ON the extremely rare occasions when my husband and I eat out - less frequently than the World Cup and that's the truth - we are at loggerheads even before we set out.

He wants Thai, Chinese, or Cantonese possibly Indian. I go along with it because I know that if I falter along the way, if I wrinkle my nose up or shake my head, he will accuse me - as he frequently does - of being uncultured, boring, and unadventurous.

It would be more than my marriage is worth to tell him what I'd really like.

The thing is I'd love a steaming hot plate of meat and two veg. A pie - steak and kidney would be nice - some sprouts, maybe some carrots or peas. And, of course, potatoes - boiled, mashed or roast, I'm not fussy - and gravy to pour on top.

The icing on this mouthwatering cake would be Yorkshire pudding - two or three small ones, or one of those huge puddings rather like a bowl into which the rest of your meal can fit.

That's what I'd like. Good old traditional English fare.

I don't even mind going to a much-maligned Berni Inn-type establishment with laminated menus and fake antiquities.

I would be more than happy in a greasy spoon - if I could have meat and two veg.

But it is not to be. I don't know why. I haven't got the answer as to why the population of this small island prefers foreign grub to our own delicious food.

Only last week, as my colleagues and I pondered an article for St George's Day - and that's today - I was faced with comments like: "Well, it's so boring - how can you tart up roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, or bangers and mash to seem interesting?"

Last year chicken tikka masala curried (forgive the pun) favour among the British population. It was by far the nation's preferred meal.

Now it's been overtaken by green curry. The Thai dish is racing up the tastebuds league with sales of the sauce up by more than 122 per cent in the past year.

Even cook books are not satisfied with 'English'. I admit I'm not one for experimenting or following new recipes (on that level, I am unadventurous), but occasionally I'll flick through one of the many books sent to our office and stumble upon what on the surface appears to be good old English.

However, a closer look, and the normal-sounding ingredients are invariably coated with some exotic sauce and specially-baked using a heat extraction method perfected by Nepalese herdsmen.

Many people of my generation seem to view the dishes we have grown up with and been fed as children as dull.

I recall reading about Kate Winslett's wedding reception not that long ago in which the guests ate something like pie and mash.

The press made a big thing of this, as if it were a weird thing to have. Maybe its perceived dullness rubbed off on the failed relationship.

Those who ridicule English fare should be aware that chicken tikka masala is about as Indian as shepherd's pie.

It was created to appeal to the British palate in the Sixties by curry house chefs keen to satisfy our love for gravy with meat and is now such a successful dish that it has been exported back to India.

It's my husband's 40th birthday this month and I know he's hoping for a hot Oriental take-away with all the trimmings.

It's the ideal opportunity to get him to change his mind. I'll serve steak and kidney pie, sprouts and swede. And if he doesn't like it, I'll give him a Thai alternative - boxing.