Down with balsamic vinegar!

I was treated to my lunch today. Alex is going on holiday so he suggested we go to Crookston Hotel for a bite to eat after volunteering at the library. I haven't been in the hotel since my brother's wedding reception over 30 years ago but it was okay. A bit run down but with friendly service and the usual sandwich/soup/panini/baked potato/pasta menu.

We ordered ham sandwiches on wholemeal bread. Alex said straight away: nothing else. He got a wee bowl of crisps instead of coleslaw and salad. I said no coleslaw, thinking there's not much anybody can do to a wee bit of salad, is there? Oh no? The salad arrived smothered in balsamic vinegar.

I hate balsamic vinegar.

Italian restaurants in Glasgow are still so fond of balsamic I find myself checking before I order. The chefs are not always pleased. For example, when I asked the waiter at Carluccio's to check if they used balsamic, the chef looked quite shocked. I could see him in the kitchen from my seat. But I still assured the waiter if there was a hint of balsamic on my very, very expensive dinner I would hunt him down and kill him.

For a start balsamic is black. Nothing that goes into a salad should be black except the odd Italian olive. It's also very strong and overpowers the veg. I make my salad dressing at home French style: olive oil, wine vinegar, mustard. My niece in law makes her dressing Chilean style: a squeeze or 5 of lemon - nothing else.

Which brings me to another matter: how come if I want a green salad - not iceberg, for ....sake - I have to buy either an expensive Caesar salad and dump the salad dressing, parmesan and croutons or a cos lettuce which I then have to wash? What is this obsession with lollo rosso, rocket and the rest? I still remember the reaction of a friend who is a gardener with a small but perfect country potager. 'You pay for this stuff?' she asked, looking at the bag of rocket. 'This is what we pull out from between the rows of real veg.'

Townies conned again. Or city folk so far removed from the soil we don't even know when we're being conned.