Category Archives: White

Swiss Chard (now with Sweet Potato! and of course bacon…)

16 Tuesday Oct 2012

Posted by in Fall, Green, Leafy, Miscellany, Red, White, Winter, Yellow

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There’s a lot of repetition in my recipes and posts, if you haven’t noticed already.  Greens are greens, and they all go nicely with bacon.  That’s not my fault.

Swiss chard is no exception.  Of all the bitter greens you’ll find at the market, swiss chard is the mildest and the prettiest.  Rainbow chard is the most common variety, simply because it’s so pretty.  Red, white and yellow stalks wink at you as they snake up the center of the phenomenonally large, deep green leaves.  Look for fresh looking leaves with slightly firm stalks – ignore a few rips, tears, or bug holes.  Chard leaves aren’t as hearty as something tougher like kale, so they do rip easily.  The stalks do bend a little, but they shouldn’t be bending on their own or wilting.  The leaves can range from almost purple in the red varieties to kelly green in the yellow or white, so look for those signature brightly colored veins, rhubarb-like stalks, and wide, soft leaves.

Wash well – I recommend at least 2 rinses – scrubbing the stalk with your thumb under the faucet.  They trap a lot of dirt.  

Chard is slightly sweet as greens go and a little nutty.  (I feel like I should make some sort of vaudevillian pun here.  I’ll resist the urge.)  Because it’s a little milder, it can sneak its way in to almost any recipe, though it really shines with other fall vegetables – winter squashes and pumpkins, walnuts, root vegetables.  I had planned to use this chard in a sneaky green way by slicing it up very fine, mixing with ricotta, stuffing it into giant pasta shells, covering with sauce and cheese, and baking.  But we had our very first fall day in Los Angeles last week – cold and rainy and absolutely delightful – and I wanted something far more Autumnal.  (I don’t think that word means what I think it means…  Autumn-y?  Sure.)  So instead, I made a Chard and Sweet Potato Gratin.  I made enough for the husband and I to have some for dinner, to save some for the toddler for tomorrow’s lunch, and maybe even a little leftover for my lunch.  No dice.  We ate the whole pan.  Oops.

Sweet Potato and Chard Gratin

This is not a real gratin because there’s no bechamel.  I like to think of it as lazy (wo)man’s gratin – mix ricotta with another soft cheese or a splash of whole milk and you have something not at all as rich and delicious as bechamel, but serviceable and super fast for a work night supper.

  • Sweet potatoes – I used 3 smallish/medium-sized for a 2 1/2 qt oval casserole dish, but if I’d used the giant ones in the bag I might have only used one.  You’ll have to eyeball.  And yes, botanically I think these orange ones are yams, but I call ’em like they’re labeled.
  • Swiss chard (I used 4 or 5 giant leaves)
  • Ricotta (I used about 1 cup)
  • Goat cheese (I used about 3 inches from a goat cheese log) – as above, if you don’t like goat cheese, you can sub in something else like farmer’s cheese – very mild – or just a splash of whole milk to thin it out
  • Cheddar or other melting cheese (I used about 2 oz)
  • 1-2 slices bacon (If you’re lucky enough to have a Trader Joe’s, get the bag of Ends and Pieces – a steal at something like $2.99 a pound and perfect for recipes in which you’re cutting up the bacon anyway.)
  • olive oil

Chop the bacon into bite-sized pieces and fry until almost crispy.  Preheat oven to 400.Slice the sweet potatoes into long, thin slices.  Drizzle a little olive oil on the bottom of your dish to coat.  Layer one layer of sweet potato into the dish.

Slice the chard into thin strips, discarding the bottom stalks. Layer half the chard on top of the sweet potatoes.

Place the goat cheese in a bowl in the microwave for 20-30 seconds to soften (not melt).  Mix thoroughly with ricotta.  Using about half the mixture, dollop spoonfuls on top of the chard and use the back of the spoon to spread them over the layer.

Sprinkle half the bacon on top.

