Dylan McGrath, the most exciting Irish chef of his generation

decade ago it was all pesto and sundried tomatoes. And chances are, while you'll still find Caesar salad, calamari, and something with goat's cheese on most Irish restaurant menus, you'll also see evidence of other, more recent, trends – most notably the premium burger, the pork belly and the bastardised crème brûlée.


The noughties saw the democratisation of food in Ireland. This was the decade in which we got used to eating in restaurants, when dining out stopped being such a big deal, transcended the special occasion and became part of everyday life. And, even in straitened times, the habit is something we punters are loath to give up. We are still eating out in our droves, taking advantage of the fixed-price deals on offer everywhere.


Restaurateurs will tell you that even though their establishments may be busy, they aren't making money: costs are high, margins are down and so is the average spend per head. Tap water is fine, thanks. The upper end of the wine list, where profits might linger, is somewhere customers tend not to go these days. Corporate business is down, expenses are scrutinised more closely. Diners tend to be less flathhúlach when it's their own money they're spending.


One positive side-effect of this shift in client base is good restaurants are more fun and better value than they have been in years, full of people there to enjoy each other's company. There's an amount of sweet revenge in the air. We all paid €40 for a main course at the height of the madness, now we expect three courses with wine and our taxi home for that. The rub is that pressure to keep prices down is having an inevitable impact on the quality of ingredients.


Ten years ago, Johnny Cooke's Cooke's Café on the corner of Castle Market and South William Street rivalled the Unicorn as Dublin's canteen of choice. Cooke was the first person to bring the Caesar salad to Ireland and he did it beautifully. His Mediterranean Californian menu was revolutionary: the great and the good had flocked in since he opened in the early '90s. After a couple of splutters, Cooke's finally closed its doors in September of 2008. (The premises is now a Gourmet Burger Kitchen.)


The Unicorn is still going strong, attracting a loyal clientele that tends not to eat anywhere else. Cooke's core crowd had moved on years before it closed – to Eden, the Mermaid and L'Gueuleton, which for a while was the most sought-after table in town, mainly because you couldn't book. The glitter monkeys lit upon Venu (to sip cosmopolitans) and Bang (to ogle its handsome proprietors) – the dining equivalents of the Ice Bar and, later, The Dylan. Those who didn't want to pretend they were an extra in some bizarrely relocated episode of Sex in the City favoured the less shiny Ar Vicoletto in Temple Bar – an establishment that has recently reinvented itself and looks set for a second moment in the sun.


And then of course came Town Bar & Grill, as revolutionary in its own way as Cooke's Café had been, managing the seemingly impossible feat of turning a compromised basement into the hottest restaurant in town. Property developers were our new rock stars and TB&G's user-friendly and impeccably executed Californian-Italian menu was a hit with them all from the get-go. Actors and musicians came in after a day on set or a night on stage. Ronan Ryan, the proprietor, recalls nights when there was a celebrity at every table.


An expensive and ill-advised foray into expansion – South Bar & Grill in Sandyford – threatened its survival but TB&G has emerged from examinership with new owners (two of its best customers, Richard Barrett and Johnny Ronan, bought the gaff rather than have to find somewhere else to eat) and is back on form, with Ryan still in charge, optimistic for the future after a busy November and December. These days, Nick Munier's and Stephen Gibson's Pichet is TB&G's most serious competition for the custom of the great and the good in search of excellent food and more than a bit of buzz.


While TB&G survived, notable restaurant casualties of the recession include Gary Rhodes' D7, Locks and Mint, home to Ireland's own bad-boy celebrity chef, the Michelin-starred Dylan McGrath. The most exciting Irish chef of his generation, operating in the same modernist realm as international superstars Ferran Adria and Heston Blumenthal (they all love their foams), McGrath has yet to find a new, permanent home for his sublime and innovative food.


Meanwhile, Conrad Gallagher, the master of 'tall food', McGrath's 1990s' equivalent, is back from a stint in South Africa and set to reinvent himself yet again – this time at Salon des Saveurs on Aungier Street in Dublin.


Other top-tier Irish chefs such as Derry Clarke at L'Ecrivain, Ross Lewis at Chapter One and Neven Maguire at McNean House have had a less traumatic decade. By keeping their heads down and their standards high, they may not be turning over as much money as in the height of the boom but there are still waiting lists for weekend night tables.


At the other end of the restaurant spectrum, the revival of the all-day neighbourhood café is a trend set to continue. Watch out, too, for a secret restaurant in a private home near you – they are cropping up everywhere.


Among people who care about food – and that's often a different thing to caring about restaurants – the noughties was the decade in which provenance, sourcing and sustainability became paramount. Adam Platt at New York Magazine dubs this ingredient-led trend – in which a virtue is made of the origins of the food on the plate, its rearing and seasonality – "haute barnyard".


American menus are coming down with "heritage" tomatoes and beetroots. In the UK, the vogue for what Jay Rayner of the Observer calls "organic, free-range, touchy feely" food is also more firmly established than in Ireland, where you'd still be hard-pushed to find a bit of Gloucestershire Old Spot either on a menu or in your local butcher.


In shopping terms, the decade saw the rise of the farmers' market. We all got rather excited for a while. Unfortunately, many of these markets had precious few farmers and too many bakers of margarine-heavy apple tarts, importers of extortionately priced imported fruit and vegetables and purveyors of wind chimes.


As the supermarkets continue to compete over the price of food and the weekly shop has become an exercise in competitive frugality, a shakedown of the markets is inevitable. If they are to flourish, they need to re-focus on quality, and on local and seasonal produce – to appeal to the patriot lurking in us all who'd rather support the local economy.


Good Food Ireland is a club of accommodation and food providers, cookery schools and food producers all passionately committed to using local Irish food, and to high standards and sustainable ethics. Their star, along with that of fellow travellers in the Slow Food movement, is set to rise over the coming years.


A few short years ago, a visit to Lidl or Aldi was something shameful, to be carried out under cover of darkness. Now we are all at it. We know about Aldi's aged ribeye and Lidl's Parma ham. Even M&S is selling shoulder of lamb, a cut few of us would have heard of (let alone contemplated engaging with) five years ago. With more time on our hands we have learned, with the help of a slew of frugal cookbooks and recipe-sharing websites, to make the most out of a ham hock and a chicken carcass and to pot-roast brisket and housekeepers' cut.


Only a few short years ago it was Jamie's whole seared fillet and Nigella's this and Gordon's whatever that were ubiquitous at middle-class dinner parties. You were nothing if you didn't produce something from the TV chef du jour's latest offering. Now it's more likely to be something creative with mince that earns the admiration of your guests.


The noughties will also be remembered as the decade of food intolerance, with its tiresome pandering to those who don't eat wheat or dairy, or caffeine or gluten, or sugar or yeast, a phenomenon that appears, mysteriously, to be on the wane as belts tighten of their own accord.


It was the decade that we started growing our own, with many beginners discovering the truth of the old adage that you'd be better off doing your vegetable shopping in Harrod's Food Hall (read: Fallon & Byrne's by way of Irish substitute) and rubbing a bit of mud over your purchases. And we thought about getting chickens – next year we might even get around to it.


These are trends that are set to continue. Look out too for ever more salted caramel, for Asian-Latin fusion (Korean tacos, anyone?), for more downscaling from top-ranking chefs (second-tier restaurants and supermarket ready meals), eggs as ingredients, retro puddings, low-carbon-footprint dining and coal-fired pizza. I can't wait.