Real veggies don't eat quiche

Where do Madge, Gwynnie and Stella meet for lunch? The Ivy? Sketch? No, when they want a bite they go to the Gate - for inspired vegetarian food, says Mimi Spencer

Mostly, I was looking out for Sir Paul McCartney and his lovely wife Heather, although I would have been more than satisfied with, say, Glenn Close. Or Eric Clapton, Woody Harrelson, Stella McCartney, Madonna, Gwyneth Paltrow - or indeed any of the celebrities who frequent this tasty little slice of Hammersmith in west London.

Yes, Hammersmith. I know it sounds about as tasty as a knuckle sandwich, but believe me, it's all happening just a falafel's throw from the A4 flyover. So what's the big draw? Why do Gwynnie and co continue to descend on a pocket of London that is 90 per cent roundabout to 10 per cent Argos, home to the most congested road in the capital? In a word, vegetables.

Really delicious vegetables: baba ghanoush; pickled okra; deep-fried courgette flowers. And that's just for starters. Next up, it's all butternut squash and thyme gnocchi, teriyaki aubergine, and tarts of trompette and leek.

The Gate restaurant, an unassuming little place almost lost in a residential side-street, has dragged the British vegetable kicking and screaming out of its natural habitat, the unforgiving saucepan of boiling water. It has placed it tenderly on a chopping board, introduced it to chillies and galangal, miso and tamarind and served it, with passion and panache, to a growing band of fans (Apple Paltrow-Martin's first appearance was at the Gate - at Stella McCartney's birthday lunch).

Adrian and Michael Daniel, the Indo-Iraqi brothers behind the Gate, have been perfecting such elegant dishes for well over a decade, maintaining a tireless crusade against waterlogged vegetables. Adrian, the chef of the pair (Michael's the money man), didn't have much time for vegetables himself until he tasted a cauliflower dish cooked in a tandoor oven in India. 'It was a revelation,' he says. 'I realised it wasn't vegetables I disliked, but the way they were cooked - their wetness. I realised that water destroys everything.' He has a point. Why, after all, would anyone choose to boil a leek or a courgette - two vegetables which absorb water like nappies and come to the plate weeping, as if mourning their lost vitality?

Instead, the Daniels have turned vegetables into chic little explosions of taste. At the Gate, vegetables pick up their skirts and go glam, with a nod to the flavours of Asia and the Middle East. There's not so much as a backward glance to the clarty mouth-killers that once passed for vegetarian fodder - those Birkenstock casseroles and forlorn Quorn patties, the inevitable ratatouille, the virtuous wholefood beanburger.

I always used to feel sorry for the veggies at the table, lumbered with a wodge of nut-roast or a sorry sausage fashioned from sage'n'breadcrumbs, doing its level best to pass for a proper pork banger, as if imitating meat was the very zenith of a vegetable's short life. 'Whenever you go to friends for supper, it's always sodding salmon,' sighs my great friend P, an ethical vegetarian who is so hacked off with her lot that she very occasionally finds herself poking around in other people's fridges, slipping forbidden slivers of Parma ham into a guilty mouth.

But now - P will be thrilled - vegetarian cuisine is fast becoming the most fashionable food around. Look at Terre à Terre in Brighton, with its kibbis and rostis. Even committed carnivores such as Paul Whitehouse have discovered that vegetarian food can be stuffed with flavour: 'I didn't even feel the need to bring my own meat,' he says of his regular visits to the Gate, 'It's fantastic, I've eaten there loads of times.'

Needless to say, he wasn't in when I visited with my crazily slim girlfriend Arugula, a meat-lover who was delighted when her courgette flowers stuffed with pea and mint arrived: 'They look just like lamb chops!' she said with relish, jabbing them with her knife. The courgettes were inspired - just the right balance of crunch and goo. Our risotto of asparagus and broad bean was similarly uplifting, with none of the cloying weight that so often kills a risotto after two forkfuls.

While the restaurant itself has the feel of a village church hall, the little courtyard on a summer's lunchtime certainly has a whiff of decadence about it, if you can momentarily disassociate yourself from the traffic soup thickening up outside. You can see why the McCartneys, who won't eat anything with a face, make their pilgrimages here. And now, they'll be able to avoid Hammersmith altogether and concoct the Gate's recipes in the comfort of their own condos. The Daniel brothers have brought out a book detailing their imaginative recipes, complete with store-cupboard suggestions (you'll be needing pickled lemons, mark my words). Arugula has already perfected their aubergine caviar, which she serves with grilled goat's cheese and the merest hint that it's a great favourite with Madonna.