I'm a vegetarian, I'll have a steak

Among the "Letters to the Editor" in last week's North Wales Weekly News, our local rag, was an impassioned open letter to the hoteliers and restaurateurs of North Wales from a "vegetarian", begging us to be creative with bulgar wheat, let our imaginations loose on lentils and be bold with butter beans.

She then lambasted us all roundly for failing to titivate the palates of the vegetarian hordes in Conwy and Colwyn Bay.

I am sure that many fellow local caterers read the letter with the same sort of twisted grin and snort of derision as it was received here. You see, I don't actually believe that there are that many "vegetarians" out there. There are a lot of people who have dietary preferences, but few real veggies.

I even have a stock of my favourite "vegetarian" anecdotes which go down even better with non-caterers than the old "fillet steak - cremated" ones. These include the vegetarian who didn't like the choices offered and had the duck, the one who didn't eat vegetables (can't remember how we solved that one) and, best of all, the vegetarian who ate sausages (because Linda McCartney makes them!).

Have you also noticed what difficulty these dietary zealots have with normal conversation, particularly salutations? One greets them, presents the menus and then, before opening the menu or even acknowledging your presence, they go straight for the jugular: "I'm a vegetarian."

Ridiculous

It's like the confessional, isn't it? My sense of the ridiculous tends to come to the fore. I'm dying to mutter, sotto voce: "I'm so sorry," or: "Is it hereditary?" or shout: "Great! I'm a Gemini." But generally, I have noted that these crusaders have also had all sense of humour surgically removed.

Certainly, the gentleman who confessed his secret to me at breakfast this morning was jokingly told in response: "We don't mind, we're pretty liberal in Wales."

These pseudo-vegetarians are ruining it for the authentic guys. I think the nub of it is that the word "vegetarian" has been overused and has become a politically correct state rather than a dietary preference.

One finds oneself having surreal discussions with phone bookings for "vegetarians". "Are you a non-meat-eating, shellfish allergic, non-spicy sauce vegetarian?" Or: "Are you a fish-eating (but only hand-caught), chlorophyll-allergic, cheese-brings-me-out-in-spots vegetarian?"

For the record, this comes from a non-meat-eating, fish-eating, Quorn-loving, wine-guzzling, non-politically correct household, whose members have been known to eat frankfurters under cover of darkness.

Next diary from Barbara Baldon: 14 May