I had gone out for a curry with my friends Gav and Laurie in Chorlton cum Hardy, an odd part of Manchester that looks like everywhere else and feels like everywhere else, but for some reason considers itself hip and trendy. The people who live in Chorlton are almost invariably between the ages of 30 and 50, have one child called Riley Moondance Fandango (which they push around in a hand woven wicker basket on recycled wheels from a scrap yard) and eat a diet of healthy organic wholefoods from the Unicorn Grocery, black kalamata olives marinaded in balsamic vinegar made at a particular house in Modena and bought from the Barbakan Deli and fat free (yolk removed) 'omelette aux fines herbes avec huile de truffle' for lunch at the Lead Station.

I have to confess that I was taking the piss a little and my chum Laurie was getting offended (he lives in Chorlton, buys organic veg and olives as described and is soon to become a father of one). We were standing in an overstuffed bar, drinking beer made on the premises (very 'in' these days) and I was moaning about the bar menu including pheasant stuffed with fruits of the forest (acorns perhaps?) and barbary duck with polenta. I think my point was that a pub should be serving sausage sandwiches and cheese or ham rolls and that Chorlton had become so pretentious that only Guardian readers and people who work for the BBC could stand to live there, when Laurie accused me of being a snob and claiming that my food snobbery was apparent for all to see.

Is it? I always considered myself a man of the people, a lone figure defending the peasant cuisines of the world and rejecting trendy new innovations and fads. I don't cook trendy foods, I just cook. I like to eat, and to eat well - does that make me a snob? Have I become that which I despise, have I turned to the dark side? Is Darth Vader my father? Oh no, it's all so confusing. The only answer is to have a good curry and forget about it all - and that's what I did.

Chorlton does have one thing going for it and that's a fantastic curry house called the Nehmat Kadah (sadly no website or reviews) The food is always good although the service is often slow and irritating (they make most of their money from take aways and home deliveries and never really pay any attention to anyone eating in). I also have the honour of having been one of the first three customers ever to eat here (many years back) as the place is located about twenty metres from where I once lived. I haven't been in for about six years but the owner still recognised me and came over for a chat. The food was excellent and they still had the owner's private contribution to the world of curry cuisine, the cutacut, which he claims comes from his home town but was probably invented by him to use up left overs. It is a fine curry made from shredded lamb and quite spicy. The food was top notch although only one of our starters arrived with the starters, we had to ask about four times for some water and the food took ages to come. If only they could be more attentive I think the place would be famous, unfortunately it's nearly always empty.

Next time I'll phone for a home delivery.