THE SPICE BOYS: The top 10 Indian chefs in Britain are (from left) Varma, Kocchar, Sundaram, Mody, Todiwallah, Sarkhel, Sreedharan, Bhatia, Sriram and Singh

Iqbal Wahhab, owner of the Cinnamon Club, has quite a wicked sense of humour. In between peels of laughter he tells you of an Indian friend he invited to his restaurant for breakfast. The man was apparently taken aback when he saw dosas on the menu for £10 (Rs 700). But then Wahhab would be the first to admit that the Cinnamon Club-once the Old Westminster Library before Wahhab invested around £2.4 million to convert its cavernous space into an upmarket dining area, is not cheap. Business has been good even though the average bill works out to £60 a head, which is probably enough to feed a Southall family for a week. Some of the vintage wines, he adds, go up to £2,000.

Wahhab is not at all embarrassed by the exclusive image he has assiduously cultivated. "A restaurant has to look the part," is one of his little mottos. That 2,000 people a week, the vast majority of them English, are willing to pay Wahhab's prices suggests he is doing something right and that others may be tempted to follow his example.

As a perverse gesture, the first thing Wahhab did when he opened in April 2001 was ban poppadoms, to him a throwback to the bad old days. He flew to India, raided Rajasthan for a dozen or so of the most experienced chefs money could buy-one of them had prepared a meal for Bill Clinton during the American President's visit to the subcontinent in 2000-and has since taken great trouble in ensuring his food is beautifully presented. He does not think he is in line for a Michelin star just yet but give him time, he suggests.

RIGHT THERE AT THE TOP

THE CHOSEN ONES: Menezes of Zaika jokes that getting a Michelin star is hard, holding on to one harder; and it is hard work that has made Varma (below) a chef who caters to celebrities

For reasons best known to themselves, it took a century for the inspectors who produce the Michelin Red Guide to get round to Indian restaurants, even though they have been an important part of the British scene for at least 20 years. But in January 2001, a huge psychological barrier was overcome when two Indian restaurants, the Tamarind in Mayfair and the Zaika, which has since shifted from Fulham Road to bigger premises in High Street Kensington, were each given a Michelin star. This projected the two head chefs, Atul Kochhar and Vineet Bhatia, into the limelight and sent a signal to their counterparts in other Indian restaurants that they too could become Michelin men.

The award has placed even greater responsibility on Vernon Menezes, who manages the Zaika. Getting a Michelin star is hard enough, but holding on to one even harder, he jokes. Early in the new year, the Tamarind and the Zaika will know whether they have managed to retain their Michelin stars. That the food has to be top class is taken for granted. Menezes has to mount almost a daily military operation to keep the silver cutlery gleaming, the wine glasses sparkling, the tablecloths spotless and the brass plates on the lavatories shining with just the right quantity of brasso applied. These are concepts which do not come naturally to folk more used to the chalta-hai philosophy of desi khana than the exacting demands of international cuisine.

But this is exactly what is happening. The best Indian chefs in Britain, who invariably happen to be products of either the Taj or the Oberoi hotel groups back home, are succeeding in elevating Indian food from the level of mere "curry" to cuisine. The list of the "Top 10" Indian chefs in London should not be taken to mean there aren't others who are equally good, but, by common consent, the elite has to include Udit Sarkhel of Sarkhel's Indian Cuisine; Vikram Sundaram of the Bombay Brasserie-his general manager, Arun Harnal, makes it a point to cultivate a Hollywood clientele, among them Woody Allen-and Cyrus Todiwallah, the Parsi whose weakness is to experiment with such exotic meats as kangaroo and alligator at Cafe Spice Namaste. Another Parsi, Mehernosh Mody, has introduced Indian recipes from Pondicherry at La Portes des Indes; while Das Sreedharan and A.V. Sriram have tapped into the current craze for Kerala at Rasa Samudra and Quilon.

Andy Varma of Vama has become almost a caterer to Bollywood stars. When Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham was shot in Britain, his fashionable restaurant on King's Road, Chelsea, had a van rushing food to the entire cast and crew. VIP food, naturally, went to Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan, Shah Rukh Khan, Hrithik Roshan and the figure-conscious leading ladies, Kajol and Kareena Kapoor. It was a case of kabhi prawns, kabhie chicken, but never lamb-because of the foot and mouth disease scare.

So far, none of the Indian chefs has attained the celebrity status of, say, Jamie Oliver. But their day may yet come, for the characteristic of Indians is that they never stand still. It is argued that nouvelle Indian cuisine is not really necessary since rediscovering India's rich culinary heritage is a lifetime mission. Kuldeep Singh is doing precisely that at Mela. He has been spending as much time in his kitchen as he has in the archives of the British Museum researching Indian recipes from the 8th and 9th centuries. "It was heavily vegetarian," is his initial response.

Food festivals are one way in which restaurants have tried to break new ground. Rohit Khattar's Chor Bizarre, which has hosted numerous cultural events, including post-premiere Bollywood film parties, has promoted Kashmiri and Jodhpuri royal cuisine. Nor is the search for innovation, regional cuisine and authenticity confined to restaurants. Sainsbury's, the supermarket chain, and Noon Products, its main supplier of Indian meals, sent a joint team to India to visit restaurants, taste local dishes, wander through bazaars, drive through villages and pick up samples from spice markets. The result is that in the summer of 2001, Sainsbury's revamped its entire Indian meal range-the most profitable part of its prepared food sector-and provided the customer with everything from Goan fish curry to chicken xacuti and Bengali pilau rice.

On the face of it, prospects could not be better for Indian food which has grown into a multi-billion pound industry. This is no passing fad because of the addictive nature of turmeric, chilli, garam masala and zeera. Indian food does not simply taste delicious; people are starting to learn how green chilli stimulates circulation and of the anti-carcinogenic properties of turmeric.

In a nation where the trend is towards greater consumption of healthier vegetarian food, the future for Indian cuisine is assured. However, among Indians themselves, it is unclear whether British-born women will be as skilled at cooking as their mothers, who were either taught from an early age or learnt when they got married. A vox pop among 20 Indian women, aged between 20 and 40, in London, revealed 19 either could not or would not cook chapati, which the more feminist anyway regard as a symbol of everything they want to get away from.

Although one should not generalise too much, it does seem that men, including Indian men, find it easier to make it to the ranks of top chefs. The anecdotal evidence suggests that British-born Indian women are not willing, unlike their mothers and grandmothers, to spend hours in the kitchen. If it has to be Indian, they would much rather eat out or ring for a takeaway.

To be sure, there are prominent Indian women who are passionate about cooking but that is often because they run businesses-Meena Pathak, Parween Warsi-or are gathering recipes for a book-Madhur Jaffrey, Pinky Lilani. Home cooking, Indian style, is in serious danger of becoming a lost art. What the past has confirmed is that a real craze for Indian food exists among the English.