The First Fire in the Stufa

The morning was grey and mild, that soft overcast that never quite commits to raining, so instead of doing anything useful I walked up along the ridge. The houses up there sit almost shoulder to shoulder, close enough that you can hear a pot lid clatter three doors away, and I like that lane for exactly that reason. Halfway along I saw the first chimney smoke of the season — thin and blue-grey, going straight up because there wasn’t enough wind to push it anywhere. It put the idea in my head, and by the time I was home I’d decided to light the stufa for the first time this year.

I stopped at the market on the way back for a paper bag of chestnuts, small and heavy, and then I laid the fire. I make the same mistake every autumn: too many logs, not enough air, a good deal of smoke, and me standing there pretending it’s going according to plan. This time I did it properly — two small sticks crossed, a handful of kindling, the vent open, and then the waiting, which is the part I’m worst at. A fire doesn’t want your help; it wants air and a little patience. I sat on the floor in front of it like a cat until it had properly caught, and only then did I close the vent partway. Laying a fire is a modest skill and I’d let it go soft over the warm months, which is why the first match was mostly theatre. Some things you don’t learn once and keep. You have to do them badly for a week each year before your hands remember.

The chestnuts went into the old iron pan with holes punched in the bottom. I scored an X across the top of each one first, which isn’t about presentation — it’s so they don’t explode and take the pan with them — and shook them over the heat until the shells split and the whole kitchen smelled of woodsmoke and something sweet. Then the trick I always pass on: tip them into a folded towel and let them steam for a minute before you peel. The shells and that papery inner skin come away together, and your fingers survive the job.

I ate most of them standing at the stove, which is the only correct way, and put a small bowlful aside for the neighbour. She came to the door in her cardigan before I’d even knocked, having smelled the smoke from her side of the road and wanting to know whether it was mine. It was. The stufa will be lit every evening now until spring, and I’m glad of it — the house has a different centre of gravity once there’s a fire in it.

Recipe: Roasted Chestnuts

Ingredients

• 500 g fresh chestnuts
• coarse salt (optional, for roasting in a pan)
• a little olive oil or butter, if you like

Preparation

1. Heat the oven to 200°C (400°F), or set a heavy pan punched with holes over a low flame.
2. Score each chestnut with a shallow X through the shell on the rounded side, cutting the skin only, not the flesh — this keeps them from bursting.
3. Spread them in a single layer and roast 20–25 minutes, shaking once or twice, until the shells curl back at the cuts and the nuts feel tender.
4. Tip them into a folded towel, wrap, and leave 5 minutes to steam, then peel while still warm — the shell and the inner skin come away together.