Often it feels like my day to day eating life is plagued by the redundancy of beans, but from the outside looking in I realize there is always a deceptively diverse array of flavors, textures, and vegetables on our table. This is largely in thanks to a well stocked pantry - and by pantry I’m not referring only to the dry goods, but to a freezer stocked with meats, broths, and fruits and a fridge filled with fresh vegetables, herbs, tangy yogurt, aged cheeses, and sneaky pops of flavor (calabrian chili paste, preserved lemons, capers, etc.) The task of eating, feeding, and eating again is like a snake eating its tail. Having a surplus of ingredients on hand makes it easier.

The question preceding dinner is usually: what on Earth will we eat now? The dish below is one answer to this question.

Fork smashed celeriac

Celeriac looks like the troll of the root vegetable kingdom; if you purchase them from a farmer, they’re likely to be knobby with tangled wisps of hair covered in a light dusting of dirt. They’re large and imposing, but when you peel off the skin you’ll be struck by an earthy and herbaceous aroma. Less starchy than a potato, more substantial than a parsnip, their flavor is representative of exactly what they are: salty celery and a creamy root vegetable combined.

This is less a recipe and more a prescription for preparing the root simply. It’s as easy as peeling, chopping, and salt boiling the celeriac, before smashing the almost tender vegetable with the back of a fork. A generous dollop of crème fraiche is folded in to create a rustic mash, and a generous grind of black pepper finishes the dish.

2 medium celeriacs, peeled and chopped into bite size pieces

2 tablespoons of fine sea salt

1 fresh bay leaf

1/2 cup creme fraiche

Plenty of freshly ground black pepper

Flaky salt to season

Add the chopped celeriac, sea salt, and bay leaf to a medium saucepan. Cover with water by at least 2 inches, and bring to a boil. Maintain a gentle boil until the celeriac is tender and yielding, but not soft enough to turn to mush, about 15-20 minutes. Taste as it cooks until you find the sweet spot. Strain, discard the bay leaf, and add the cooked celeriac back to the saucepan. Smash the celeriac with a fork: you’re going for ragged pieces with softened edges, smashed not smooshed. Fold in the crème fraiche and season generously with pepper. Taste, and adjust with a pinch of flaky salt if necessary.

Serve with sausages and garlicky greens, for a bastardized rendition of bangers and mash.