Rules of seatiquette: Restaurants are raising the bar

Seating is a charged topic. On the Tube, there are stand-offs for corner seats; at the theatre, seats are priced according to desirability. And at restaurants it can make the difference between you recommending the joint in raptures and haughty dismissal.

There are obvious rules. Sitting next to a draughty door is miserable, as is sitting in the waiting staff’s chief thoroughfare. Tables for two can be a little too cosy; tables for groups can be so expansive you have to shout.

However, there is a new trend positioning itself in the capital’s restaurants: dining at the bar. It’s not straightforward. Depending on the place — and the evening — it can be either a pleasure or a misery. It is also loaded with the sort of etiquette that doesn’t apply to a traditional table-for-two. But at its best it can provide a front-row seat in some of the most interesting kitchens in the capital and break down the boundaries between chefs and customers..

For example, at Native in Neal’s Yard, the best seat in the house is upstairs at the ceramic bar, facing down the food preparation counter and putting you in resounding earshot of the chefs’ exuberant patter. From there, you can watch them sprinkle foraged Kentish wood ants — unexpectedly citrusy — onto plump cubes of fudge or experiment with beetroot sauces.

At Blanchette Soho the bar is wooden and the seats long-legged and elegant: you are front row at the spectacle of cocktail preparation (try a French Kiss) and close enough to the tiled frescos to spot the brushstrokes on each bird.

The Barbary recasts bar-top dining as high end, with gold fittings and slim, elegant cutlery. The high seats there also offer a point-blank perspective on the kitchen, where you can watch chefs and their sous-minions toss featherlight naan and garnish the bright fatoush salad. One diner reports that the hottest seat is near the Barbary’s bread monitor, as he or she will replenish your bowl with warm naan fresh from the oven.

At Luca in Clerkenwell, the bar has its own distinct menu: fennel and salami sandwiches for lunch, Montgomery cheddar and truffles for supper, and cocktails all day. Watching their preparation is as bewitching as the spirits are intoxicating.

“It’s the latest stage of an evolution in restaurant design which has followed chefs moving from being hidden away to coming centre-stage,” explains Catherine Hanly, from eating out website Hot Dinners.

“Diners like to see the kitchen in action and chefs seem to enjoy being the star attraction. At Temper, Neil Rankin presides over a spectacular open fire pit, and the counter seats are the best in the house. A hidden kitchen is now the exception rather than the rule. It’s more interesting than sitting in a quiet dining room.”

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However, before you book, you must command the etiquette of bar-based dining. Crucially, it is suited best to a dining party of two. You cannot position a group at the bar — a trio means the middle person must swivel from left to right all evening, like an umpire watching Wimbledon. This means that you must pick someone with whom you do not mind dining at close quarters.

You will also likely be elbow-to-elbow with a stranger. It can make “nipping outside for a cigarette” a trial of acrobatics (and politeness). Also, you have likely queued for hours — so sitting in discomfort can add insult to (sometimes literal) injury.

If the bar overlooks an open kitchen, it is likely you will be recommended food. You are receiving privileged wisdom — but it could be awkward were you to make snide, or worse uninformed, remarks. Affecting wisdom about cuisine doesn’t fly when a chef is poised perfectly to correct you.

Restaurants are raising the bar — heed the call, but study the menu first.