tooth with some fresh-made chestnut brittle.  

The train ride home was a zoo, but thankfully the droves of children that accompanied us to the festival were mostly sleeping on the way back down. 

More posts coming soon!

Ciao!