Place the rest of the chard on top.  Layer another layer of sweet potatoes to cover.  Spread the remainder of the ricotta mixture on the sweet potatoes.  Sprinkle with the remaining bacon.  Grate the cheese or break into chunks and disperse over top to cover up any “holes.”  Bake at 400 until sweet potatoes are soft when stabbed with a fork and cheese is melted, about 20 minutes.

ugly but delicious!

For Chard:
Trim? Yes, at the bottom of the stalk where it gets tough and splintered, though some people lose the whole portion below the leaves as well.
Edible when raw?  Yes, when young.  It’s very chewy, however, so if you get large/older leaves, definitely cook the stalks, and probably the leaves as well.
Worth the price of organic? Yes.  Greens are generally considered high on the Organic Preferred list.
In season: Fall, Winter.
Best with: Fall foods – winter squashes, pumpkin, squash, sweet potato, even apples and dried fruit like raisins.  Walnuts, pecans, bacon or sausage for protein – earthy, smokier flavors do well.  Garlic, carmelized onions, goat cheese – sweeter flavors complement the greens’ slight sweetness.
How to Store: Like other greens, wash in warm water, give them a cold bath, and store in the fridge for a few days or possibly as long as a week, though that’s pushing it.

Tromboncino Rampicante

11 Tuesday Sep 2012

Posted by in Green, Squashes, Summer, Vegetables, White, Yellow

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Sorry it’s taken me so long to post; I was busy giving birth to this:

Which leaves little time for farmer’s marketing and even less time for cooking and blogging.  But how do you NOT buy this when you see it at the market?

Especially if you like zucchini, which I do.  I’m a little annoyed at the Summer Squash selection this year, frankly – everyone’s got a blog post about what to do with all that zucchini that is so clearly taking over your garden that you need to make it into breads, fritters, cakes, casseroles, and other creative, delicious-sounding recipes, and here I am, zucchini-less.  My garden won’t grow (probably because I forget to water it), and none of the sellers at the market seem so flush with zucchini that they’re marking down the prices into the ridiculously-cheap category, which means if I buy zucchini, I’m buying it to use for its sweet, squashy self, not to use it up.

Which I guess is a gigantic tangent to: How I Found a New Yummy Zucchini.  Usually called Tromboncino Zucchini or Zucchetta Rampicante, it’s also sometimes just called Squash with some horribly misspelled version of one of those names in parentheses on the farmer’s handwritten sign.

Summer squashes have far more variety in flavor than one might expect, given that they’re always lumped into that same massive category.  There’s crookneck and zucchini and patty pan and little stripey ones that the husband and I like to refer to as hand grenades…  Rampicante is slightly sweet and slightly nutty.  It’s most similar to zucchini in flavor, but a little nuttier.  I don’t think it’s as mealy as crookneck, but sources differ on how to avoid the mealies with this guy: some say that the young ones start out quite mealy, others say that the younger/smaller fruits will always be the sweeter and more flavorful, so if you’re worried about mealiness, go with one of those.  How to tell?  They turn into a trombone as they grow, so shorter, straighter squash are what you would look for, though it’s possible to grow them straighter by trellising them, so again, look for short if you’re looking for young.  This sucker is pretty full-grown, maybe 2 or 3 feet long if you stretched him out.  Personally, I think the problem is steaming at any size.  People are constantly telling me to steam squash because it’s so healthful that way, but to me, it tastes like mealy baby food.  Not a fan of any kind of steamed squash, frankly.

