Celebrity power eaters

Here's a choice. What would you would find more riveting for an evening's entertainment? Sitting down to an exquisite three-course meal in an entirely empty restaurant where the only action, sublime though it may be, is on your plate? Or a bowl of chips washed down with a glass of Pinot Grigio on the table next to Posh 'n' Becks while they're having barney? Go on, you know the choice is obvious.

A great deal is talked about food, which is why we're devoting a whole issue to the matter, but it has very little to do with our expectations of eating out in London. Restaurants are not just the new rock 'n' roll, they are the new TV and the new fashion shows. The stuff of art, even. This year Ronnie Wood decided to immortalise 60 of The Ivy's clientele on canvas, creating what must be one of the most self-referential images of the decade.

His subjects for the project read like a Who's Who of London's social elite: Mick Jagger, Jerry Hall, Sir Elton John and Dave Stewart, Lord and Lady Bragg, Tom Stoppard and Kate Moss are all in there. No doubt art historians in years to come will conclude what we know already. Dining out at the start of the 21st century has nothing to do with consuming the dish du jour and everything to do with our desire to watch and be watched. It's voyeurism meets exhibitionism - creating a space where we can be private in the most public way possible.

It's not just the A-list who treat restaurants as theatre. We are all guilty of craving starring roles in prime-time 'dinnertainment'. In the same way that actors shamelessly exaggerate their thespian methods under the glare of the footlights, we often choose restaurants as the stage for the emotionally heightened chapters in our lives. Why else would we feel it necessary to book a good restaurant as the venue for a monumental break-up, or seismic row? Why is it that, even mid-fight, we feel a slight frisson of stardom when it becomes evident that the neighbouring table or the waiting staff have latched on to our tense situation?

Could it be that we need the theatrical drama, set dressing and atmosphere that the modern restaurant provides? Could it be, dahling, that deep down we are all terminal, linen-tablecloth luvvies at heart? 'A restaurant is about much, much more than just satisfying someone's hunger,' acknowledges Teatro's proprietor Lee Chapman. 'Everything is changing. The whole structure of the meal is being re-evaluated. For the past few years, things have moved away from the big gastronomic experience of the three-course meal. People want an informal atmosphere and food they can pick at - a meal that gives them plenty of opportunities to get up and visit another table.'

Table hopping, once considered gauche and ill-mannered, is now acceptable. Even going to the lavatory during a meal, at one time regarded as discourteous, has to be worked into the complex equation. These days, the long route to the loo demands not an apology and a demure shuffle, rather it offers a prime opportunity for showing off. 'It gives girls a chance to show the room what they are wearing,' says Chapman. 'And, if they've been eating at a quiet table, a chance to show other people in the room that they are actually in the restaurant. It's funny, even though they are sitting down most of the time, people like the fact that they are centre stage.'

It is perhaps appropriate then, that Teatro's proprietors, Chapman and Leslie Ash, both hail from the entertainment industry: retired premiership footballer and working actress respectively.

'Getting up to go to the loo is all part of the entertainment,' agrees restaurant designer David Collins, the architect who is responsible for the interiors of the Mirabelle, Drones, Cecconi's and J Sheekey. Collins has, arguably, changed the way that Londoners dine more than any actual restaurateur over the past few years. 'When I design a restaurant I always try to make the people look good as well as the food,' says Collins. 'My places are never brightly lit. I always make sure that the table plan gives everyone a decent view of everyone else in the room.'

No wonder the domestic dinner party seems a little jaded by contrast. Rowdy arguments, whispered confessions, drunken flirting, awkward silences - in restaurants they assume an intensity that would be alien in our own homes. Meanwhile, the preparation of food at home has now, like football, become a spectator sport, something we watch on TV. Men, once only conversant in Audi and BMW, now speak fluent Poggenpohl and Bulthaup. They love the idea of home cooking - and all the lethal, expensive, shiny arsenal of catering hardware that goes with the process, but when they want proper food, they eat out.

Celebrity patronage often plays a critically influential role in many people's choice of eat-outerie but getting the right balance of covert ostentation and stealthy show off-ness is crucial. The food? Well, the food is important but it has to be the right kind of food. Nothing too challenging, nothing too exotic, creative or cutting-edge.