Another tradition included using leeks to protect the house from lightning, and to prevent bites from a mad dog. Possibly you insert the leek into the mouth of the dog instead of your leg. If a maiden placed a leek under her pillow on St David's day, the face of her husband would appear in her dreams. Wash your leek well before taking it to bed with you - soil can be splashed up and hide in the crevices.

Leeks are superior in the broth and stew department, more richly flavoured than onions, and infinitely hardier. Very little survived the heat and dry of summer in our vegetable garden. But the perennial leeks are still there, producing dozens of offsets as soon as they got a sniff of rain.

Leeks survive heat, cold, frost, snow, poor soil, badly drained soil, dry soil and infinite neglect. Unlike a lettuce, the most temperamental of friends, a leek will still be there for you no matter what. Neglect a leek and it will be tough and skinny, but still flavour your soup. Cosset a leek and it will be fat and tender and extraordinarily delicious.

You never know how the leek you buy in the supermarket has been treated. It will invariably be plump - they don't allow skinny leeks in supermarkets - but it may have been cold stored so long it tastes of plastic and air-conditioning, or it may have been picked when it was beginning to go to seed, and pale and fibrous inside. If you want sublime leeks, grow your own.

Leeks grow up, not out. As long as you feed leeks well you can crowd them together about 10-15 cm apart in an ornate pot or even an old bathtub. Mulch them at least half the way up with a loose hay mulch so that the bases stay white and tender. Plant them now, so they have time to get fat before the cold, and pick them as soon as you want them.

One of the most perfect dishes I know is simply leeks cut in half, covered with sour cream, then baked in a low oven till there is a golden crust on top. The leeks will have absorbed the cream and be so tender you can cut them with a spoon. This may not work with a supermarket leeks -those from farmers markets are a better bet. The world's greatest soup is basically just leeks and potatoes, with whatever liquid you wish to cook them in.

Most leeks will go to seed in spring, and that's the end of them. Perennial leeks (Allium ampeloprasum var. porrum ) will go to seed in spring, just like ordinary leeks, but they also produce masses of ''offsets'' around their base. They are also known as multiplier leeks or perpetual leeks, which sound like a roof in need of a plumber.

If you leave the leek alone you'll end up with clump of pencil thin leeks, though they'll still be tender if you pick them before they begin to grow their flower stem. But if you separate the clumps, and plant your tiny leeks about 15 cm apart, and feed and mulch them well, you will end up with leeks that look just as muscular as any you can buy, and that taste of soil and sunlight, as well as vaguely like an onion, but a hundred times better.

Perennial leeks can be hard to track down. Look for them online, or at markets where vegetable enthusiasts may sell a pot with three or four of them, which will soon become 50 in your garden, assuming you don't cook them all before they reproduce. One perennial leek will give you anywhere from six to 20 small ones, as well as seed that can be planted for even more of them.

St David's Day is March 1, when the Welsh are still supposed to wear leeks, except the effete ones who wear a daffodil instead. As my ancestry only has microscopic amounts of Welsh, I won't be wearing a leek, but given the new growth in the vegie garden, will almost certainly be harvesting them, cooking them, and eating them. I can't think of a better way to celebrate the saint's day than planting a lot of leeks.

And if your ancestors came from a land of green hills and grey skies, plant your leeks with pride.