They have a very pale green skin, sometimes almost pale yellow or tan, sometimes so light they look almost white.  They tend to have varied faint white stripes like some zucchini varieties as well.  The really nice thing about this variety is that all the seeds form in the bulbous part at the end, the way seeds all collect in the center of hard squash.  That means you’ve got this whole long length of stem with no seeds.  It’s drier and firmer than zucchini, though the pores near the skin do weep when you cut it, but I imagine if you wanted to make something akin to Rampicante Parmesan or Fried Zucchini (dredging in flour and deep frying) it would probably be excellent for that since it is drier than its cousin who can sometimes get mushy.  The skin is edible as well – a bit tougher than zucchini skin, but nowhere near winter squash toughness or even delicata squash or something in which people tell you the skin is edible but the texture’s tough and awful…   All this means that Rampicante are really, really easy to work with, so you get a lot of bang for your buck.  Which is nice, because I’ve only seen one or two sellers with them ever, which means they’re twice the price of other summer squash per pound.  C’est la vie for the experimental veggie eater.

Actually, that’s the weird part about Tromboncino – pluck it early, and you have got a summer squash that’s basically edible from end to end minus the seeds.   Let it grow big and keep it around, and the skin will grow tough like winter squash, so it stores well.  If you’re worried about your personal fruit having too tough a skin, go ahead and peel it.  I’ve only bought it as a summer squash; the online consensus seems to be that as it matures into a winter squash, the texture gets stringier, more watery, and less flavorful, much like the interior of a carving pumpkin, so I think I’ll stick with the summer harvest for now.

Like I said with the zucchini this year, I’m not wasting this puppy on “use it up” recipes, but you don’t need to.  Zucchini is often easy to julienne or similar because of its straight shape; rampicante is easier to slice into rounds.  If you have a food processor, chop the neck into straighter sections before putting through the slicing blade and you’ll have a gagillion Rampicante rounds in no time.  If you put the bent part in, you’ll have long slices instead.

I like to saute in olive oil and garlic and toss into practically any dish – it does take a bit to cook through to the center if you slice too thick, so try to keep them just a cm or 2 in width if you’re slicing by hand.  Half-inch rounds are just too big.  They’re also nice tossed with olive oil and salt and roasted on 400 or 450 like beet chips until crisp, or crisp-ish really.  They’re a great alternative to potato chips or some other horrible for you snack.

As for the bulb, scoop out the seeds, and chop the rest up any way you like.  Again, I always prefer sauteed in a little olive oil or roasted over steamed, but if you feel like trying it steamed, steam the bulb end since your pieces won’t be uniform in shape.  Hmm…maybe a mashed Rampicante?  Like mashed potatoes, but more summery?  I may learn to like steamed squash after all…

Rampicante with Sausage, Beet Greens and Goat Cheese

  • Rampicante Zucchini
  • Beet greens, stalks removed and greens sliced or torn into bite-sized pieces
  • Sausage, chopped into bite-size pieces (I prefer sweet Italian Chicken Sausage from Trader Joe’s)
  • Pasta (I like spaghetti in this recipe)
  • olive oil
  • goat cheese

Notes: There are no measurements because it really is to taste and depends on the number of people being served.  Half a trombone zucchini served 2 hungry adults and a toddler; likewise half a bunch of beet greens, but we’re veggie-happy and everything depends on how big a bunch you get.  For the sausage, my lazy strategy is to simply hold the sausage over the pan and use kitchen shears to lop of pieces – no cutting board to disinfect afterwards!  Same thing with the goat cheese:  I buy it in a log and just use a fork to hack off chunks right onto the plate.

Slice your rampicante however you like and remove the lower stalks from your beet greens, chopping them into 1/2 to 1-inch size pieces.  Saute in olive oil until everything starts to soften, then add sausage.  Cook until sausage is brown and slightly crispy – don’t stir too often or the sausage and rampicante won’t crisp up.  This is very much a “leave it alone, I have dishes to do and a toddler to wrangle while dinner cooks” kind of meal.

While these are cooking, boil water and start the pasta cooking – this goes nicely with any carb accompaniment, frankly, so cous cous, brown rice, barley, polenta, or anything else you fancy makes a fine substitute for noodles.

