In the woods near my house, the floor is covered with so many spiked chestnut shells (or are they skins?) that I'm loath to take the dog in that direction on his walks. It can't be comfortable to walk on what is essentially a carpet of thorns.

But the chestnuts aren't all bad news - while I've altered my walking habits temporarily, it does mean that the nuts themselves are back in season and ready to eat.

My daughter, who recently came back from a weekend in South Korea, told me that one of the unexpected things she'd seen on her travels was street food vendors dealing solely in roasted chestnuts. In England and much of Europe, roasted chesnuts are linked to Christmas. But in South Korea - if Mokpo is anything to go by, that is - roasted chestnuts are sold and eaten as snacks during rock concerts and on the beach.

Roasted chestnuts also form the cornerstone of this recipe, a creamy - but cream-free - and delicate soup that can be put together in very little time. It first ran in the New York Times around ten years ago, and has been part of the family repertoire ever since.

10 large chestnuts, peeled or unpeeled
2 tbsps extra virgin olive oil or butter
2 sticks chopped celery
1 small onion, finely diced
salt and freshly ground black pepper
900ml - 1l good chicken stock
chopped celery leaves or parsley for garnish

1. If you have peeled chestnuts, proceed to Step 2. Otherwise, preheat oven to 180C. Using a sharp paring knife, make an X on the flat side of each chestnut. Roast in an open pan for 10 to 15 minutes, or until the skins begin to open away from the meat. Remove both outer and inner skins while chestnuts are warm.
2. Place olive oil or butter in deep skillet or casserole, and turn heat to medium. A couple of minutes later, add celery, onion and a good sprinkling of salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, until onion is translucent, about 10 minutes. Add stock and chestnuts, bring to a boil and partly cover. Lower heat, and simmer until chestnuts are mushy, about 30 minutes.
3. Carefully puree soup in a blender, or cool and then puree. Measure and add water to total 6 cups of liquid. Reheat, adjust seasoning if necessary and serve, garnished with celery leaves or parsley.

Serves four.

Recipe via The Minimalist at The New York Times and converted from cups.

Despite the historical links between France and Scotland, Burns' Night suppers are not well-known on this side of the Channel.

The French appreciate Scotland's rugby team, and my neighbours certainly appreciate a good single malt, but Scottish cuisine has a reputation for being deep-fried and hardly haute. During the last Six Nations, a contingent from the village visited Murrayfield Stadium to watch the French and Scottish rugby teams battle it out. They were less than impressed by the pies on offer, and it took a lot of persuading to get them to try home-cooked versions of some Scots classics upon their return.

The undoubted winner of the evening was a whisky and onion soup, designed to pander to childhood memories while still keeping a sense of Scotland. It would make an excellent Burns' Night supper for the haggis-shy.

1kg large onions
50g butter
¼tsp brown sugar
1 litre stock (use vegetable if serving to vegetarians)
½ tbsp (heaped) plain flour
75ml cider or dry white wine
2 tbsp good whisky (single malt if possible)
salt and pepper to taste

Croutes
25g butter, melted, plus extra for greasing
½ small, day-old baguette
½ garlic clove, peeled and halved
85g Gruyère, grated

1. Preheat the oven to 220°C.
2. Peel, halve and finely slice the onions. Melt 30g butter in a large, heavy-based lidded pan over a low heat. Add the onions. Cover and sweat very gently, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes. Uncover, turn up the heat, sprinkle in the sugar and cook for at least 45 minutes, stirring regularly, until the onions are tender, golden brown and quite dry.
3. Meanwhile, make the croutes. Rub the outside of the baguette with the cut garlic clove. Cut into 8 slices and lay closely together on a buttered baking sheet. Drizzle over the melted butter, strew with most of the cheese, and bake for about 15 minutes until golden and bubbling. Leave to cool. When the cheese is hard and the bread crisp, you will need to carefully separate the slices as they will be stuck to each other with the cheese.
4. Bring the stock to a simmer in a pan. In another, small pan, melt the remaining 20g butter. Stir in the flour, add two ladlefuls of hot stock and whisk until thick. Stir this into the remaining hot stock. When the onions are ready, add the cider or wine. Cook until the liquid has evaporated. Pour the thickened stock over the onions. Stirring constantly, bring to a simmer. Cook, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Add the whisky and season well.
5. To finish, preheat the oven to its highest setting. Decant the soup into heatproof bowls and arrange the croutes on top. Cover the croutes with the remaining cheese. Bake until the cheese is bubbling and serve immediately.
Serves four.

Recipe adapted from www.waitrose.com.

The classic soup of Perigord is called Tourain, a word which is not found in most dictionaries including the French Petit Larousse, but which can be translated as broth. Its full name is Tourain Blanchi a l’Ail, or garlic-whitened broth. It is tasty and very filling, particularly when you add vermicelli or lumps of stale bread as the French like to do.

For the locals, it is ESSENTIAL to leave a small amount of broth at the bottom of your plate and then add a slug of red wine, stir it around and then drink the wine-tourain mixture straght from the soup bowl. This is known as ‘faire chabrol’ and proves you are a real Perigordin. It also tastes pretty god.

Tourain for 4

• 1 medium onion, sliced and chopped.
  
• 4 cloves of garlic, (2 if you are a wimp)
  
• 2 soup spoons of duck fat
  
• 2 soup spoons of flour
  
• 1 litre of chicken stock
  
• 1 egg
  

Gently fry the onion and garlic until they are softened, then sieve in the flour little by little, stirring constantly until well mixed, then add the chicken stock slowly, and let it all simmer for 20 minutes. Take the egg, separating the white from the yoke, and vigorously stir the white into the soup with a fork. Take the soup off the flame. Then mix a small dribble (not much more than a teaspoon) of vinegar into the egg yoke as you beat it, and stir that into the broth.

This is the classic tourain, but it makes a splendid base for more ambitious soups, so you can top it off with cheese (a good French Cantal or a Gruyere or even Parmesan are all good). Or you can add carrots and other vegetables, or even leftovers.