Figs, fennel and autumnal crumble

Abundance: 19 October 2023

The only thing that’s not really moving in this wind is the fennel. It seems to know where to cast its seed from one year to the next so as to inhabit the most sheltered spots. This year, one grows close to the stem of a sansho pepper whose spiky branches pin it in place; there’s another growing in a crack in the concrete by the back wall; and this one by the greenhouse, where the fingers of these chilly autumnal winds can’t quite get a grip on it.

Perhaps in the way we now know a field of mushrooms is likely just one subterranean organism waving dozens of willies in the air for us to pick, we’ll one day discover the same is true of fennel. However many spring up - and there are three more on the other side of the house - all are welcome. The seed - held at the fingertips of the outstretched hands that were its flowers - are small, numerous and full of a sweet aniseed that brightens the mouth and mood. Get them green and they are bright as toothpaste; as they brown and dry, the flavour softens just a notch, developing a peculiarly delay where their flavour releases a few seconds after you chew on them, much like the pain of a stubbed toe.