It takes work, vision... hope even. A hard little thing scored with a knife and put in the oven. To what, to wait? And then the inside. The heat is worth it. Scraping your thumbpads on the cracked edges, brittle from the fire and steam still cocooning the heart.
Then a soft, pillowy bite. It's denser than you'd expect but far more flavorful too. Your buds know it, but your brain can't place it. It's familiar. Is it sweet? You roll another under your napkin, the warm bulb splintering under your palm.
(Why, in almost 32 years of life, I had never had a roasted chestnut is beyond.)