Even a glimpse of those black chewy tubes and ropes would send shivers up my spine. Their flavour so distinct, the colour an outright indicator of something not to be eaten. They were always the candies that were received with a wry smile and then left buried at the bottom of the drawer. The association of that taste with any other food would leave me wary of it. Then the juicy crispness and sweet bright flavour of fennel found its way onto my plate and I’ve been hooked. Still, licorice be damned.

Most of my initial preparations involved thin slices in variations of salads, but guests mostly uninitiated with the vegetable would pick around it. The bright white colour and translucence leading them to believe a pile of raw onions had landed on their plates. Then as the days grew shorter and colder, I’d dabble with the idea of cooking fennel – warming it through into a comforting delight.
One of the dishes I crave the most constantly is a simple whole roast chicken. Crunchy and salty skin giving way to tender delicious meat, maybe lightly seasoned with a little thyme and butter. It’s classic, it’s comfort. Though over time, I’ve grown disinterested in the usual root vegetables basted in chicken drippings and turned to the sweet crunchy delight of fennel. Cooked, it holds its lovely layered shape but yields to a fork easily. Bathed in cream and milk the richness and sweetness combine quite perfectly. A bright hint of vermouth lifts it. Tarragon. And but of course, cheese always makes everything better. It’s fast, it’s easy, it’s delicious and it cooks with your chicken.

Sometimes, I’ve found my fork wandering over to the baked fennel more than the chicken. Sometimes half of the dish makes it onto my plate…