Marco Aureli runs a fruit and vegetable stall on Testaccio market. His stall, Box No 50, occupies a great position in the sociable middle of the market, right next to the sunken excavations of an ancient road, and opposite the bar. Like all the stalls on the new market, it is a white box that is open on two sides: the longer, slanted counter is divided into sections for vegetables, and the shorter one is full of fruit. Much of the produce is produzione proprio, or their own produce. Either from Casaletto, a green belt of the city just a few kilometres away, or cultivated on land that Marco’s family rents in Maccarese on the coast. While he is often around on a Saturday (unloading or sitting on the bench trimming vegetables), Marco’s father Mattia has recently stepped back from the stall, leaving the day-to-day running to his son. Before Mattia, the stall was run by his mother, Esterina, who began in 1938 at the old site in Piazza Testaccio.
Like market stalls the world over – shops and supermarkets, too, for that matter – the stall is at its best first thing in the morning, when Marco has just set up and each section is full or piled high. The whole thing seems like a bushy patchwork. I particularly like the potato end of the long counter, with its two spud mountains, one muddy yellow, the other carmine-red. Above the potatoes are the onions, blue-green blistered kale, savoy and bald ballhead cabbages, and the last of the courgette greens. At this time of year, the chicory, broccoli, cime di rapa radicchio and fennel piles are also high.
Fennel is such a beautifully funny vegetable. It tastes like celery heart crossed with white carrot crossed with an aniseed ball, and looks like swollen hands with puffy, green fingers. Look for nice rounded bulbs with creamy flesh, but also remember Jane Grigson’s words: “A perfect-looking bulb of fennel can be pale in flavour, while a battered-looking one can be superb,” which, I suppose, is true of most things. If fennel is fresh, crisp and sweet enough, it can be eaten raw, dipped in oil, at the start of a meal, or served like fruit at the end with cheese. Or trim away the tougher bits and slice a couple of bulbs very thinly for a salad, mixed with leaves or with slices of orange.
Alternatively, fennel can be cooked, which also brings out the sweetness and softens the anise flavour. It’s great in soup or risotto. Even better, sliced thickly and cooked very slowly in olive oil, with breadcrumbs, too, or roasted beside chicken. Another alternative at this time of year is this bake, featuring layers of sliced fennel with potato, pumpkin, sage and a generous handful of pecorino.
Fennel, potato, squash and sage bake
The pecorino is important, acting both as seasoning and gentle glue. If you can, let it rest for 10 minutes while you set out your stall (table) with salad, bread, more cheese and whatever you like to drink.
Prep 20 min
Cook 45 min
Serves 4
2 large potatoes
1 small butternut squash
2 small fennel bulbs
6 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp grated pecorino
1 handful sage leaves, minced
Salt and black pepper
Peel the potatoes and slice them thinly; don’t bother with a mandoline, because it doesn’t matter if a few are thicker or uneven. Cut away the skin and scoop the seeds from the butternut squash and slice similarly. Trim away the thick outer layer of the fennel, cut it in half and slice those, too.
Put all the slices in a big bowl, add four tablespoons of the olive oil and two tablespoons of the pecorino, as well as the minced sage and some salt and pepper, then toss to combine.
Heat the oven to 200C (180C fan)/390F/gas 6. Tip the slices into an ovenproof dish or small baking tray, arranging them as neatly or as messily as you want. Pour over 100ml water, press down, then sprinkle over the remaining pecorino and two tablespoons of olive oil.
Cover the top with a round of foil or greaseproof paper, then bake for 25 minutes. Removethe cover and bake for another 20 minutes, or until vegetables are very tender and the top is a little golden.
