Dining & Drinks — Pantry

Why Fennel Deserves a Bigger Role

Why fennel deserves a bigger role in your kitchen: raw and shaved, braised soft or roasted sweet, plus the simple ways to make the most of every part of it.

Fresh fennel bulbs with feathery fronds on a wooden surface in natural light

Fennel is one of those ingredients that people either adore or quietly avoid, usually because they met it only once, badly cooked, and never gave it a second chance. That is a shame, because fennel is among the most versatile and rewarding vegetables in the kitchen, transforming completely depending on how you treat it, sweet and mellow one way, crisp and bracing another. It deserves far more than the occasional walk-on role.

A vegetable of two characters

The thing to understand about fennel is that it is really two ingredients in one bulb. Raw, it is crisp, watery and refreshing, with a clean anise sweetness and a faint liquorice note that wakes up the palate. Cooked, that sharpness melts away entirely; the anise mellows into something soft, sweet and almost caramelised, closer to a sweet onion than to its raw self. Knowing which character you want is the whole secret to cooking it well.

It is also, usefully, a vegetable of many parts. The bulb is the prize, but the stalks flavour a stock beautifully, and the feathery fronds are a herb in their own right, worth scattering over the finished dish rather than binning. In that thrift, using every scrap, it shares the ethos that runs through so much good cooking, the same instinct behind saving bones for a proper stock.

Raw, and at its most refreshing

Sliced wafer-thin, fennel is a revelation in salads. Its crispness and clean anise bite cut through rich food and refresh the palate, which is why it pairs so naturally with oily fish, cured meats and sharp citrus. Shave it as finely as you can, on a mandoline if you have one, dress it simply with lemon, good oil and salt, and you have a salad of real elegance.

  • Shaved with orange segments, olives and a slick of single-estate olive oil.
  • Sliced thin alongside cured meats, where its freshness cuts the richness.
  • Chopped raw into a slaw, for crunch and a cooling anise lift.

The key with raw fennel is to cut it thinly and dress it just before serving, so it stays crisp rather than wilting.

Braised, into something silken

Braising is where fennel becomes something else entirely. Cut into wedges, browned in butter or oil, then cooked slowly in a little stock or wine until utterly tender, it turns soft, sweet and silky, the harsh edge gone completely. Finished with a shower of grated cheese and a moment under the grill, braised fennel is a side dish that comfortably outshines the roast it accompanies.

Slow heat is fennel’s great transformer. What is sharp and crisp raw becomes sweet and yielding when braised, as though it were an entirely different vegetable.

Roasted, for depth and colour

Roasting draws out fennel’s sugars and caramelises its edges, giving it a nutty depth alongside the sweetness. Cut it into thick wedges so it holds together, toss with oil and salt, and roast at a good heat until the edges are golden and the centre tender. It roasts beautifully alongside chicken or fish, sharing a tin and soaking up the juices, and the same even, browning heat that suits good, heat-conducting cookware serves fennel well.

A scattering of fennel seeds over the top before roasting doubles down on the flavour, an easy way to amplify the bulb’s own character with its cousin the seed.

Small ideas that go a long way

Fennel rewards a little imagination. Add it, sliced, to the base of a braise or a ragu, where it melts down and deepens the whole pot. Slip a few slices under a roasting fish. Pickle it thinly for a bright, crunchy garnish. Use the trimmed stalks and outer layers, which are often too tough to eat raw, to flavour stocks and soups rather than throwing them away. And always keep the fronds, snipping them over the finished plate like dill or parsley. Its striking cousin in the brassica family deserves similar attention, as our piece on why romanesco deserves a bigger role argues. Another underused vegetable that works both raw and cooked is the subject of our piece on why kohlrabi deserves a bigger role.

Buy bulbs that are firm, pale and heavy for their size, with fresh green fronds still attached, a sign they were recently cut. Stored in the fridge they keep for a week or more, ready whenever you want either their raw crunch or their cooked sweetness. Round bulbs tend to be sweeter and better for eating; the flatter ones are fine for cooking down into a base.

Fennel through the seasons

Part of what makes fennel so useful is that it flatters both the cold months and the warm ones, changing its role with the weather. In summer it belongs to the salad bowl, sliced paper-thin and eaten raw, its cool crunch and clean anise bite a natural foil for grilled fish, cured meats and ripe tomatoes. It pairs beautifully with citrus when citrus is at its best, and its refreshing quality is exactly what a heavy warm-weather plate wants beside it. This is fennel at its most bracing, and it asks for almost no cooking at all.

Come autumn and winter, the same bulb turns comforting. Braised slowly until silken, or roasted until its edges caramelise, it becomes sweet, soft and warming, a side dish that sits happily alongside roasts and stews and rich winter fare. Melted down into the base of a soup or a ragu, it lends a rounded, savoury sweetness that underpins the whole pot. The vegetable that cooled a summer plate now deepens a winter one, which is a rare and valuable range.

Because it keeps well in the fridge and works in so many registers, fennel is one of those ingredients worth buying whenever you see good specimens, confident you will find a use for it. Firm bulbs with their fronds intact will wait a week or more for you to decide whether the mood is a crisp raw salad or a slow, sweet braise. Few vegetables offer that kind of patient versatility.

Give fennel a bigger role and it will repay you handsomely, in freshness, in depth, in versatility. Few vegetables do so much or ask so little. For more ingredients that deserve a second look and a bigger place at the table, the rest of our Dining & Drinks writing is full of them, each making the same quiet case: cook the humble thing well, and it stops being humble.

Renée Tan
Dining Editor

Renée has covered Singapore's restaurants for over a decade, with a soft spot for the kitchens most people walk past.


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