All aboard: The River Cafe

To describe it as a 'café' is a little like calling one of the Mercedes S 320s idling on the kerb outside a 'runabout'. Rogers and Gray - Ruthie and Rosie, to those in the know - should be prosecuted under the Trades Description Act, except that's unlikely to happen because Patricia Hewitt, the Secretary of State for Trade and Industry, is almost certainly one of their best friends.

In a sense, though, using the word 'café' to describe this white-hot centre of contemporary power is appropriate because power in modern Britain always cloaks itself in these faux proletarian garments. It's the restaurant equivalent of Tony Blair dropping his aitches. These days, only members of the underclass present a posh front to the world. If it was called The River Palace, for instance, you'd know in an instant that it catered to lumpen proles, the kind of clueless no-hopers who actually dress up to go out in the evening. But because it's called The River Café you know that you're quite likely to spot Matthew Freud dining in a corner - and he won't be wearing a tie.

Strip the façade aside, however, and the true nature of the place is laid bare. It is, by some margin, the most expensive 'café' in London. My three-course meal came to £49.70 - and that was without wine. Compare this to my meal in The Ivy the previous night which came to

£17.50. That's one pound less than a bottle of River Café Olio Extra Virgine di Oliva which you can buy on your way out, along with a signed copy of The River Café Cook Book Easy (£20). Easy! Not on your wallet, it isn't.

The food, as you'd expect, is Italian. If classic French food was the cuisine of choice for the Old Establishment, modern Italian is the first preference of the New Establishment. It goes without saying that it was absolutely sublime - nothing but the best for the ruling class. I had Parma ham with buffalo ricotta to start with (£12.50), followed by monkfish and spinach (£27), while my companion had chargrilled squid (£12), followed by beef with tomatoes and spinach (£26). It all had that simple, fresh taste that's the hallmark of this style of cooking, the same down-to-earth, unpretentious aesthetic that distinguishes contemporary movers and shakers from the old guard. Jamie Oliver got his start in The River Café kitchen, as did Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall.

Our fellow diners were a fairly ordinary-looking lot, ie, the people who run the country. On the next-door table there were two men typing their respective details into matching personal organisers, while sitting opposite us was a group of men and women who looked like architects, possibly from the nearby Richard Rogers Partnership. Note that he hasn't changed the name of his practice to the Lord Rogers Partnership, just as Rosie hasn't become Lady Rogers. Tony's cronies collect titles like other people collect stamps - but they never use them.

I won't pretend I didn't enjoy my lunch at The River Café - the food was almost as good as it was at Gordon Ramsay's flagship restaurant on Royal Hospital Road. But I couldn't help finding the attempt to disguise its pre-eminence in the New Establishment pantheon a little irritating. A better description of it would be 'an ace caff with quite a nice government attached'.

The River Cafe
Rainville Road, London, W6 9HA