fusilli & fennel al forno
for the love of anise and alliteration
Here’s another recipe that got stuck in my head solely for the poetry of its name—because you all know how much I love alliteration. It’s also a recipe that, fortuitously, turned out so incredibly well that it easily found a home on my Favorite Recipes I’ve Ever Developed list. Of course, now that I’m sitting down to write this newsletter, it’s become quite clear that I did not invent the concept of “fennel al forno,” and that Italians have been roasting this somewhat-controversial vegetable with cheese for a long time—though they usually call it finocchi gratinati (fennel gratin). Traditionally, finocchi gratinati relies heavily on Parmigiano-Reggiano for its flavor and golden-brown finish. The fennel is usually boiled before baking; it’s often covered in béchamel, but sometimes it’s not, and other variations include potatoes or prosciutto or, in Sicily, olives, capers, and tomatoes. None, however, feature pasta—which is, of course, where I come in.
Fennel is inevitable in Italian cooking. It’s a perennial herb (actually belonging to the carrot family) that’s native to the Mediterranean, and grows in such wild abundance in Italy that it can be found on the side of the road. It’s therefore no surprise that Italian cooks, masters of seasonality and resourcefulness, have long been making the most of this profusion, from seed to frond. You’ll find fennel in all manner of the country’s dishes—from salads to fish to pastas like Sicily’s famous pasta con le sarde—not to mention in its spirits (finocchietto, a digestif produced in southern Italy and made from wild fennel seeds and leaves, is excellent—I tried it on my recent trip to Puglia). The wild fennel you find in Italy isn’t quite the same as what we have in the States, with a smaller bulb and thicker, more fragrant fronds. Even within Italy, the vegetable varies: In Calabria, the fennel found on Isola di Capo Rizzuto, in the province of Crotone, is completely unique, with a stronger aroma, lack of stringy fibers, and an especially long-lasting flavor. This coveted variety has become such an important driver of the local economy that it’s been likened to gold.
Although I’ve always adored fennel, I’m not so blinded by love that I forget it isn’t for everyone. Raw and alone, fennel can be pungent and polarizing, a mix between licorice and celery that some people passionately dislike. But—but! Caramelized in the oven? With pasta and cheese and breadcrumbs? It becomes soft and sweet, far more mild in its anise flavor and a welcome foil to the richness of its fellow ingredients. I won’t claim that this dish will turn the most ardent fennel-haters (though it might), but if you’re on the fence about fennel, I encourage you to give this one a try. And, of course, if you’re already on Team Fennel, I can confidently say that you’ll want to add this to your regular rotation—it hits all the high notes of a comforting mac and cheese, but is actually far lighter, with deeply toasted, crunchy edges and the added benefit of a serving of vegetables. Make it before fennel season comes to a close and it’s too hot to turn on your oven.
PS: Tomorrow is the start of Passover, my annual mandatory vacation from pasta. If you’re also observing the holiday (chag sameach!), I think this is a great contender for your pre- or post-Passover feast!
Fusilli & Fennel al Forno
Serves 4 to 6