Fennel

by JOHN FONTEYN

these bulbs each morning and evening, and do no harm.” Fennel for Alcibiades’ fatigue, for Bion’s persistent cough, for Dionysus’ hangover (and gonorrhea), for Myron’s flatulence and piles. It makes one wonder if there was anything else in the apothecary other than fennel stored in di erent jars. On a fateful day in 79 when the Earth began to shake Pliny’s kettle, the loudest boom since Hades, Poseidon and Zeus roughhoused in Kronos’ living room and shook Italy’s boot from toe to heel.

Pliny the Elder pushed back his chair from the table where he was having breakfast, grabbed an amphorae of freshly brewed fennel tea, and ran toward Vesuvius. If only he’d arrived in time, he could have poured the contents into the cone and settled her angry tummy. Even though Pliny gets most of the attention for the medicinal properties of fennel, he was just writing down knowledge that had been passed down from healer to healer since we crawled out of the caves. One doesn’t have to look very hard to find this “Zelig” in cultures ranging from Ur to the Yellow River Valley to the Bering Strait, through Clovis Country and all the way into Matilija Canyon.

We are lucky here; fennel grows well in Ojai for nine to 10 months of the year and is easy to harvest. Di erent from its sister, Carrot, who shyly hides her assets in the dark, Fennel proudly sits atop the soil in silent meditation, its lacy crown chakra dancing like kelp in the late afternoon breeze. Come harvest, a simple knife stroke below the waist and it lies down like a drowsy toddler. Though fennel has firm boundaries while it grows, it is ever the diplomat when boxed up. It never fights with its neighbors, doesn’t blush or bruise if packed alongside less proper company, and is content to loan its ample plumage as a pillow for its less travelsavvy cabinmates. Just like its sibling, if left too long in the field, it elegantly pro ers an umbrella and waits for a hot breeze. Truly graceful in departure, fennel o ers up a sweet yellow kiss of confetti, its highly sought-after pollen, that if gathered, any great dish is just dying to receive. The bulb itself is great in soup, salads, roasted, and as a dessert (e.g., fennel panna cotta).

When the aliens do return, it won’t be to see if we found all the Nazca Lines or how the pyramids have held up over all this time. It will be to swing by to grab their stash of the sacred herb.