Celery, for many years, was a mystery to me. I know it adds the important base flavors to a million dishes, so I sauté it up with the green bell pepper, onion and celery trinity of Cajun cooking, and with carrots and onions in the soffrito of Italian and Spanish food and the mirepoix of the French. But I never really liked it on its own. Probably because the only experience I had with it on its own was the raw celery stick languishing on the crudité tray. Diet fads and magazines were always telling me to ditch the chips and go for celery sticks instead, and that never seemed like an equal trade off. But love the smell of celery; its fresh and bracing and clean. So I always thought I ought to like it more.

One unexpectedly cold spring day in London, the soup of the day in the café I happened into was cream of celery. I was dubious, but really needed some warm soup, so I ordered it. Again, perception here was the problem. I had only ever heard of cream of celery soup as the glob in a can used for casseroles. It hadn’t realized it was an actual soup. The pale green, creamy soup arrived and was a revelation. Warm and creamy with the taste that captured the smell of celery that I love so much. I jotted down the ingredients (fresh celery, celeriac and cream) written on the chalkboard at that London café and worked on my own home version.

I find this a particularly comforting soup. Just a big hunk of crusty wholemeal bread makes a treat. But for a jazzier meal, try serving this with an apple and blue cheese grilled sandwich.