Roasted chestnuts

“There is probably a smell of roasted chestnuts and other good comfortable things all the time, for we are telling Winter Stories - Ghost Stories, or more shame for us - round the Christmas fire; and we have never stirred, except to draw a little nearer to it” says Charles Dickens, depending on this site. I like to think of it that way. Or may be not. I like the feeling of warm, roasted chestnuts, that are sold on the streets of Istanbul, the city of Nobel price winner Orhan Pamuk. On each corner, on cold winter days, you see a chestnut seller. A guy, young or not, roasts them on small, simple charcoal grill (or whatever you name it). Usually, you pay a lot more than you'd pay for raw chestnuts but hey, that's the beauty of it. It's cold outside, your hands are cold, your heart gets cold and your nose cannot resist the smell of the roasted chestnuts. You pay the money, you get your little paper bag, full of warm, roasted chestnuts and you start whistling your favorite song, between the bites. What a wonderful life, isn't it? I love winter just because of roasted chestnuts. Otherwise, I can live without it...