During yet another cold winter evening, nothing worth watching on the only black and white television channel available in those days, my maternal grandparents would fill the wooden oven with chestnuts and, while waiting for them to roast, they would pull out the photos.
Warm fresh chestnuts are soft, fleshy, sensuous, creamy and sweet. They are best served with a glass of port or a mug of hot glogg and, on the bearskin rug, in front of the fireplace, with Nat King Cole in the background.
I may be temporarily moving back to London for a project, but really it's just part of a bigger preoccupation with the things I look forward to eating when I travel internationally. I'm not talking about Michelin-starred restaurants, or under the radar family owned places. My tastes are quirkier.