Leisure talk: A gift from a fairy tale

The memory of a child in the city thought that chestnuts were a kind of nut that only existed in fairy tales, or were associated with the image of lovely squirrels in cartoons.

As a child, I dreamed of touching the fruit with its dense, sharp thorns, bristling like porcupine quills. But that was far away, as far away as the golden oak trees that only appeared in foreign literature or movies. For a long time, I equated chestnuts with golden oak trees. I could only see them, never hold them in my hands.

But then one day, I was surprised to realize that I was truly a half-urban resident of Saigon. Because that strange nut had already come into real life, existing on the streets of downtown Saigon for a long time without me even knowing. One chilly evening, when I discovered a pan of hot roasted salted chestnuts in the middle of the street, sparkling with lights and bustling with the laughter of bustling people, I stood there for a long time. Oh, the fairy tale was here, right before my eyes! The fairy tale not only appeared in the form of that thorny fruit, but also carried its fragrance, winding around my nose.

The middle-aged man’s cast iron pan had many chips around the rim. The chips were really ugly. Why didn’t they invest in a different pan, more decent and beautiful? But the chips were just a small part, not enough to hold my eyes any longer. What was hidden in the pinch of salt that was scorched yellow in the pan was what was worth paying attention to. The seller said that it was Trung Khanh ( Cao Bang ) chestnuts, grade one, the best kind, picked from bunches of chestnuts that had ripened, split open, and fallen to the ground. The chestnuts were shiny brown, if they had moved, I would have thought they were snails. But there were also a few chestnut carts selling chestnuts on the streets around Notre Dame Cathedral that only sold chestnuts imported from Thailand. This type looked bigger, rounder, more eye-catching, less fatty, less nutty, and not as firm as Trung Khanh chestnuts from Vietnam.

Under the two sand layers, stirred evenly and skillfully by those strong hands as if pre-programmed, the chestnuts rose and fell rhythmically. Each nut cracked open, revealing a layer of golden rice inside, invitingly. Butter was mixed into the chestnuts, meeting the heat of the red-hot charcoal under the pan, releasing all the aroma into the bustling atmosphere of the city. Dozens of eager eyes of children and adults were glued to the pan of roasted chestnuts, equally impatient. The blackened salt grains would occasionally pop, splashing onto the customers' hands. A few squeals of delight rang out, followed by laughter when receiving the bag of fragrant roasted chestnuts.

In the middle of the southern city, the chilly wind is like a privilege in the days nearing the end of the year. The cold is just enough of an excuse to gather around a simple cart of roasted chestnuts on the sidewalk. Hands spread out around the charcoal stove, on the hot pan of roasted chestnuts, enjoying a bit of warmth. The warmth radiates from the charcoal stove and the pile of shiny brown nuts seems to have fallen from a fairy tale in the middle of the city.

Saigon night is more beautiful thanks to smiles: smiles on people's lips and smiles from the fairy tale seeds.

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/nhan-dam-mon-qua-tu-co-tich-18525103119093553.htm