I have been called, in various reviews and interviews, an ‘unreconstructed carnivore’, an ‘enthusiastic muncher of small furry animals’ and a ‘connoisseur of unmentionable body parts’. It’s a collection of epithets that might lead you to suppose my gastronomic life is devoted solely to the pleasures of the flesh; that vegetables, fruit and herbs are an afterthought for me; that were they not useful fodder in the production, or flavouring, of animal protein for my pot, I would hold them in utter contempt.

Anyone who knows me or my work will already realise that this is simply not true. But just to be absolutely clear about this, let me say, in bold capitals: I LOVE VEGETABLES. And I really want you to love them, too. When my family first moved from London to a rented farmhouse in Gloucestershire in 1969, we inherited a wonderful vegetable garden in full swing. My first memory of the new house – I think it was the very day of our arrival – is sitting on the lawn eating raw carrots that my father had just pulled from the ground. It was a revelation to me to discover that anyone could grow their own vegetables. That we might be able to do it ourselves seemed nothing short of extraordinary, and hugely exciting. Not that I became a seven-year-old Percy Thrower or anything. It was my father who was irreversibly infected by the vegetable-gardening bug, and his attempts to weave me into the fabric of his new hobby had only limited success. I would happily pick, and I would happily eat while I picked – especially the strawberries and the peas. But as for digging, sowing, weeding – no thanks. I was far too busy climbing trees and racing snails with our neighbours’ children to find time for that kind of graft.

Our vegetable garden did, however, help me shrug off the usual childish antipathy to the very idea of vegetables for food. As a treat, a fresh pod of tiny peas, popped open and raked with my thumb straight into my mouth, was right up there with a sherbet dip-dab. Still is. I enjoyed eating all the vegetables that my father grew and, I think, came to take quality and freshness almost for granted.

Nearly fifteen years later, when I was working as a sous-chef at the River Café in London, my appreciation of vegetables entered a new dimension. Here, the daily consignment of fresh vegetables, fruit and herbs – for the most part grown by specialists known personally to the chefs – was inspected with as much critical vigour as the meat and fish. And they were prepared and cooked with as much care and attention, too. The philosophy was to explore the infinite range of flavours, aromas and textures that fresh garden vegetables have to offer. I learned to cook courgettes gently in olive oil to a luscious, creamy pulp, which could be lifted to sensational heights with a few torn basil leaves and some Parmesan shavings. I learned to roast whole garlic bulbs and shallots, so that their natural sugars were transformed to an almost toffee-like sweetness. And I learned how to mix simple salads of just-picked leaves that allowed the natural spiciness of rocket or the mild, metallic tang of baby spinach, to speak for itself. I soon came to realise that vegetables – and their vegetative relatives, herbs and fruits – are without doubt the cook’s greatest asset. And now I firmly believe that any cook who thinks veg is the least interesting part of a meal, a bore to prepare, and a mere adjunct to meat or fish, is missing the point. As far as I’m concerned, vegetables are staple, central, the main thing. Failure to realise this is the root cause of much dissatisfaction in the kitchen. And embracing the notion will do much to improve your life with food.

When I first arrived at River Cottage four years ago, my passion for vegetables was well entrenched and, although I was excited at the prospect of raising livestock for meat (the River Café had also revealed to me the joys of meat raised by enthusiasts who really care), it was the creation of a kitchen garden that was my first priority.

I knew from my Gloucestershire days what good gardening looked like. But I had precious little idea how to go about it. I turned to my father for advice. ‘It’s easy,’ he told me. ‘You plant stuff in the ground and it grows.’ I wanted a little more guidance than that. ‘Look after the soil,’ he said, ‘and the soil will look after the plants.’ That was pretty much all I got, along with some top tips on making a compost heap. Four summers later, as I look out on my little plot, I realise this was a very sound briefing. Despite a repeated lashing from the wind and rain, and some unseasonably cool weather for May, my seedlings have hung on in there, and are finally starting to respond to the long-overdue sunshine. I’ve just harvested my first radishes, and the early broad beans are not far behind.

The wisdom of Dad’s pithy gardening course lies in the fact that the seeds you plant and the plants you put out really want to grow. You don’t have to make them; you just have to let them. There can be setbacks, of course. Occasionally, you have to submit to the tyranny of the weather, and the determination of the natural competition for the edible goodies you are nurturing – especially the slugs. Losing a whole row of tiny beetroot plants to a single mollusc can be the cause of a major foot-stomping session. But the chances are you’ll get over it by suppertime – especially if the purple sprouting broccoli is still going strong.

I won’t pretend you’ll get away without having to do a bit of hard graft once in a while: the unusually painful form of exercise called ‘digging’ is pretty much a prerequisite for gardening success. But when that’s done and the ground is ready for sowing, vegetable gardening becomes the very definition of a worthwhile project: something that matures slowly over time; whose progress is visible and tangible; and whose final rewards fulfil both a basic need – food – and one of life’s finest luxuries – good food. One of the main aims of The River Cottage Cookbook and The River Cottage Year and of rivercottage.net is to encourage those of you who think you don’t have the time, space or temperament to grow your own vegetables, herbs and fruit to think again. I don’t want to persuade you. I want to tempt you. So wherever you go on this website, I think you’ll find it hard to avoid a fulsome expression of my raging enthusiasm for vegetables, whether I’m growing them, harvesting them, cooking them or, best of all, eating them.