There are certain dishes and flavours that can hurl you back in time. We rarely eat buttered crackers as grown-ups, but for myself, buttered Matzo crackers instantly remind me of chicken noodle soup and pretending to be sick so I could avoid school.

Recently, I happily scoffed some crackers spread with soft, salty butter when there was no other food in the house. No cheese, no bread, no soup. But I fumbled around in the back of the cupboard until I emerged victorious, grasping a pack of Carr’s crackers that, miraculously, hadn’t gone too far out of date. I happily munched through several, relishing how tasty such a simple snack could be, but I wasn’t sure if it was genuinely tasty or if nostalgia was getting the better of me.

Which is why I spent some time searching for recipes that are centred around one of the first sauces I ever mastered: dear old bechamel (white sauce, if you’re keeping it real). My teenage life as an angry vegetarian coincided with my big sister giving in and teaching me how to make a bechamel sauce.

Needless to say, once mastered, never forgotten – or, in my case, once mastered, laboured to death. I baked mountains of potatoes, angrily mashing and mixing the flesh with gungey bechamel before re-baking and then foisting them on anyone who looked twice at me. Pasta was regularly tossed with cheese sauce and, naturally, when I learned that it gave a croque monsieur its je ne sais quoi, I was hooked forever. My poor family (who were vaguely supportive, at least at the start) soon got white sauce-itis.

The poor old bechamel has long been cast aside in favour of emulsions, vinaigrettes and flavoured oils. Food fashions, just like clothes, music and art, come and go and, while the last few years have seen a particular love affair with foams and smears, every now and then you’ll see a chef sticking a bechamel on a certain dish – for good reason. If it’s not used to smother shoddy ingredients, a good bechamel can be delicious.

We had an extra ham at Christmas and, once the initial aversion to all things Christmassy had worn off, we had it with boiled spuds and this tasty parsley sauce. And the chicken and fennel gratin can be made the night before, baked for your supper and enjoyed in front of the TV. It’s the most perfect ready-made meal you could ask for.

Gammon with parsley sauce (serves 8)

Approx 1.8kg gammon

1 onion, peeled and quartered

1 carrot, peeled and quartered

1 leek, roughly chopped

2 bay leaves

12 black peppercorns

Few parsley stalks

Parsley sauce

50g butter

50g flour

250ml milk

Approx 400ml cooking liquor

2 big bunches curly parsley

Put the gammon in a large saucepan and cover it with cold water. If you need to rinse it once and re-fill, do so. Chuck all the other ingredients on top and boil gently for about 45 minutes per kilo. Leave it to cool in the cooking stock for about 30 minutes before removing it, trimming the excess fat and slicing. Put the slices on a platter, cover with some cooking liquor and tin-foil and keep warm while you finish the sauce.

To make the sauce, melt the butter and then add the flour. It will thicken up like porridge. Cook out for at least a minute, taking care that it doesn’t burn, then slowly add the hot cooking liquor and then some milk. Alternate between the two and taste the sauce.

The cooking liquor will give you flavour, while the milk will give you richness. Allow it to thicken while you whisk gently, getting rid of the lumps. Chop up the parsley and add it at the last minute. Season with lots of black pepper and when the sauce is good and hot, pour over slices of the boiled gammon. Serve with boiled spuds and carrots.

Chicken and fennel gratin (serves 2)

50g butter

50g flour

Good pinch curry powder

400ml milk

Olive oil

1 fennel

2 skinless chicken breasts

Salt and pepper

50g Parmesan, finely grated

Melt the butter and add the flour. It will thicken up like some porridgey mixture. Cook out for at least a minute, taking care that it doesn’t burn. Add the curry powder, cook for another few seconds and then slowly add the milk and allow it to thicken while you whisk gently, getting rid of the lumps. You want a thick sauce, so don’t be tempted to let it down with more milk. Season well and allow it to cool fully.

Cook the fennel in boiling salted water for a few minutes. Drain and rinse until cold and then slice into four rounds. Grease a small gratin dish with the olive oil and place the fennel rounds in the dish and the chicken breasts on top. Season well, then spoon the cold bechamel over the chicken. Don’t worry about spreading it out evenly as it will spread itself when you cook it. Top with the Parmesan and refrigerate overnight, or bake straight away in a preheated oven at 190 degrees for 30-40 minutes, until it is golden brown.