When the sausage is almost done, throw in the green parts of the beet greens – they cook fast, so now is the time to start stirring, adding a bit more olive oil if everything’s looking too dry.  When the greens wilt, toss the pasta in the pan and stir everything together (added benefit: if you mis-timed your carb cooking or are using up leftovers, here is where everything gets to be the same temperature, so feel free to use last night’s leftover Chinese food takeout rice straight from the fridge.)  If you’re watching your calories or using up leftovers, add a splash of water instead of the extra oil above – the hot pasta water is great for adding a little thickener.

Pour into serving bowl and add chunks/crumbled goat cheese on top – feel free to toss to distribute, but it will lessen the final appearance as the melted goat cheese deliciously though unattractively slimes every strand of pasta. 

Peel?  If it’s young or small or you buy it mid-summer, no.  If you’re buying in fall and it’s a big, old fruit, or if you just think it’s going to be too tough for your tastes, yes.  This squash serves both seasons of squash descriptors.
Edible seed? No.  Scoop them out and toss them.
Edible when raw? Yes, if it’s young, though I would probably only eat the neck of the squash raw since the bulb gets more winter squash-like, and I would shred, grate, or julienne – I’m not a huge fan of raw summer squash in the first place, and this variety is a bit tougher than some of his friends, so I don’t know that giant raw hunks of it would be the way to go.
Worth the price of organic? Questionable, but probably not.  Summer squash in general isn’t a horrible pesticide keeper, and winter squash is one of the least offensive conventional vegetables you can buy.  Rampicante is known among squash gardeners as being surprisingly resistant to many bugs that plague other squashes, so it means it probably isn’t getting sprayed down even as heavily as other squashes.  Since it’s so rare at the markets at this point anyway, I probably wouldn’t sweat it and would just buy whatever they have, especially if you plan on peeling.  If you’re going to eat it skin and all, you may want to take the monetary plunge, but I don’t bother with this guy, and I’m pretty picky about organic when I have the chance.
In season: Mid-late summer through Fall – Earlier in the season, treat like a summer squash; later in the season, peel and treat like a winter squash.
Best with: Garlic, basil, oregano; Italian cheeses (parmesan, ricotta, mozarella…); cinnamon and sage for savory soups; lemon or orange for splash of citrus; tomatoes and other complimentary summer vegetables like eggplant
How to Store: In the fridge when fresh, it should last a good week or longer.  Once cut, the pores begin to weep and it begins to dry out, so use it up within a couple of days at most.  You can wrap it in plastic or foil if you like; just don’t shove it into the fridge with the cut part exposed because it will leak sappy moisture onto your shelves or other food…Not that I’ve done that.  As winter squash, it can keep uncut in a cool place for as long as a couple of months, but it should be hard-skinned first.  If it’s still too young, it will just rot.

Candy Cane Beets

30 Monday Jul 2012

Posted by in Fall, Purple, Red, Roots and Tubers, Spring, Summer, White, Winter

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Okay, so I know I waxed eloquent about Golden Beets only recently and complained about the earthy, bloody mess that is dark red beets, but how cute are these!

They look like something out of Willy Wonka or Candyland.  I want to skip through the Vegetable Forest, leaping between Chioggia stepping stones.

They’re called Chioggia or Candy Cane Beets, and they’re just like all the other beets except much, much prettier. Look at these stems!

I hope I can find some when Valentine’s Day comes around because I always end up serving tomato soup as the vegetable, and these are much more romantic looking. (Oooo!  I could cut them into heart shapes!  Alright, I’ve gone over the edge…  I’m not sure how a vegetable gets romantic in the first place…  I don’t think I want to know.)

Chioggias are more of a fuchsia or deep pink color on the outside than their bloody brethren, so if there are three kinds of beets lined up, golden will be orange-ish, traditional beets will be maroon colored, and these will be the paler red/hot pink kind you see in between.  (I only bought Chioggias and Golden, so no dark red beets in the picture to the left, just Golden for comparison.)

