Here's the result of our last resort baking method:
Yes, they're inedible. But not because they're bitter and poisonous. Just because the little suckers burned to a crisp. I kept waiting to hear them pop, since that's when the instructions said they'd be done. No popping. Just smoking. Then utter ruin.
Followed by the scrapping of the rest of the chestnuts and all of my dreams. That's right. We threw them all away. All three of those gallon bags filled to bursting with beautiful amber nuts, free and chock full of promise. No more.
See, we gave serious thought to the buckeye possibility. They look so similar, and we picked up chestnuts, or nuts at least, from so many different trees, in three different states -- how were we going to distinguish the chestnut from the buckeye? In a different era, perhaps I would have made an effort. But life changes, meals get simpler, and foraged nuts go by the wayside. Or in this case, the curbside.
