Earlier this summer, I tried to arrange a picnic with friends. The great thing about picnics is that it is hard to go wrong - a few salads, some good bread, cheese and some strawberries. But as we tried to think of dishes we could share, I realised I had a problem on my hands. Her family couldn't possibly eat eggs (nothing with mayonnaise then); no dairy (discard lovely Brie and cream for strawberries), and her children had a list of foodstuffs that couldn't possibly pass their lips. We chatted for some time about how I could alter my recipes, but in the end agreed it would be better if we each brought our own food.

At the picnic, her children gobbled up all we had on offer. They ate like they had never seen food before. Actually, I began to believe that their diet had become so Spartan that they probably hadn't.

I am all for eating well, but there are those among us who seem to have more dietary requirements than the average pop star has pre-concert necessities. It reminded me of a Boston coffee shop that used to (and probably still does) tease its health-conscious customers, who asked for decaffeinated lattes made with skimmed milk, by re-naming the concoction the "why bother?"

The preparation for your average dinner party these days often begins with having to ask your guests whether there is anything they don't eat. We used to do this to be polite to vegetarians and anyone with violent allergies. Now we get long lists from those on a low-GI diet, those demanding rapeseed oil over olive and which sauces should be withheld. No wonder British Airways now offers nine "special" meals from vegetarian to a fruit plate and 11 medical meals from low calorie to non- lactose.

We are, as we are told almost daily, in the midst of an obesity epidemic. Food is examined as never before (who would have thought that watching Dr Gillian McKeith, of You Are What You Eat, would pass for entertainment?). Now we are seeing the effects of this neurotic obsession. And they are not pretty. There are whole food groups that are now the new tobacco. To be seen indulging in them is wantonly to take your life into your own hands.

Food has become the new fitness - a way of measuring your commitment to yourself. There is no point bragging about how long you've spent at the gym or what time you've got your mile down to, when you can visibly show people that you only put things in your mouth that are going to respect the temple that your body has become. Keeping a dogged eye on food intake is seen as an example of self- control.

This would be fine if such obsessives didn't demand we follow suit (or make us feel bad for not doing so). But the food fascists need to proselytise. The easiest target is children. They are of course more malleable than the rest of us and since they depend on adults for their nourishment, virtually all obesity- busting efforts organised by the government have focused on improving the quality of their food. Like many other schools, my daughter's headteacher banned chocolate and crisps this year. The government's freely provided fruit and vegetables are the only thing on offer during snack time. (Strangely enough, there hasn't been a corresponding increase in letting children outside to play games, which might achieve the same end result).

Now, I agree that television chef Jamie Oliver's campaign was good and I am glad his efforts have limited Britain's turkey twizzler intake, but shouldn't it be my choice what my daughter eats? Every once in a while, on a bad day, I think that, like me, my six-year-old daughter deserves some chocolate. In fact, if she is anything like her mother, a little chocolate just might make her day.

Children's eating habits have become the new benchmark of parenting. "Our children just drink water," say conscientious parents, rather than let them pollute their mouths with, God forbid, juice. Offer your child chocolate (or fizzy drinks!) in some circles and you may be viewed as if you'd given them crack cocaine. New York schools have banned whole-fat milk, replacing it with healthier lower fat versions. New Zealand's Ministry of Health has issued a discussion paper (and let's pray it is a short discussion) that the minimum age restrictions on alcohol and tobacco be extended to foods such as hamburgers, chocolate and sweets. (Roald Dahl would today be writing about granola- bar factories.)

Earlier this summer, I tried to arrange a picnic with friends. The great thing about picnics is that it is hard to go wrong - a few salads, some good bread, cheese and some strawberries. But as we tried to think of dishes we could share, I realised I had a problem on my hands. Her family couldn't possibly eat eggs (nothing with mayonnaise then); no dairy (discard lovely Brie and cream for strawberries), and her children had a list of foodstuffs that couldn't possibly pass their lips. We chatted for some time about how I could alter my recipes, but in the end agreed it would be better if we each brought our own food.

At the picnic, her children gobbled up all we had on offer. They ate like they had never seen food before. Actually, I began to believe that their diet had become so Spartan that they probably hadn't.

I am all for eating well, but there are those among us who seem to have more dietary requirements than the average pop star has pre-concert necessities. It reminded me of a Boston coffee shop that used to (and probably still does) tease its health-conscious customers, who asked for decaffeinated lattes made with skimmed milk, by re-naming the concoction the "why bother?"

The preparation for your average dinner party these days often begins with having to ask your guests whether there is anything they don't eat. We used to do this to be polite to vegetarians and anyone with violent allergies. Now we get long lists from those on a low-GI diet, those demanding rapeseed oil over olive and which sauces should be withheld. No wonder British Airways now offers nine "special" meals from vegetarian to a fruit plate and 11 medical meals from low calorie to non- lactose.

We are, as we are told almost daily, in the midst of an obesity epidemic. Food is examined as never before (who would have thought that watching Dr Gillian McKeith, of You Are What You Eat, would pass for entertainment?). Now we are seeing the effects of this neurotic obsession. And they are not pretty. There are whole food groups that are now the new tobacco. To be seen indulging in them is wantonly to take your life into your own hands.

Food has become the new fitness - a way of measuring your commitment to yourself. There is no point bragging about how long you've spent at the gym or what time you've got your mile down to, when you can visibly show people that you only put things in your mouth that are going to respect the temple that your body has become. Keeping a dogged eye on food intake is seen as an example of self- control.

This would be fine if such obsessives didn't demand we follow suit (or make us feel bad for not doing so). But the food fascists need to proselytise. The easiest target is children. They are of course more malleable than the rest of us and since they depend on adults for their nourishment, virtually all obesity- busting efforts organised by the government have focused on improving the quality of their food. Like many other schools, my daughter's headteacher banned chocolate and crisps this year. The government's freely provided fruit and vegetables are the only thing on offer during snack time. (Strangely enough, there hasn't been a corresponding increase in letting children outside to play games, which might achieve the same end result).

Now, I agree that television chef Jamie Oliver's campaign was good and I am glad his efforts have limited Britain's turkey twizzler intake, but shouldn't it be my choice what my daughter eats? Every once in a while, on a bad day, I think that, like me, my six-year-old daughter deserves some chocolate. In fact, if she is anything like her mother, a little chocolate just might make her day.

But like any all- encompassing systems, food fascism can be quite hard to live with. Occasionally food fascists slip up. Diktats once written in stone have to be revised. Those lectures on the benefits of margarine (watch your cholesterol!) over butter have now been blown out of the water by recent warnings of the horrors of trans-fatty acids (margarine being a prime culprit). Questions are being raised about soya.

Some food fascists are cracking under the pressure. My former vegetarian sister- in-law (former on both counts) used to dig packaging out of bins just to check the ingredients didn't contain any animal products. Ten years later, she's eating bacon sandwiches. A French teacher of mine was vegetarian - a diet she stuck to with religious fervour - but had one curious exception: foie gras.

Like many messages, the healthy eating one seems to be lost on those who need it most and taken to extremes by those who need it least. I don't really mind the food fascists as long as they keep their lectures short, don't come for dinner or my picnics, and keep out of my daughter's lunchbox. Everything in moderation, my mother always said.
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