JUST in case you were ever thinking of inviting my family and I round for dinner, I wouldn’t bother. 

Don’t get me wrong, we follow all the guest etiquette you can shake a stick at. We arrive on time, bearing a suitable gift for the host.

Our table manners are decent enough and we can do friendly chit-chat until the cows come home. We won’t outstay our welcome or get offensively drunk.

You’ll be showered with praise on your wonderful culinary skills, even if they are questionable, and you’ll always get an invite back.

However, we are a monumental pain in the butt when it comes to our dietary requirements. 

There are only three of us, but we are difficult with a capital D. We are “that” family.

Whenever we call our local pub to book a table, I can almost feel the eye-roll on the other end of the phone. 

I am actually the easy one of the bunch, being a straight-up vegetarian although I do hate peppers and goats’ cheese, both classic veggie options on most menus in some shape or form.

Thankfully, living in this city, I am spoilt for choice pretty much wherever I go.

My son has a vicious milk allergy and my husband, thanks to a chronic illness, avoids dairy, gluten and soya. What a fun bunch we are.

When it comes to eating out, calling ahead is always a good shout just to prepare the kitchen staff for the drama about to unfold.

Sometimes it takes longer for us to order our meals than it does to actually eat them.

Dinnertime in our own home is a laugh a minute too, as you can imagine.

Because I am usually the first one home, I cook five or six nights a week and that usually involves three completely different meals.

There are some dishes I can adapt, or make different versions of a theme, but even that involves about 74 pots, pans and utensils.

Even a straightforward spaghetti bolognaise involves two types of bolognese sauce, two types of pasta and two types of cheese to grate over the top.

At least the dairy thing covers two members of the household. It’s something.

My poor lad had his milk allergy diagnosed as a baby and we’ve been told he is unlikely to ever grow out of it.

It is the first question people always ask me when I tell them about it.

But alas, for him, it is likely to be something he has to avoid for the rest of his life.

Imagine not be able to have a Whippy ice cream or one of those small, round cheeses in the red, waxy coating.

I know, right? That’s his reality and he handles it nobly. The fact is, he has no clue how delicious some dairy-based products are, so he is really quite Zen about it. For us it wasn’t very Zen at all, at first.

I won’t go into the detail of exactly how we found out he had this allergy but suffice to say it was a terrifying experience. We also had no idea just how many products contain milk.

Now I can recite the ingredient lists of most things on the supermarket shelves. 

Even if milk doesn’t actually form part of a product’s recipe, there is nothing more frustrating than the all-too-common sight of “may contain milk” on a food label.

Back covering at its best, but the repercussions are too severe for us to even consider risking it. 

We’re obviously very used to our boy’s allergy situation now, he is six after all.

In the grand scheme of things, this is a minor glitch compared to the things some children have to deal with health-wise. The tricky bits involve puppy-dog eyes when the ice-cream van rolls into town and being invited to children’s parties.

Mums and dads we know well are now all over it and are happy to cater for him. Thankfully he loves a hummus sandwich. You also can’t go wrong in the, now fairly extensive, “free from” aisle in the bigger supermarkets.
Though how he can love dairy free chocolate so much is beyond me. It is utterly revolting. It is also really expensive, as are all items in that blinking aisle.

There are other things to consider here too, like the fact I always have to make his birthday cake myself.

Shop bought ones invariably contain butter and milk, like cake should. I’ve learned to adapt recipes and give it my best shot each year, but Mary Berry I am not.

This year I managed to craft a dairy-free chocolate cake carved up to look like the emoji poo. I was actually quite proud of that one. A milk-less cake shaped like a poo. What a time to be alive.