The success of this branch of Cipriani, a once exclusive institution turned unreassuringly expensive international brand, is hard to fathom for some. The marble-tiled interior, all kitsch porthole windows and oversized murals, is not without its charms. But the Italian food is of the comforting but unexceptional variety and scandalously overpriced to boot. But that’s not the point of C London. Its core clientele of socialites, fashion-types and assorted celebs are rich enough not to have to worry about the inflated price of the starters or the excruciatingly expensive mineral water. They’re also, a smattering of suited business types aside, not really that interested in eating. Rather they come to graze, gossip, make merry or show off their latest batch of cosmetic work. As Fay Maschler, The Evening Standard’s restaurant critic, notes, after dinner here you’ll cancel that appointment with the plastic surgeon.