They also typically have candy cane stripes at the base of the greens where it meets the root, though they don’t have to:Once peeled, the resulting nugget can be almost all white like a potato, or deep pink stripes – the whiter ones will have paler or less pronounced pink stripes once you cut into the center; the deeper ones will make the really eye-catching slices.  The flavor isn’t as nutty as golden beets nor as earthy as red beets – frankly, they’re simply blander, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.  They make the best chips, in my opinion, since non-beet eaters won’t be turned off by them.  As much as I love Golden Beets, they do have a distinct beet-ish flavor.  Candy Cane beets are milder and probably a better intro beet for those who really, really are afraid to try beets, though the more red they have (i.e. the more pronounced, eye-catching stripes) the more beet-like they will taste.  But, who cares?  Look how cute!

My biggest issue with Candy Cane beets is really an issue with my food processor.  I have a lovely slicing blade that should have made me beet chips in 5 seconds flat, but the beets are too round to go in properly.  The whole setup is designed for oblong things like sweet potatoes or zucchini.  Arrgh.  So in the meantime while I look on Amazon for a new lid, I had to handslice my beets to get them to look pretty, which is annoying because I have approximately Zero knife skills.  I can’t make even slices if my life depended on it.  (Which would be an odd way to threaten someone, I suppose: “Cut this beet right or I’ll kill you!”)

Regardless, toss with olive oil, salt and pepper, lay them in a single layer on a cookie sheet covered in foil, and roast at 400 or 450 until slightly crispy, about 20 minutes.  I like to flip mine halfway through so they crisp up on both sides, but if you’re not a good flipper (I am not), you don’t have to.  They’ll still taste good.  Unless you own a mandoline or some other device (like knife skills, perhaps) that will allow you to get uniform, very thin slices, they’re not going to get crisp like chips – they’ll crisp up on the edges, but the centers will remain slightly soft.  That’s okay.  Sprinkle with salt and munch away.

Note: The cuteness will fade as they cook – the colors become more muted, especially at the higher heat that also will give them brown crispy spots.  If you’re trying to impress someone, stick to the reddest slices you’ve got – the paler whiter ones will be brownish and unimpressive once roasted.

Info on peeling, seasonality, etc. is the same as Golden Beets.  Enjoy!

Breakfast Radishes

09 Saturday Jun 2012

Posted by in Red, Roots and Tubers, Spring, Vegetables, White, Winter

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Radishes for breakfast?

Nuh-uh.  Me neither.  But I didn’t think I liked radishes particularly until I tried these babies.

Radishes come in a lot more varieties than I ever gave them credit for.  I always thought of them as the little red spheres that Peter Rabbit got in trouble for and that cafeterias thinly-sliced into cheap salads, and they are, but it turns out they come in white and purple and in between – watermelon radishes are whitish-green on the outside and red in the center – and in spheres and oblong and big like cucumbers, and that’s not even including varieties like daikon and other Asian relatives.

If the only kind that you’re familiar with are the little red salad spheres, you probably think of them as crunchy, spicy, and a little useless, and in general I agree.  Breakfast radishes, on the other hand, are lovely.

They’re smaller and oblong, red from stem almost to the end where they are daintily tipped in white.  Look for ones with nice healthy greens attached.  They should be firm, and the smaller the sweeter, though the teeny ones rot faster.  When they start to turn, they get squishy from the inside out, so the middle will cave before the ends will shrivel.  Good ones look and feel a lot like small fingers.  Sorry, but they do.  If one of them grazes you while sticking out of your straw bag, you’ll jump a foot into the air.  It’s creepy!  Or maybe I’m just jumpy.

But they’re not nearly as sharp-tasting as the supermarket variety, which gives them a fresh, watery flavor – like a pickle without the vinegar.  They have a nice subtle bite so that something’s going on, but if you cook them down, it’s slight enough that it will practically disappear, which can be good when you have too many in the fridge that you don’t want to waste.  Think very, very mild horseradish.

