A place where fast-flowing rivers have carved scenic gorges from dramatic escarpments, the Ardèche in the south east of France has attracted white water rafters, hikers and campers from throughout Europe since the 70s. The French have long had a long love affair with this rugged and scenic region, but with no motorways, no trains and no airports of its own, this little corner of rural France remains a mystery to most of us.
I was keen to find out more: my starter for ten was that half of all French chestnuts originate in the Ardèche, so while I expected a nut-centric trip, I was still surprised to find a society that retains an-old fashioned respect for nature’s bounty and has built on it to create a heart warming community spirit.
My trip was timed to coincide with the series of castagnades (local chestnut festivals) that take place every autumn across the Ardèche. Each castagnade has its own unique atmosphere and activities, but central to all is the opportunity for the dispersed rural residents to come together in the nearest town or village. Pop-up street markets are filled with local producers and artisans, renewing old acquaintances with customers and fellow producers, and the celebrations encompass eating, drinking, dancing and socialising that wouldn’t look out of place during Hogmanay in Scotland.
Immediately to the east of the little department of Ardèche is the fertile Rhône valley, while its western flank is dominated by the craggy limestone and granite mountains of the Massif Central. To the south is the perennially popular region of Provence, well known to international visitors. I arrived in Nîmes, and saying goodbye to most of my fellow Brits heading for Provence, I made my way north along the Rhône to Privas, the ‘capital’ of the Ardèche.
In Privas, the production and subsequent devouring of a giant chestnut roast (France’s biggest I’m told) is the focus of the annual festivities. It’s very much a community event; 900 kilos of chestnuts are collected from local producers then distributed to volunteer bakers for a preliminary slow roasting in their bread ovens. In the tree-lined town square the impressive open-air chestnut roaster takes pride of place, five metres long and with three roaring fires below it. When the chestnuts arrive from the bakers, it is to the delight of the assembled 1,000 strong crowd, kept just far enough back from the intense heat. The nuts are piled high onto the roaster for a final al-fresco blast from the fire, before cones of steaming chestnuts and cups of red wine are liberally distributed to all present. A forty-strong bass band – in traditional dress of navy smocks, red neckchiefs and black felt hats – strikes up a rousing tune, while on the site of the old cattle market, the results of a chestnut cooking competition are announced.
As I take it all in from the steps of the town hall, Betty Berthon of the local council gives me her enthusiastic take on the festival: ‘Chestnuts really are a deep part of our local culture, and this is a chance for all generations to come together. It’s one of the most important events in Privas. Everyone in the town from the very oldest to the very youngest joins in le marquage (the cutting of the chestnut).’ Listening in is rosy-cheeked campsite owner Nathalie Ray, her eyes lighting up as she adds: ‘Privas lives for this weekend. It’s great fun. It's the beginning of the winter but it’s still sunny and we are celebrating outside. If you think about the chestnut it is about gathering around the fireplace, sharing stories, getting warm, all the community sharing their stories as we share the chestnuts.’
Half an hour’s drive from Privas takes me almost to the geographical centre of the Ardèche – a small town called Aubenas where the 100-year-old Sabaton factory could be called Chestnut Central. It buys thousands of tonnes of raw chestnuts from cooperatives throughout the region, and packages them up for supply to confectioners, pastry cooks, chocolate makers and restaurants throughout France, not to mention exports to 30 countries across the world, among which, surprisingly, Japan is the biggest buyer.
As well as swallowing up a fair proportion of the Ardèche’s output, factory director Christophe Sabaton (the third generation in this family-run business) imports raw chestnuts from Spain and Italy whenever bad weather hits the local harvest. Sabaton is, he explains, an industrial scale chestnut producer, but one that relies on traditional methods.
In the Sabaton shop, a box of elegantly wrapped marron glacés (glazed chestnuts) gleams like a chest full of jewels. At first, I balk at the 260-Euro price tag, but then I am given a tour of the painstaking production procedure. The chestnuts are first of all sieved and brushed to remove the skin. Then a cross-shaped incision is cut, by hand, in each individual chestnut. Nuts that are too hard or too soft are cast aside as are any that have a blemish. It is a meticulous process and mountains of discarded chestnuts that didn’t make the cut are testament to this.
The 20-stage production process is nothing less than a labour of love. After the fragile chestnuts are shelled and their bitter skins removed, workers carefully place them into dipping nets to be slowly soaked in syrup for two or three days. Then each individual nut is swathed in shiny gold wrapping paper for despatch to market. With a broad, beaming smile that reminds me of a proud new mum, the production manager tells me ‘It is a very long, delicate and difficult process but in the end we have a chestnut that is splendid and perfect.’
In medieval Joyeuse, 25km south of Aubenas, I’m introduced to local nut expert Ulla Falke. Appropraiately sporting a handsome head of chestnut coloured hair, Ulla tells me, ‘Chestnuts are not indigenous to the Ardèche but they have been cultivated here since the 10th century. Cereals didn't fare well on our steep, infertile terraces so the chestnut became a staple and was known as the “bread tree” – we simply would not have survived without it. Like squirrels in winter, every family had its stock of dried chestnuts to see them through when crops failed.’
Ulla runs the delightful Chestnut Museum in Joyeuse, in a former monastic school that was built in the 17th century. The tiny rooms of the fairy-tale building offer an education in the pivotal role that the versatile chestnut played in this region’s history.
Today, the chestnut remains a key strand in the fabric of local life. Nutshells are pounded into manure, the tree’s trunks become timber, its leaves make bedding for pigs and the branches are woven into baskets. Breakfast comes with bread made from chestnut flour and lunch is often a velvety chestnut soup. At supper time the nutrient-rich and low-in-fat chestnut finds its way into traditional stews and puree side dishes. The versatile nut turns up in desserts, in cakes and in jams, and a meal isn’t complete unless it’s washed down with a bottle of chestnut beer from the local craft brewery.
It’s festival time in Joyeuse. On the cobbled and pedestrianised Grand Rue, street stalls hand out free mulled wine and chestnut soup in front of charming little artisans’ shops. On the pretty main square, the air is filled with the strains of a barrel organ and smoke from local chestnut sellers hawking two-euro cornets. One of the organisers is Monsieur Perez, the local shoemaker. I imagine he’s fairly jolly for most of the year, but tonight he’s especially passionate: ‘This is a wonderful opportunity for cheese, wine and chestnut producers to showcase the mélange of products. Perez sums up the deep affection this and other chestnut festivals throughout the region inspire: ‘It is a unique opportunity for different generations from the farming and artistic families to come together, creating an invaluable social link between different communities.’
* www.visit-southern-france.com
* Ardeche Tourist Board: www.ardeche-guide.com
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