Like eating in Stepford

A stylish friend of mine from Malibu, who oozes the latest liberal cause célèbre and fashion from every pore, recently complained to me that it was becoming extremely difficult to throw dinner parties in Los Angeles. She explained that it was now commonplace for friends and acquaintances invited for a meal to have their secretaries send over an advance warning of things they could not, or would not, eat. Not confined to the usual allergies or religious requirements, guests were vetoing red meat, ruling out carbs, or demanding oily fish to fit in with their latest health obsession. The final straw for her was when some old friends had their office telephone to say they were only eating white food this week and could she please adjust the menu. The temptation to serve up tripe must have been overwhelming.

Now while I love California for its zany people and unquenchable optimism, and am usually happy for its quirks and products to be imported wholesale into our uptight country, I reckoned that this one was a fad too far.

But in the past few weeks I have begun to fear that this craze is likely to hit our shores sooner rather than later. The signs have been there for a while, with some of the trendier restaurants eschewing red meat or flagging up dishes that are low in carbs (isn't this obvious?). They have also taken to providing ludicrous descriptions of where the meat comes from. Yes, I want delicious meat, but does telling me it comes from a farm I've never heard of make it taste any better?

And this fad - and let's face it, that's what it is - has been turbo-charged in recent weeks by reports from cancer specialists telling us that there's nothing enjoyable we can ingest that won't harm us.

There will be some who will dismiss these as the ravings of barmy scientists. But beware. The ravings of today will turn into the regulations of tomorrow, as the Health Stasi begin to make the eating and drinking habits of those of us who believe life's for living unfashionable, then anti-social and finally illegal. And I use the word 'Stasi' advisedly: for a generation they ruled East Germany by fear.

Now their successors are trying to control what we eat in exactly the same manner. Their proposition is a simple one: if you enjoy it, you'll die from it. And the fad will move to statutory health warnings, to restrictions on advertising, to extra taxes.

One market-driven manifestation of the new interest in healthy eating is the growth of premium-priced food stores. And if it is organic, that's fine - but so much of it is not, and is just presented in a way to fool us that it is.

The Whole Foods Market in Kensington High Street is a monument to this new movement and, like many new creations, it's not quite sure what it wants to be. Although it has taken over the iconic old Barkers building, it's very different from a smart food hall in a posh department store. And yet it also fails to ape the homeliness of a farmers' market.

It's owned by giant American company Whole Foods, which has clearly decided that there's a lucrative gap in the market, but like so many things American, it's just too big. There are 13 restaurants on site and even an in-house pub called, quaintly and inexplicably, The Bramley (note to owners: get yourself a British ad agency).

On the day I went there with my favourite journalist, the place was almost empty. The first thing that struck me was that there was far too much choice: surely choice is the enemy of all things organic? How many types of tomato do you need? Thirty, according to Whole Foods. And how many buckets of pig swill do they fill with unsold items? No wonder the place whiffs a bit.