Finger on the pulse

It's that moment of truth - a split second of reality that penetrates the fug of over-indulgence. You look in the mirror, past the pallor and sleep-deprived eyes, as 2007 flashes before you. Like Snow White's stepmother, you demand an answer. Surely I haven't put on weight over Christmas? Alas, the mirror (unlike the modern, air-brushing camera) does not lie and so, in the wake of all the Christmas celebrations, I decided to give my mind and body a radical over-haul. An excess of meat, booze and saturated fats has left me longing for the healthy and the frugal, the unprocessed and the natural.

Vegetarians are on average 22lb lighter than their meat-eating mates, which is why a friend recommended I visit her favourite South Indian restaurant in Hammersmith and why I didn't look at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. Because, let's face it, vegetarianism hasn't exactly had the best ambassadors in the world. Heather Mills McCartney and Hitler? Lovely.

Neither has it promoted its image in a way that might make us non-veggies regard it more sympathetically. There are many words associated with the desire to eschew (rather than chew) meat and none of them are complimentary: bland, worthy, boring, sandal-wearing, banner-waving. Vegetarians may be content to live and let live - but only where animals are concerned. When it comes to us carnivores, they preach and they moralise.

Think about entertaining your veggie friends.

Although you've probably spent all day labouring away to construct a flesh-free feast, it's unlikely they'll return the favour. Have you ever walked into their home to find them looking shiny-faced and anxious, saying: 'We've cooked you a gently oozing rib of beef; we do hope it's all right?' No, of course you haven't. Vegetarians are supremely selfish and make no bones about it.

King Street is as functional and matter-of-fact as my healthy new regime: an ugly, urban sprawl of faceless shops that made me think of Huxley's Brave New World. I confess that my heart was not light as I headed for Sagar.

But from the grey world outside, I stepped into a wood-lined interior filled with warmth and atmosphere. There are wooden walls and shiny bronze buddhas and the chatter of happy diners. It was Tuesday lunchtime and the place was buzzing with everyone eating something I wanted to try.

I'd arranged to meet a TV producer who had been researching vegetarianism and he started trying to tell me something about its history, but after my measly fruit breakfast I could have happily bitten off my own hand (which would have rather defeated the object) and so I wasn't really listening.

Instead, I called over one of the charming waiters (who seem more like hosts welcoming you to their home) to take over the ordering for me, since the menu read like a mystery story. South Indian food is gentler and more complex than the kind of curry I'm used to eating on the high street. There wasn't a psychedelic-coloured sauce in sight, nor any meat for that matter, but a hell of a lot of lentils. I had never realised how versatile this humble pulse could be: it had found its way into breads, into stews and into side dishes.

We started with masala dosa, which are wheat or lentil pancakes stuffed with potatoes and onions and served with a gloopy coconut cream. Delicious. And although Kancheepuram idli sounds like a Glenn Miller band number ('Oh, Kancheepuram idli, won't you idli me home?'), it is, in fact, a starter of dumplings made from... lentils. Oddly enough they were as light as my post-Christmas bank account. Rasa vada was a soft lentil doughnut and the apricot chutney was so yummy I'm surprised no one has thought of marketing it.

There's a surprisingly long booze list and we ordered a bottle of Chablis. Yes, I know, but you can't give up everything at once. And the producer needed cheering up - TV work these days is all short-term contracts and naff reality shows, he complained. Why don't you secretly film people eating in a place like this, I joked. The trouble is that I think he took me seriously.

Later, he rang to say that political reporter Adam Boulton has been a veggie for years. I thought of the genial but distinctly chubby cheeks of the Sky News stalwart and suddenly understood the law of averages. But it may go some way towards explaining why Adam always has his finger on the pulse.