The vegetable police

I remember as a child watching my aunt cooking cabbage. Not only did she cook it to within an inch of its life, she also squeezed out the last of its liquid and drained it off. Like many a postwar cook, she was a stranger to butter, so this soggy pulp would be served disgusting and flavourless, quite a feat considering the house would be filled with a strong aroma.

Inevitably there was a backlash against this sort of vegetable cooking. Some time around the 60s or 70s, as I remember it, it became quite the thing to serve vegetables crispy. As in all backlashes, the pendulum swung too far and it was not unusual to be served vegetables that had been barely shown the boiling water. It is a problem that still plagues us today. Terrified of a visit from the vegetable police ('We have reason to believe you 'ave been serving floppy beans'. _ It's a fair cop, guv. I completely forgot about 'em while I was grating me truffles') restaurants have become terrified of being accused of overcooking their vegetables and as a consequence serve them little short of raw. But there is nothing worse than a green bean that needs a lot of chewing. For heaven's sake, if I wanted to eat raw veg, I would ask for them raw (or eat them at home. Why pay somebody not to cook?). Vegetables should have a little bite to them, but that's bite as in a little snappiness, not chewiness.

There is an answer to this, and the French, as usual, have it. It's called à point, and that means the exact moment the vegetable is cooked, and not one moment sooner or later. It is achieved by boiling or steaming the veg and it takes minutes, not seconds. The veg must be tested, because, for instance, carrots may be cut thinner or thicker, green beans may be more or less fine. A good clue is that the vegetable changes colour and aspect. Green beans, for example, lose some of their deep greenness, a shame, but necessary. When they are done they should yield to gentle pressure from a knife (or the front teeth) but still not be soggy or limp.

If they are overcooked, there is still a chance of rescue. Again, I look to France. Many cheap restaurants serve beans, for instance, that I think come from a tin. They are certainly not crisp and may be quite floppy. So what do they do? They fry a little shallot, or better still garlic, in butter, and reheat the beans - almost fry them, in fact. It's simple and delicious, and far better than the mouthful of chewy string that passes for beans in so many British restaurants.

While I'm talking about butter: what's wrong with adding a little to vegetables? The idea seems to terrify restaurants. There are people, it's true, who go funny at the sight of butter - the same people sometimes who stuff their faces with enormous puddings ('I'm a pudding person': 'I'm addicted to chocolate', and other such nonsense). But we are talking tiny amounts of butter. Here's the answer: when the vegetables are à point, you drain them, but not too hard, and add the tiniest knob of butter. You toss the veg around and if there is a little water left, all the better: it helps to spread the butter. You can coat an enormous amount of vegetables with a tiny amount of butter. And what does it do? It makes the vegetables tasty, and it stops them drying out. This is particularly important in the case of potatoes, especially if you are serving a meal to guests at home and not everything is ready at quite the same time (we're not professionals, for heaven's sake).

Talking of potatoes: a friend once asked me why my potatoes always tasted better than his. We discussed varieties and cooking methods and found no obvious difference. Then I mentioned the butter.