They really shine, however, in simplicity.  Chop them into chunks, drizzle with olive oil and chunky salt, and eat them with your fingers while you sit on the porch on a warm evening with a glass of wine or beer.  Or slice them thin, layer on really excellent bread spread thick with a good butter and sprinkle very lightly with salt.  That’s it.  Cream cheese? Unnecessary.  Spices?  Not here.  Just crispy, crunchy deliciousness that tastes exactly like Spring should taste.

P.S. Don’t throw out the greens!  Use them like you would any mildly bitter green – beet, chard, mustard – and toss with pasta.  More on the greens later…

Trim? Trim off the root hairs or the really spindly long root at the end, and take a little off the top.  If you’re saving the greens, chop them off about 1/2 inch from the root as soon as you get them home – they’ll continue to feed the radish and will wilt faster.  If you’re not saving them, leave them on to help the root stay fresh a little longer.
Edible when raw?  Yes.  Best when raw, in my opinion, though cooked can go in almost anything as filler.
Worth the price of organic?  Probably, and easy to find if you don’t mind them looking a little ugly.  Radishes are one of the key “trap crops” used by organic farmers to lure bugs away from more desirable fare, so plenty of growers have radishes by the bushel-full…Trouble is, they’re trap crops.  They’re gonna look a little worse for wear unless the farmer is doing something to protect them better.  Ignore the bug holes and chomp away!
In season: Spring.  Radishes like a cold snap- it makes them sweeter- and they’re usually best when dug up before the soil gets too consistently hot.  In L.A., I don’t like to buy radishes much past June unless we’ve had a very mild Spring, but in the rest of the country you may be good straight through until August.
Best with: almost nothing – a little oil or butter, a little salt, and nothing else to compete.
How to Store: In the fridge they’ll keep a week or longer, but they will get squidgy about the edges or soft in the center if they go too long.  If they’re no longer firm but not really soft, toss them into any sort of stir-fry/saute-type meal and they’ll cook down and taste just fine.

More Alien Babies!

08 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in Fall, Green, Miscellany, Spring, Vegetables, White

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Only this time they’re delicious.

I love fennel bulbs, even though sometimes the flavor of the seed or stalks can overpower dishes.  This happens a lot with soup, I think, but if you’re going to buy sweet sausages from the Italian place that makes them in-house (and why wouldn’t you?  Seriously, they’re delicious.  Which Italian place you ask?  ALL OF THEM.), buy the ones with fennel seed rather than without. 

I kind of feel like fennel is going to grow talons and attack me, but that’s probably because no matter how deep I stuff it into my bag at the market, fronds poke out from among the lettuces and apples and tickle me as I walk, completely freaking me out.   They will also attack you every time you open your fridge.  Those stalks are pretty mischievous.  Or under orders from their alien overlords.  Luckily, it’s the benevolent bulb you want to eat, not the tough, stringy stalks.  Some stores and sellers sell fennel pre-trimmed, but I don’t really recommend buying it that way since the cut edges get dry and shriveled pretty quickly.  If you’re into presentation, save a few of the more delicate-looking fronds to sprinkle on top of whatever you end up making with it.  If you’re thrifty, save the stalks to add to other vegetable leavings to make a vegetable stock, or use them in poaching liquid for fish or chicken.  They can overpower if they’re the main ingredient, but as an addition they’ll add a fresh almost grassy flavor that guests will find hard to place but can really make something simple taste complex.

If you’re not going to eat it right away, store it with stalks on so that it doesn’t get dried out, but don’t store it too long.  If it starts to go old, the bulb will get slightly shriveled with brown edges.  If the outer layers are too dry or brown, you can peel them off and still eat the bulb underneath, but fresher is obviously better.

Cut the stalks right where they meet the bulb – basically cut off anything green. 

Trim the tough bottom part of the fennel as well.  There will be something of a disc in the center, depending on how big your bulb is. 

This is the core.  Some people keep trimming and throw out anything solid-looking, or cut the bulb in half at this point and ditch the core; I don’t mind it as long as it’s not too tough.  I just chop the entire bulb into fourths or sixths if I’m cooking it and it will soften up, or slice it very thin if I’m slicing it to eat raw.

