Yes, I have a problem with fennel. Every since we saw Star Wars in 1977 and wondered what Aunt Beru was cooking for breakfast, fennel has been one of those words which can make me laugh inappropriately.
(It’s also a vegetable that tastes like aniseed, and who wants a vegetable that tastes like aniseed? I don’t even like aniseed balls much, and I have to be really drunk to start wanting absinthe or pernod. And as for slicing it up and eating it raw in salads, are you insane???)
I forgot bloody Shakespeare, didn’t I? There were four of us at #Hamletbatch last week, and I happened to be sitting next to my Old Friend From 1977, the person who had identified Beru’s Breakfast in the first place.
So if you were sitting behind us last week, and wondering why the two middle aged ladies started spluttering hysterically while poor old Ophelia was going off her head, well, blame Shakespeare…
…and Aunt Beru.
There’s fennel for you, and columbines: there’s rue
for you; and here’s some for me: we may call it
herb-grace o’ Sundays: O you must wear your rue with
So don’t talk to me about fennel. Seriously.