Recently I received an email from a woman who wanted me to do something about chefs using nuts in desserts. Her husband has an acute life-threatening allergy to peanuts, and she was furious that so few sweet things were open to him. I replied politely that, while I was sympathetic to her husband’s condition, she had to be realistic. The condition affects around 1% of the population and expecting chefs to design their menus to cater to such a tiny minority was a victory of hope over expectation. Refreshingly, she admitted she hadn’t considered how few people were affected. Her husband would just have to reconcile himself to the default of vanilla ice cream, which may be dull but, all things considered, is better than dying of anaphylactic shock.

If only all the people who whinged at me about the perceived failings of restaurants were so reasonable, but they’re not. My inbox groans under the weight of “what about my needs?” fury. There are the ones who complain about chefs having the temerity to open restaurants full of hard surfaces into which they then pipe the crack and ricochet of noisy music, rendering conversation all but impossible. There are those who rant, with the boggled-eyed fury of the blasphemed-against pope, about the iniquity of seating that hasn’t been designed specifically with their arse in mind. How bloody dare they? There are those driven to distraction by small print and low lighting, by the lack of a serious beer menu, an unwillingness to cater to small children, or a refusal to install a basement torture garden for passing members of the BDSM community. I may have made one of these up.

As it happens, I hate loud music and hard surfaces. My late mother suffered from age-related hearing loss, which put certain much-loved restaurants out of bounds. I dislike uncomfortable chairs, given that I regard sitting down as a key part of my skill set, and get exasperated by having to power up my smartphone’s torch so I can read the damn menu.

But don’t worry. I have found a solution to all these problems. I don’t return to those restaurants. I withdraw my business and move on to somewhere else, where the chairs are upholstered, the surfaces soft and the menu printed in 24 point. And generally, do you know what happens? Absolutely nothing. Those places get on just fine without me. They have identified their customer base and are giving them exactly what they want. It just happens that the customer base doesn’t include me. Because here’s the thing: restaurants are not social services. Beyond the legal requirement for disability access, to comply with hygiene rules and post information on allergens, a restaurant does not have to give a damn about you and your needs.

There is no group that needs to hear this more than the non-meat eaters. You should read their emails, filled with self-righteous indignation. How dare these “so-called” chefs not cater more imaginatively to those who are foregoing meat? Why do they ignore us? I’ll tell you why: because they can. Restaurants are businesses. If they thought they were missing a commercial trick by not catering for all those lovely, wistful vegans, they’d be right there smearing aubergines with miso until the non-lactating cows come home. Sure, we could all do with more imaginative meat-free options, for a variety of reasons. But regarding them as a right is nuts. And if you’re allergic to the latter, you know what to do. Go read someone else’s column.