In a recent column, I joked about putting woody asparagus ends in a plastic bag in the freezer for fantasy stock. What I didn’t mention was that I had stuffed the bag next to another unmarked bag and, in the process, dislodged a plastic container that meant the drawer didn’t quite close, which in turn blocked the door. Not that I noticed, or heard the very quiet beeps acting as a life-support machine for peas. Fortunately, someone else did hear, so we avoided a great defrost – but not without enough stuff melting to worry me into doing what I have been avoiding for months: properly looking in my freezer.

Before I go on, ours is not a big freezer. It consists of two small, narrow drawers under the fridge. Nor is it an old one – we bought it 18 months ago, and for the first six months I even labelled things conscientiously. For the past year, however, I have simply been stuffing things in the freezer to such an extent that I can barely identify the top layer, never mind the depths. Occasionally, I remember something – a tub of tomato and pork sauce, for example – and get it out to defrost for dinner, but any resulting space never lasts long and is soon filled with two chicken wings, giblets (for fantasy gravy) and half a packet of hamburger rolls.

Before I did an inventory, I tried to remember at least some of the things in the freezer. I guessed five correctly, not including the three open packets of peas and that bag of asparagus ends. The other 18 items I found were a surprise. And four of them – soup, a glass plate of prawns, a bag of fresh pasta and what I think is a cream pudding – I have no recollection of making. Three of them came out first, and it felt like a free dinner. The following night, we had the tomato and pork sauce (which freezes brilliantly). My freezer seems to sign and beep differently now, so I’ve decided that, over the next few months, we are going to eat its entire contents.

I will not bore you with my entire potential schedule, but I here are a few ideas, which may prove to be as much a fantasy as my stock, but anyway. First up, the two packs of fish fingers. We could make sandwiches, of course, maybe with Nordic dill salsa, as suggested by Signe Johansen. Alternatively, Alice Zaslavsky’s fish finger tacos and Nigella’s fish finger curry both sound good. As for the peas, I know they will survive for years in there, but my plans mean eating all three open bags and I would like to try new ways. And the wonderful Rosie Sykes is here to help, with two budget recipes: in the form of pea and potato pav bhaji (pictured top) and glorious-sounding green eggs with herbs, greens and cream.

Talking of cream, I still need to find a use for the frozen 500g block of mascarpone I carried all the way back on the train from Milan. The obvious answer is tiramisu, much loved by all the family, and which will use up the whole lot in one go. I can take my own advice here, trust Felicity Cloake, or try Nigel Slater’s raspberry version. But I deliberately bought the block to experiment with, which means I need to plan – otherwise I will defrost it and use some, then panic and consider putting it back in the freezer. One possible way forward is Ravneet Gill’s recipe for coffee, cardamom, almond and mascarpone cake (which calls for 250g), then Tamal Ray’s pumpkin, chestnut, mascarpone and red onion jam galette (150g), which leaves me the perfect amount to make pasta with sausage, leek and mascarpone.

Last but not least (for now, anyway), I found six bundles of chicken – three wings, two drumsticks and a single thigh – that will become chicken soup, with some left over for stock, which can go back in the freezer alongside those asparagus ends.

Buffet takeaway | I recently spent a few days in Trieste, in north-eastern Italy. The city occupies a coastal strip surrounded by Slovenia and touching Croatia, and its many-layered history is reflected in the food, and nowhere more than in the canteen-like “buffets” that punctuate the city. At the heart of every buffet is a tray of boiled pork – sausages, loin, nose, ribs, tongue and hams – all sliced and stuffed into rolls or served on a plate with a big blob of strong mustard and a loose pile of freshly grated horseradish. Superb! I came home with two fantastically phallic horseradish roots and fully intend to grate it everywhere.

What I’m reading | Sebze means vegetables in Turkish, and it’s also the title of Özlem Warren’s new book, an exploration of the country’s regional vegetable cooking and featuring 85 recipes. Warren has taught cooking for years, and this translates into her warm, knowledgeable and advice-crammed writing. So far I have made the nergisleme (egg salad with herbs and spring onion) and the aubergine halloumi bake. Both will be made again.

Dog’s dinner | Vivian Ho’s essay on the £120bn pet food industry is an excellent long read, now available as a podcast episode. It opens with a visit to the Waltham Petcare Science Institute in Melton (where most of the animals end up going home with the staff and scientists who have grown attached to them). Ho explores the research behind the industry, the pros and cons, meets raw food evangelists, and those who argue that we should go back to feeding dogs and cats what they once ate in the wild.

Snack of choice | “Se non ti lecchi le dita godi solo a metà” – “If you don’t lick your fingers, the enjoyment is half”, or something like that – is the Italian catchphrase for Fonzies, a corn-and-cheese snack that looks like a tiny, gnarled log. Or Twisties, which is what they are called in other countries. A cross between a supercharged Wotsit and a malformed Twiglet, Fonzies are one of my snacks of choice. Even more so now that my son and I have discovered how well they go with cold slices of granny smith apple.