The interior of the bulb resembles celery.  It has a slightly tougher outer layer with a more succulent pocketed inner layer.  Pockets of deliciousness, that is!  

If you remember biology, it really should be used for the picture of cambium in textbooks.  Xylem and phloem anyone?  No?   I’m not a fan of celery, licorice, or dill, so I personally resent the comparisons on fennel’s behalf.  Fennel is related to all three of these stronger-tasting plants, and while it’s taste does closely resemble anise or licorice, it’s not nearly that potent.  If you like licorice, you may either love fennel or find it too bland.  If you don’t like any of the above flavors, like me, you may still love fennel.  It tastes like Spring.  It has a great crunch and enough moisture that it automatically tastes refreshing.  It’s slightly sweet, very slightly grassy, with just a tiny hint of licorice-like sharpness.   Just to clarify, the kind of fennel I’m talking about here is Florence fennel – it’s been cultivated to have this big delicious bulb.  Other types of fennel, including wild, have a slightly sharper taste and slightly different uses, though they’re just different variants of the same species.

There are lots of different ways to prepare fennel, both raw and cooked, but my absolute favorite is also extremely easy.  (You may be noticing a trend with my recipes.  I’m lazy.  I have a toddler.  I own a mismatched set of skillets I bought at Marshall’s and one nice omelette pan we received as a wedding gift that I subsequently used metal utensils on and ruined.  I don’t really do complicated.)  Slice the fennel as thin as you can without injuring yourself.  If you have a mandoline, your fennel will look much prettier than mine.  Break up the slices (they’ll come apart when you pick them up) so that you can pile them artfully on a plate.  Drizzle with olive oil.  Squeeze the juice of half a lemon on top.  Pick out the seeds that inevitably fell into your salad.  Top with a tablespoon (who are we kidding here?  I use more like half a cup.  It’s cheese!) shaved or grated parmesan (use fresh here, not the stuff in the green can) and sprinkle with a little chunky sea salt.  If you’re fancy, top with those saved feathery fronds so it looks pretty.  That’s it.  It doesn’t look very glamorous, but I could eat this salad almost every day.  Yes, it’s topped with half a pound of cheese (did I say half a cup earlier?  I probably lied), but if you have more self-control or perhaps more lactose-intolerance than I do, it doesn’t have to be.  It’s crisp, it’s summery, it goes with almost everything, and fennel is supposed to aid digestion and have other magical herbal properties including lots of vitamins, so that cancels out all the cheese I just put on there.  Isn’t that how vitamins work?

Peel? Trim.  All the parts are technically edible, but it’s the bulb that’s the tastiest.  Trim off the stalks and tough bottom part, and peel off any outer old layers if necessary.
Edible seed? Yes, though you won’t see it on the bulbs you’ll buy at the market.  Fennel seed, pollen, and other varieties will be the subject of another post.
Edible when raw?  Yes.  Raw or cooked are both delicious.
Worth the price of organic?  Probably.  The bulb sits just above ground, so it gets contact with both sprayed-on pesticides and things sitting on the soil.  Insects don’t love fennel (in fact, some gardeners use it as a natural repellant), so it shouldn’t need tons of pesticides to grow well anyway.
In season: Fennel is a cooler weather crop, so you’ll find it in Spring and Autumn.  Spring fennel is usually a little sweeter than Autumn fennel, since an unexpected heat wave can make the plant bolt, making it sharper. 
Best with: lemon, fish, chicken – milder flavors let the subtler bulb shine. 
How to Store: In the fridge for up to a week, though if you keep it that long you’ll have some old layers to peel off.
Note on Growing Your Own: Almost every plant on Earth hates fennel, so if you decide to grow it yourself, put it in a pot or raised bed alone, or plant it in a separate area from other plants, especially fruits and vegetables.  If you plant it anywhere near dill, they’ll cross-pollinate and neither will be the flavor you want.