Forget plastic, organic's fantastic; eating out MANIC ORGANIC, Kings Heath, Birmingham.

CERTAIN words instantly send me into a day long depression.

Jordan is one such word. Katie and Price are two others.

The very worst word, though, is organic.

When attached to food, it's such a sanctimonious little word, like a gloat of Guardian readers. The label 'organic' gives food a moral dimension it doesn't need.

All you have to know is whether food is spicy, bland, chewy, mushy, cold or hot.

Plus it's important to know whether there's plenty of stuff on your plate or - curses! - only a piddling amount.

Adding an organic dimension to food is like adding the Bono or Chris Martin dimension to rock and roll.

It replaces savour with smugness. Organic food is - for those who have managed to dodge the dull subject - food where the use of synthetic materials in its production has been severely limited.

My problem is I adore synthetic materials.

All of my favourite household objects are made from plastic or Bakelite, and in the past I've enjoyed the charms of plenty of girlfriends who were made out of inflatable rubber.

Though my current squeeze is the organic variety of female. One hundred per cent flesh and blood.

Which creates the sort of problems I never came across when dating 'Pump 'Er Up Prunella.' Riki likes to be treated to meals, for a start. That's no problem. I also like dining out, as readers of this feature know.

However, the missus and I don't always agree on the best restaurant to visit.

I like places that sell burgers with cheese, ketchup and plenty of salt.

I'm after more stodge than you can squeeze into a pair of Johnny Vegas's Yfronts.

Riki, on the other hand, likes restaurants with the word 'organic' written over the door.

Usually I ignore her wishes. (Prunella was never so pushy, so why should I put up with Riki's rants and rages?) But every now and then I let my current missus have her way.

Which is how we ended up in Manic Organic in Kings Heath. Though I wasn't just in Manic Organic. I was also in a huff.

No wonder!

I couldn't spot any of my favourite artifi-cially enhanced dishes. No sign of a cherry Bakelite tart or polystyrene potatoes. Instead, I had to settle for - ugh! - vegetable soup (pounds 3.95).

Flexed Well, I say ugh. But the truth is it wasn't ugh at all.

It was utterly schlurptastic. Lumps of juicy vegetables flexed their flavour, and a hunk of organic loaf persuaded me to chuck out all the dull white bread I had stored in the house.

Riki had a smug smirk smeared across her face when she saw how much I was enjoying my starter.

Though she was soon too busy eating to notice my grudging satisfaction. She gulped down a humous pot with pine nuts and coriander, topped with basil pesto and olive oil (pounds 5.95).

Everything on her plate was as fresh and frisky as a brand new MP, moments before he or she is manhandled into the Chief Whip's Office to be informed how politics really works.

For a main course, Riki had Middle Eastern Falafel with humous, red onion and tomato salsa (pounds 8.95).

She's from the Middle East herself, and declared that this took her all the way back to the homeland - minus the stress and inconvenience of booking with BA.

I had a Mexican Burrito for a main course (pounds 8.95), with plenty of tomato, garlic and chilli salsa.

I've never been to Mexico, though it made me want to pack for the trip. Or, failing that, watch a Speedy Gonzales cartoon on telly.

I hate to admit it, but I was impressed with Manic Organic.

Though don't worry folks. I'm still not foolish enough to buy the Guardian.

LORNE JACKSON Total (including drinks and tip): pounds 30. Manic Organic, Poplar Road, Kings Heath (0121 441 3802)

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Publication:	Sunday Mercury (Birmingham, England)
Date:	May 30, 2010
Words:	653
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