Back in the bad old days, a vegetable wasn't considered respectable until it had been reduced to the texture of nursery food, with all its vitamins and nutrients leeched out by a cruel immersion in boiling water for the duration of a novena.
Today, still in thrall to the term al dente, which has dominated our cooking lives for a decade, we have gone too far in the other direction, and our vegetables are as undercooked as the screenplay of Titanic. I don't actually know which is worse: tortured broccoli hot from the microwave, starchy potato gratin and sad discs of carrot lying there in ambush for folk with false teeth; or the dish of stir-fried vegetables, all aglaze with oil after two minutes in a frying pan, with stringy mangetout, tear-duct onion, the carrot again lying there in ambush, and maybe some bland cauliflower offering a colour contrast to the sad broccoli but otherwise serving no function whatsoever?
Certainly, when that plate of stir-fried vegetables was brought to the table in the last restaurant I visited, my vote went to the stirfry as the classic example of How Vegetable Cookery Has Gone All Wrong.
So what has happened? It's quite simple really. In trying to correct the balance away from over-boiled vegetables, we have fallen victim to the belief that there is no way to serve vegetables other than crispy - al dente, as we all call it.
But al dente and undercooked are not the same thing. Crisp should mean crudite - it doesn't mean cooked. Stir-fried doesn't mean tossed in a wok with some sesame oil splashed in at the end. It means vegetables chopped to equal size, cooked with flavouring ingredients such as ginger and garlic over an intense heat until they are ready. And if they need to be pre-blanched, or if you need to add some stock to the wok until they are finished, then you do whatever is necessary to make sure the vegetables are cooked.
I remember talking years ago with the late Akis Courtellas, the luminary chef-proprietor of Bray's Tree of Idleness restaurant, and hugely enjoying his livid fulmination against those who had besmirched the noble courgette: "They say it's al dente," he roared, "but it's not cooked. You can't eat undercooked courgette!".
But maybe a ray of hope is visible. Already this year, for example, I have seen "Carrots Vichy" on a few restaurant menus, and my culinary heart skipped a happy beat, even though the dish was misspelt. "Carottes Vichy" is a fabulous method of cooking carrots, and one which I associate with Elizabeth David's classic book, French Provincial Cooking. But just look at the recipe: the carrots are cooked for 20 to 25 minutes! And yet, when they are ready, they are still firm, gloriously flavourful, and packed with flavour. "Carottes Vichy" proves that what vegetables need is technique: to each veg we should bestow the appropriate method of cooking. What happens with Carottes Vichy is that the mix of sugar, salt and butter intensifies the sweet flavour of the carrot as it is cooked. What happens with our recipe for Sticky Courgettes with Cinnamon is that the garlic flavour melds into the courgette slices whilst the water in the courgettes is evaporated by the steady, consistent cooking process. What happens with the recipe for Gratin Dauphinois is that the potatoes slowly, gently, patiently absorb the richness of the milk as they cook, and when the milk is gone, they are ready, and they are melting and wonderful.
These three dishes all prove a further truth about the nobility of properly cooked vegetables: they could each be served as a separate course, or as the sole accompaniment to a meat course or a dish of pulses. They deserve to be treated with this respect.
Carottes Vichy
From Elizabeth David's French Provincial Cooking. The soda is completely superfluous, in my opinion.
For each 1 lb carrots: 1 oz butter, plus more for serving pinch of salt 2 lumps of sugar three quarters of a pint of water pinch bicarbonate of soda (optional)
Scrape the carrots and slice into bias-cut rounds about a quarter of an inch thick. Put them into a heavy pan with the butter, a pinch of salt, 2 lumps of sugar, and three-quarters of a pint of water per pound of carrots. Cook uncovered for 20 to 25 minutes until nearly all the water has evaporated and the carrots are tender. Add another lump of butter and shake the pan so that the carrots do not stick. Add a little finely-chopped parsley before serving.
Sticky Courgettes with Cinnamon and Garlic
If your courgettes are large, you can slice them and salt them for half an hour to extract some liquid. Then simply rinse them, pat them dry and begin.
450g (1lb) courgettes 60g (2oz) butter 2 cloves garlic 1 teaspoon cinnamon salt and pepper
Slice the courgettes into 1 cm slices. Melt the butter on a medium heat and add the garlic. Saute the garlic until it softens, but don't let it brown. Add the courgettes, toss in the butter, and season with the cinnamon, salt and pepper. Cover the pan and cook for approximately 10 minutes. Uncover and turn the courgettes gently. Cook, uncovered, for a further 10 minutes until the courgettes are soft and sticky and just on the point of breaking up.
Gratin Dauphinois
My favourite potato gratin recipe is the simplest version of the classic: very little cream and no cheese. Don't forget to rub the dish with the smashed garlic: it makes an enormous difference. The blade of a food processor will give you thin, uniform slices, but personally I cut the potatoes by hand - I think the dish is better if they are not wafer thin.
About 1kg (2lbs) potatoes, sliced thinly lengthwise 2 cloves garlic butter salt milk cream
Pre-heat the oven to 190C/375F/gas 5. Smash the garlic gently with the blade of a knife, then rub a medium-sized gratin dish with the cloves - what you want is the aromatic juices, not any garlic bits. When the juices have dried on the dish, fish out any bits of garlic, then butter the dish all over with soft butter.
Slice the potatoes, then pack them into the dish in layers, salting gently as you go along. Put the dish on the heat, pour in full fat milk until it just reaches the top of the potatoes and gently bring to the boil. Now pour a drizzle of cream over the top of the potato, and distribute very thin slivers of cold butter here and there.
Cook in the oven for about an hour. There should be a nice, mid-brown skin on the top, the liquid should be almost completely evaporated, and the point of a knife should slide effortlessly into the potatoes.