One of the stranger sessions in a film theory class I took at university was analysing David Lynch’s Eraserhead, an experimental horror film in which the protagonist is plagued by a bulbous baby-like blob (also, some pretty wild hair). Every time I see a celeriac bulb, I’m reminded of that film – bulbous-baby-blob and wild hair combined.
At first glance you may be forgiven for assuming that it is the root of the “celery root” (another name for it) you’re eating, but it is actually an engorged celery bulb – more stem than leaf – and the actual roots are the worm-like tendrils tucked up around its base!
When cooked, celeriac’s mildly earthy flavour and aroma transform to something nutty and herbaceous. It can also be eaten raw, particularly as the grated hero of a remoulade, lending a welcome textural contrast to this classic mayonnaise-based dish that is part-salad, part-condiment. Celeriac also plays well with seasonal fruit. Try it raw and finely sliced with apples and a dressing of apple cider vinegar, lemon, and mustard; or try it Turkish-style, lightly braised in orange juice and lots of olive oil.
Apply the same principles when shopping for fresh celeriac as you would to the rest of the celery clan. It is widely available and affordable throughout autumn and winter (and is abundant at the shops right now). The sprightlier the leaves, the fresher the bulb.
Don’t be too perturbed if all the leaves have been lopped off, as long as the flesh seems firm; it’s usually more a case of an overzealous greengrocer than a bad bulb. Roasting the bulb together with its leaves does amplify its flavour, though, so if you can find one with leaves intact, go for that option.
Look for celeriac with skin as smooth as possible – it makes for easier peeling, so you don’t have to hack too deeply into it later on. Store it unwashed and loosely bagged in the fridge, where it will last for over a week. Celeriac also freezes quite well, so on a slow Sunday afternoon, consider peeling, chopping and freezing it on a tray, then portioning up to use in soups and stews.
When it comes to barriers to celeriac consumption, the biggest is how tricky it is to wash. Those gnarly root tendrils twist and turn into themselves, trapping dirt in the most dastardly of ways. If you go down the conventional route – root? – of trimming these off, you risk lopping off a third of the bulb along with them.
Instead, try soaking the whole thing in a big bowl of water for at least 10 minutes, then cranking on the tap and holding it under running water to encourage any particularly enthusiastic particles to part ways. This has the added benefit of injecting moisture back into the bulb.
If you’re in a rush, chop the celeriac into quarters first, as this will help you see how deep and gnarly the root systems are, then use a paring knife to trim as close to the flesh as possible.
Although the “celery” bit of the celeriac will probably be too bitter for dipping into your peanut butter jar, you can pop leftovers into a “stock-up” bag in your freezer for making vegie stock. It adds a deep earthiness and minerality, without you needing to shell out for an extra bunch of celery.
Salt-baked butterflied celeriac cheese with cheat’s bechamel – recipe
This dish is the epitome of “ugly delicious”: the skin is left on to become blackened and shrivelled, yet completely edible, while the flesh inside is herbaceous and bright but at the same time creamy and unctuous. I can’t say enough good things about it – and not because I’m just being nice. While it takes more than an hour in the oven, there is little active prep involved.
The cheat’s béchamel, using crème fraiche or sour cream mixed with cheese and butter, is as easy as layering – no need to stir – and it works a treat in lasagne, too! If celeriac is not forthcoming but kohlrabi is at hand, give this same method a whirl.
Serves: 4 as a side dish
⅓ cup (30g) salt
2 celeriac bulbs, 400g-500g each
50g unsalted butter, chopped
½ cup (120g) crème fraiche
100g grated gruyere or mozzarella
½ bunch of thyme, sprigs picked
1 tsp celery seeds
Set an oven rack in the middle of the oven and place a foil-lined baking tray underneath. Preheat the oven to 220C conventional (200C fan). Combine the salt and 2 cups (500ml) of just-boiled water in a large bowl. Stir until the salt has dissolved.
Add the celeriac bulbs and carefully roll to coat them in the water; this will help create an easy salt crust, to flavour the celeriac and intensify the heat. Place the celeriac on the middle oven rack (over the lined baking tray, to catch any cooking juices and keep the oven clean) and bake for 1¼ hours, or until a knife easily goes through the fleshiest part like butter.
Stand for 10 minutes to cool slightly, then use a sharp knife to make an incision along the side of each celeriac so that it can be pried open carefully with your fingertips. (If you find this too difficult, use a butter knife to ease the halves apart.)
Spread the celeriac out on to a baking dish to reveal the flesh, and scatter with the butter. Spoon half the crème fraiche over each, then scatter with the cheese, thyme sprigs and celery seeds. Season with a pinch of salt and pepper. Shift the oven rack towards the top of the oven.
Preheat the oven grill to high and grill the celeriac for 4-5 minutes, or until the cheese is golden. Serve warm, for some damn good celeriac cheese.
• This is an edited extract from In Praise of Veg by Alice Zaslavsky, photography by Ben Dearnley, published by Murdoch Books in Australia (A$59.99) and the UK (£25), and in the US (US$35) and Canada (C$45) where it is published by Appetite by Random House
