The American vegans are coming for tea. They’re a family of five on a whistle-stop vacation from Massachusetts, visiting friends and in-laws around the UK. I met the mum, Keri, when I was 15 and on holiday in Florida with my parents. We palled up by the hotel pool and wasted the week checking out various international teenage boys. I secured a snog with Marius in the jacuzzi on the last night and Keri met Trevor, her husband, from Morpeth. 

At the end of the week we promised to write to each other, mainly because it was 1987 and hunky-dory stationery was having a moment. I’d pretty much forgotten all about my bubbly tryst with Mon Cheri by the time we touched down at Yeadon, but Keri and Trev’s romance blossomed over Basildon Bond. Eventually, Keri moved to Northumberland, got hitched, then shipped Trev back to Boston. They called their first-born Britain. I haven’t seen them for 30 years and if it hadn’t been for Facebook, in all reality, we’d have lost touch. 

Anyway, I’ve no idea what to cook for them. I’ve only got one emergency vegetarian recipe book that my mum used to use when anyone exotic was invited round. It includes classics like brown lentil bake with pineapple, iced beetroot soup and technicolour cabbage salad. But all of those involve some kind of hidden dairy element. I could ask another vegan – because I do know one or two, but I just can’t bear the thought of having to sound enthusiastic about pulses while being lectured about my lifestyle.  

So I’ve downloaded a selection of ‘easy’ meals for vegan-virgins, and I’m going to practice making a cow-friendly spag bol and a no-cheese cheesecake. I stopped my search for no-harm-to-chickens wine when I remembered they were teetotal. It’s going to be a riotous night after we’ve washed it all down with a nettle infusion. 

I don’t know why I’m making work for myself, there are plenty of ready-meals available for any number of dietary choices. There’s absolutely nothing to stop me from bunging a few peperoni pizzas in the oven for us, with some corn and apricot flatbreads for them. But I’m approaching this dinner like a legumes-based hunt. I will spear that broccoli, I will skin that tomato and I will not rest until the plant-life surrenders to my juniper jus. 

The most challenging element of this event is going to be coaxing my family into consuming a plate of food which has never walked or curdled, so I’m going to lie. Or rather, just not mention the no-meat thing and hope manners prevent them from questioning my over-use of celery. My back-up plan, just in case I don’t win vegan chef of the year, is to have a bag of Greggs’ steak bakes on standby for when we’ve waved them off. Actually, since everyone’s banging on about how great their vegan sausage rolls are, I might just buy ten of them and serve with beans. Voila.