The pea does not fancy itself a princess. A legume of becoming humility, it would never strive to win a Biggest Pea contest, like a bumptious pumpkin. No pea would yearn to be carved into the likeness of a swan and used as garnish. But praise must now be heaped on the modest pea, like gravy at lunch. Its contribution to science surpasses the other vegetables in the rack, and we should be grateful.

For without the pea, treasures such as the DNA database, paternity testing and Jurassic Park would have been denied us. It was through thousands of experiments with pea plants that Gregor Mendel was able to deduce the principles of genetics in the 1800s. Mendel, a monk, chose peas precisely because they were so untemperamental. They were obligingly easy to grow, and did not even mind having their pistils and stamens manipulated in the interests of science. Mendel's conclusions were the beginning of a path through the discovery of DNA to the mapping of the human genome that so enthrals us.

The world moved on and geneticists now experiment on fruit flies, which reproduce 13 times more frequently than peas. But the pea has come to the fore for biologists again in a new study, where its willingness to co-operate has produced results with huge implications for crop growth. Symbols of revelation have great power. Newton's apple represents his discovery of gravity. Robert the Bruce's spider, real or not, is an emblem of perseverance. Peas, for a side dish, have achieved so much. They sprouted a whole branch of science. They, too, should stand in the collective imagination as an icon of inspiration.