Sellerisalat

Celeriac is a winter vegetable in Denmark. It comes into its own from late October onward, when the last of the summer crops have gone and the markets fill up with roots: parsnip, Jerusalem artichoke, beetroot, and this knotted ball of a thing that looks like it was pulled out of the ground still protesting. Don't let the outside put you off. What's underneath is sweet, peppery, and the backbone of one of the most useful salads in the Danish repertoire.

Sellerisalat is what you put on the table when there is cold meat to serve. Ham on a Sunday. The last of the flaeskesteg from the night before. The long cold table at julefrokost in December, when the whole family sits down and works their way through herring, roast, cheese, and whatever else is set out. The salad is there to cut through the richness of the meat, to give the plate a bright, cool counterpoint, to make the whole meal feel lighter than the sum of its parts.

The method is simple. You peel the celeriac deeply, grate or julienne the flesh, toss it with lemon to keep it pale, and bind it in a dressing of mayonnaise, sour cream, and Dijon mustard. The dressing is where the salad is made or lost, so I'll walk you through getting it right. Pay attention to two things in particular. First, peel the celeriac more aggressively than feels reasonable. The grey layer under the skin is bitter and will ruin the salad. Second, let the finished salad rest in the fridge for at least half an hour before you serve it. That rest is when it stops being grated vegetable in sauce and becomes sellerisalat. You'll taste the difference and you'll understand. The season decides, and in Denmark this one belongs to the cold months.