Marvels made in Spain

In a greengrocer's everything is shiny. Everything is light. Who made all of this? We can't see any of that; we're all blind now. It's a universal blindness to beauty. I was born in a village where they grow the best tomatoes and asparagus in the world. The fine, sweet, white asparagus of Barbastro is legendary. The fruit and vegetables grown in Spain are among the greatest triumphs of man on this earth.

I've travelled a lot. I've seen countries where they don't know what a real tomato is like. In rich and cultured countries I've eaten green beans that were as tough as old boots. I've laughed as people from countries in northern Europe eat the terrible vegetables they grow there.

We are the children of a food culture that goes beyond us, that has its roots firmly in the darkness of time. I am amazed by cardoons, olives, cherries, pumpkins, parsley, figs, lemons. I see Spanish farmers throwing lemons on the ground, because their crop is ruined. Lemons are the most beautiful thing in this country we call Spain; this is the land where lemon trees flower.

My lunch today is very simple. I'll boil Spanish green beans that are tender and yes, expensive, at ten euros a kilo, with potatoes from Galicia. Then I'll drizzle Spanish oil - pure virgin olive oil - over the beans and potatoes and the result is divine.

They aren't just tractors. They aren't just demands and complaints. It's a culture. It's about knowing how to differentiate cherries from Jerte from other more insipid, dead ones. It's about knowing how to slice a pink tomato from Barbastro with care and proportion. It's about eating San Juan pears on the night of San Juan. It's about knowing that melons and watermelons are fruit for the summer. It's knowledge, dignity, it's the miracle of the land that feeds you from the heart.