Are you ready for a merry vegan Christmas this year?

As retailers predict the most plant-based Yuletide ever, Guy Kelly presents 2019’s festive food tribes

Oh, the weather outside is frightful. Actually, I’ll start that again. Oh, absolutely everything is frightful, but never fear because here’s a thought to warm the cockles of even the most miserable doom-mongers: just 12 weeks tomorrow, we’ll all be tucking into Christmas lunch.

So what will be on the menu in your household this year? You might be a staunch traditionalist, in which case your answer is probably: “What we’ve been eating on December 25 since before you were born, young man. We, as a nation, are about to regain our sovereignty – don’t you dare darken my door with the suggestion we have to give up our pigs in blankets.”

To which I would say: calm down, Roger, no one is making a grab for your wieners. But you may soon be in a meaty minority. Forget turkey, it’s been reported this week that 2019 may be the most vegan-friendly Yuletide ever, as luxury retailers like Selfridges and Fortnum and Mason respond to the increasing attraction of plant-based lifestyles with festive food options specifically for vegan folk.

Traditional, plant-based, somewhere in between, something different entirely… there are any number of Christmas lunch tribes to align yourself with in 2019. Truly, we live in a divided nation. So how will you identify?

Stubborn traditionalists

You know this couple. He uses the word “proper” about Christmas lunch in a way that weaponises it as an insult against anyone who strays from the tried-and-tested formula. She buys a turkey the size of a Nissan Micra, despite only needing to cater for four, and so many trimmings and nibbles that Ocado calls to inquire if she’d like a corporate discount. He says things like: “You don’t eat dairy? Can’t you just pick the lactose out?” Her homemade mince pies are as dense as their eldest child. He sets the fire alarm off with the pudding every year; she performs the Heimlich manoeuvre on the dog when it chokes on the sixpence. Nothing about Christmas has changed for them since 1982, but it’s fine, because neither have they.

Revitalised vegans

You’ll recognise this lot by their sudden affection for Christmas lunch, following decades of apathy and forced jollity, now that the supermarkets are actually catering for them. A decade ago, the words “Vegan Christmas feast” might have meant, “I’ve put two clementines in your stocking.” In 2019, it could mean anything from a vegan hamper from Fortnum and Mason, a “no turkey roast” from M&S, pumpkin-spiced panettone and vegan figgy pudding and nut fudge from Selfridges, and as many Greggs vegan sausage rolls as you can physically fit inside your body. I checked – it’s 29.

Wannabe Hestons

For these people, Christmas is all about culinary creativity: putting as many diametrically opposed flavours as possible together and seeing which combination makes people least nauseous. They yelped with delight when they heard about M&S’S new ham hock and welsh rarebit crumpet canapés. They’ve had obscene dreams about Sainsbury’s nine-inch, £8 “Christmas cracker” – a cylinder of alternating slices of black pudding, gammon, pork stuffing, and pork fillet, encased in bacon. And, every week, they are adding to what will eventually be their most audacious bird-in-a-bird roast yet. “You start with a hummingbird, end with an ostrich – Heston would be proud.”

The stockpilers

They’ll offer you anything you like, just so long as it’s tinned, dehydrated, or grown in the garden. The stockpilers are so worried about food shortages in the event of nodeal that they’ve bought pallet after pallet of chopped tomatoes, tinned peaches, baked beans, Spam and toothpaste, and had to repurpose the conservatory as a result. Now they’ve got so much stock – and so little money for anything else – that they might as well crack into it, eh? But don’t worry: if your stomach plays up after eating a kilo of beef suet stewed in Pot Noodle jus, followed by a litre of custard, one of your hosts could lend you some of their allotted three litres of water per adult per day.

Nutrichondriacs

“I seem to recall you said it wouldn’t be a problem to cater for fussy eaters, so I thought I’d just let you know about my lot: Michelle is glutenfree, so she won’t have stuffing, bread sauce, gravy, mince pies or any pudding. Alan thinks he has a nut allergy, so says he’ll just have wine. Pauline, as you know, won’t eat white carbs after dusk, so we’ll need to check what time that is. Dominique is a lapsed Paleo, but could do with another breast so she doesn’t faint. Erin’s lactosefree, Samir’s an old-fashioned vegetarian, Melissa can’t eat anything that’s ever had a name, Toni has to be emailed the calorie count of an average plateload in advance, Kev won’t eat anything from abroad, and, judging by your face, you won’t be inviting us back next year.”

A decade ago, a vegan feast was a couple of clementines in your stocking