Verdant Veg + Somber Stovetops

Braised Fennel with Fennel Frond Pesto + Kitchen

Read

Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto, translated from the Japanese by Megan Backus, pub. 1988
Buy: Bookshop.org, your local bookshop or used copies online

Kitchen apparently took the book world by storm when it was published in the '80s. Not just because it’s a lyrical, immersive meditation on grief (without being depressing), but because it features a trans character who’s not defined by her trans-ness, who’s full of joy and life and femininity. I had to sit for awhile after finishing this one in order to parse out what it all meant and how I felt; the translation, ethereal and floaty, is a work of art in itself (translators are finally getting their due after many years of working with no credit. YAY!). Kitchen’s main character, Mikage Sakurai, has recently been orphaned after the death of her grandmother. Unmoored, she’s invited to live with Yuichi, a friend of her grandmother’s, and his mother, Eriko, who transitioned from male to female when Yuichi was young. Yuichi and Eriko provide Mickage with a stable home (and a wonderful, well-appointed kitchen), a space to sort out her grief and sense of loneliness in the world. Through her own internal monologue and conversations with Eriko and Yuichi, Mickage teeters between desolation, joy, depression and existentialism (which, in this context, feels freeing rather than dark). When she starts to explore cooking, she’s quickly swept up in the joy of meal-making both for herself and others. Another devastating loss midway through the book brings Mickage and Yuichi to their knees. Despite how pervasive death is in this book, it’s not its defining characteristic. The prose rises above the inevitability / darkness of death and hovers in the realm of how to live a good life.

A quick note: My copy of Kitchen has a short story called Moonlight Shadow after the book ends. There’s nothing that tells you it’s not a part of / epilogue to Kitchen, so after being highly confused / briefly questioning my sanity, I Googled and learned that it’s its own thing. Just a heads up.

Pairs well with: hot tea, deep couches, chosen family, long cab rides

Eat

Spring is in full swing in LA. The breeze smells like jasmine, the market is spilling over with green, and I’m returning from walks with nosegays. People are freaking out over asparagus and peas (which I love), but in my opinion, the unsung hero of spring (and life) is fennel. Fennel! Licorice-y when raw, deeply sweet when braised. I love to eat this straight out of the pan, with a bit of lemon zest and parm, but this time I decided to throw together a fennel frond pesto and spoon it beneath. Double the fennel, double the fun? Nothing goes to waste, and you’ll have leftovers for … you guessed it: crudite dip. Fennel is available year-round in supermarkets, so you can make this in winter, too, tossing in cooked beans at the end of the braising process. Either way, it’s a delight.

Braised Fennel with Fennel Frond Pesto
Serves 2 as a meal or 4 as a starter

4 bulbs spring fennel, halved if petite, quartered if pudgy, core intact
evoo
¼ cup white wine
½ cup water, plus more if needed
Kosher salt to season
zest from 1 lemon
Parmigiano Reggiano
Fennel Frond Pesto (recipe below)
Maldon to finish
nasturtium flowers and / or leaves
finishing olive oil (I like Koroneiki, which is very green-tasting and lightly spicy)

Fennel Frond Pesto
makes just shy of 2 cups

¼ cup toasted pistachios
¼ cup hemp seeds
1 cup chopped and tightly packed fennel fronds
juice from 1½ lemons
¼ teaspoon Kosher salt
¾ cup evoo

For the braised fennel: In a saute pan with high sides over medium heat, heat enough oil to cover the bottom of the pan. Add the fennel, cut side down, and saute for 10 minutes or until caramelized. Add wine, water and a pinch of Kosher salt and cover. Check after 20 minutes or so to ensure your fennel isn’t burning and your liquid hasn’t evaporated.* If the former, lower the heat a tad; if the latter, add a splash of water, wine, or both. Cover and continue braising until the fennel is completely soft but not falling apart, about 15 minutes. Pierce with a sharp knife to check for doneness. Remove from heat.
*While your fennel cooks, make the pesto.

For the pesto: In a food processor (I used a mini), add the pistachios, hemp seeds, fennel fronds, lemon juice, and salt and pulse to loosely blend. With the motor running, slowly drizzle in the olive oil until the pesto is creamy and emulsified. Heads up: Because we’re using hemp seeds, the pesto is going to look paler than most!

To serve: Spoon a hearty amount of pesto onto the bottom of a shallow bowl / plate with a fat lip. Nestle the fennel atop (I like placing them tip to tail for aesthetic purposes). (You can skip all of this and just serve out of the pan, too.) Sprinkle over the lemon zest and a shower of Parmigiano, daintily arrange your nasturtium flowers and leaves (if using), sprinkle with Maldon and a drizzle of finishing oil, and serve.