Fennel’s Mellow Side

Fennel’s my friend.  Though in truth we haven’t always been on great terms.  It wasn’t until I witnessed a mellower side to the licorice-licked vegetable, that I opened my heart.  Chalk it up to a 60s-and-70s-era Midwestern childhood—where vegetables were boiled and served straight up without much embellishment.  Butter, yes.  Maybe a sprinkling of salt. Choices were simple then. Carrots, peas, string beans. For an occasion, there was always broccoli.

Fennel surfaced on my radar later in life—in the weekly farm delivery.  Besides the obvious issue of size (demanding of its own crisper drawer) there was the odor.  Vaguely sweet, but in a stomach-turning sort of way.  Slightly medicinal.  Having shied away from black licorice jellybeans for years, I was skeptical of a vegetable version.  Our partnership was off to a rocky start.  Soon I was regifting my fennel to friends.  Or abandoning it altogether in the pick-up site trade-in box.  Oddly, many were eager to intercept my castoffs—those cooks more courageous, I thought at the time.  Natives of the Mediterranean region, I now know.  I wondered what they saw, that I didn’t, but quickly moved on to broccoli and carrots.  This was our relationship for years.

One delivery Wednesday everything changed.  I was in a mood.  Bored with the usual.  Yearning for adventure, though possibly it was simply delirium.  Whatever the motivation, I decided to have a go at fennel.  I cut it up, turned on the oven, and tossed a baking sheet full right in, then waited half an hour before bravely cracking the door a notch to take a peek.  What greeted me is forever etched in memory.  Golden brown, caramelized chunks—enveloped by an unexpectedly tantalizing, come-hither aroma.  None of the crisp texture or anise edge that had gone into the roasting pan.  This was soft and mellow, in the way roasted vegetables invariably are.  I took a bite.  Love (in a word).

There have been few moments in the kitchen since (or before) so utterly surprising.  I burned with shame.  How could a food so lovely have been missed for so long?  Full of flavor, yet mild.  Entirely wholesome and nutritious.  Comforting.  Fennel’s other side had been waiting for me.  Patiently.  All that time.  Just a roasting-hot oven away.

I’ve since friended raw fennel as well, especially as a supporting player in a larger plan.  A small amount perks up a quinoa and apple salad (pictured top left) or mix of oranges and spinach (pictured lower left).  Raw fennel can adorn like a string of pearls across a stylish dress. An accent that’s noticed and appreciated, but doesn’t steal the show.

Either way, I’m glad I gave fennel a second glance.  If you haven’t learned to love it raw, give it a roast.  It’s worth a try.  Trust me.

Recipes for the Week:

Roasted Fennel with Cherry Tomatoes and Olives

Quinoa with Apple and Fennel Three Ways

Roasted Potato and Fennel Soup

Fennel and Spinach Salad with Orange

Quick Tips:

Shred radishes and carrots, toss with spinach leaves, a bit of cilantro and mustard vinaigrette.

Layer apple slices on crusty bread with aged cheddar or a smooth brie (or other soft cheese).   If you have a panini press, give this sandwich a go.

Cube melon and add it to a green salad with feta cheese chunks, salty olives and a few cilantro leaves.  Toss with balsamic vinegar and fruity extra virgin olive oil.

Like fennel, radishes are a wonderful accent used in small amounts.  It might feel overwhelming to pop a whole one in your mouth, but matchstick slices in a salad or on a sandwich offer a pleasant crunch.  With a bit of heat.  In France slices are layered on crusty baguette slathered with the very best unsalted butter, then sprinkled with fancy Fleur de Sel salt.  The rich butter balances the perky pink root in a surprising way.

Try a cup of fennel tea.  It soothes the digestive system after an exhaustive culinary workout.  Cut fennel fronds and stalks into large pieces.  Place into a tea pot and fill with boiling water.  Steep for 5 minutes, then pour through a strainer into cups.  Serve as is, or with a dollop of honey.

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