I have never met a vegetable I do not like. I have, however, come across plenty of vegetables treated so badly that my pity quickly gave way to rage. Vegetables are lovely things, tasty and full of goodness. There is no reason to boil them till kingdom come and just fling them on a plate. When I first moved to the UK I was shocked to discover that the vast majority of vegetables in supermarkets come shrink wrapped and with instructions. Generally along the lines of “boil to death” – ok so maybe not in those exact terms but the results are exactly the same, which is why I quickly learnt to shop from the market. Of course, as an impossible teenager I disliked vegetables (and chicken, fish, cows, pigs, life, my parents, and just about everything – I was a real joy!) but as an adult I see vegetables as something wonderful and full of flavour and possibilities.

So onto my next rant: why is it that people insist on making vegetables boring? Why is it that vegetables are often a mere afterthought, something to go with your meat? Don’t get me wrong, I’m an enthusiastic carnivore, but loving meat does not negate my love for vegetables. One of the best books on the subject, now sadly out of print, is Antonio Carluccio’s Vegetables. This book is an old friend and to be honest, I felt like breaking a sacred bond when I delved into Yotam Ottolenghi’s Plenty. I’ll tell you outright that one book is not better than the other. They are both different but both treat produce with respect and enthusiasm. I’m a long time reader of Ottolenghi’s column in the Guardian and have always been fascinated by his creation of imaginative and delicious vegetarian meals. You guessed it, time for another gripe: I’m not vegetarian, but for the love of all the cabbages, why is it that a vegetarian meal is often a nut roast (if you’re lucky) or some thoughtless mush of vegetables? Clearly, there are many cuisines around the world which treat vegetables as a star, so really people, less laziness and more cerebral action.

Ottolenghi is a great chef whose zest for life and cooking are infectious. The genius of Plenty is that it is not written for vegetarians, it’s written for everybody (which, really, should be the case with every cookbook dealing with vegetables). Chapters are organized by ingredient, recipes are clear and well written and if you know your seasons (and you should) you have recipes to keep you occupied throughout the year. The stunning photography is a welcome inclusion. Do not be put off by seemingly long lists of ingredients – learn to love spices and how to use them. It’s incredible how judicious use of spices and other seasonings can make or break a dish, how it can transform a humble cabbage into a star.

The recipes have a heavy Middle Eastern influence, hardly surprising when you consider that Ottolenghi is Israeli, but you will also find he meanders further east and west. If you are in Malta, you can get many of the ingredients from a good supermarket or your local Middle Eastern store. If you are in the UK, go straight to the local store (or most branches of Waitrose). Handily for UK readers, there is a list of online suppliers, although why buying sumac, za’atar and preserved lemons should be such a chore escapes me. If you’re in Malta, make your own preserved lemons. It’s easy and a good way to use up the goodness of local lemons. Whatever the case, do not be put off by spices. Flavour is a good thing, learn about it, love it and keep trying until it becomes a part of you.

Many have declared Ottolenghi the man who sexed up vegetables. You would think that most people have yet to meet a vegetable they like (and sadly you would be mostly right). Ottolenghi deserves praise, not for “sexing up” vegetables but for focusing on ingredients and treating them with love, care and a certain flair. Ottolenghi is not a vegetarian on a mission, he is instead a brilliant and intelligent chef who will make you feel really good.