To smell a chestnut roasting on a European street corner is to smell autumn at its most basic. Add the scent of sweet potato cooked with hot coals, and you have a scent that transmits harvest, tradition and location – the smell of La Castanyada.
Barcelona isn’t a cold place, of course, and this year it’s particularly balmy – especially for those of us unaccustomed to southern climes. While the Barcelonés walk around in sweaters and scarves, we were feeling quite warm in short sleeves. The atmosphere is autumnal, the temperature is temperate. But the cool night air off the Mediterranean carried with it a melancholy of shortening days and summer’s end. Joining the huddle around a Castanyada stand, a universal sentiment of fall came over us – like what’s elicited by the rustling of leaves or Halloween night.
The women who traditionally sold their “castanyes i moniatos” from simple braziers were called the “castanyeras.” They sat bundled in blankets and headscarves, their fingers blackened from the work and smoke, scooping nuts into paper twists with special “espàtulas” scoops. The image has endured, though the vendors have changed. We saw many versions of these scarecrow-like figures, some set out in jest, some with care.
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