I like to imagine that good food, wine and conviviality are enough to ensure a restaurant’s success. But time and time again we witness sure-fire winners crash and burn, and the mediocre thrive. Restaurateurs and chefs share war stories of bad locations and being wet behind the ears, but many more will tell of the constant battle to get bums on seats; the battle to harness ‘influence’ to keep the doors open.  So, in an ever-changing landscape of influence, how does this influence play out?

Anthony Huckstep, delicious. Australia’s national critic, says: “Gone are the days where chefs and restaurateurs truly feared a critic. I’m sure they care, but they’re not heading out at midnight anymore to get the first print edition, sweating bullets over every written word.”

Some critics may disagree, but these days it’s all about demographics; the landscape of criticism is vast, from old-school critics to social influencers and regular diners dropping comments on the likes of Facebook and TripAdvisor. “By the time my reviews, and those of others, come out, there’s already 200 shots from any given venue posted on Instagram,” says Huckstep.

“It’s often just food porn. A sexy food photo that doesn’t tell the story of the atmosphere, the service, the energy of the room or what the food tastes like.” Pictures taken for Instagram aren’t necessarily the best dish, he says, “just the one that scrubs up well in the pics”.

Food writer Melissa Leong says: “More than one venue opened solely based on the idea of creating food and spaces that look social-media worthy but lack substance in their conception or flavour. It’s tantamount to wasting food when all it’s designed to do is put bums on seats. Things that look pretty but taste bad… are just bad.”

While some chefs bemoan the rise of social influencers, and the insta-culture around food, are they not just playing the game themselves, and in many cases, winning?

The truth, unsurprisingly, is that whether food and venues are ’grammable can really make a difference in some demographics. Barclaycard, the UK credit company, recently released research that found that 33 per cent of 18- to 24-year-olds in the UK wouldn’t eat at a restaurant lacking a social media presence; a stat that is likely to cross borders. Further, 42 per cent of 25- to 34-year-olds say that they post food images primarily as peer recommendations. Carry this all forward and the best-looking dishes are surely going to win out in such a visual medium. Like fashion, it has to look good.

So what of the often maligned social influencer? Who has time for blogs anymore? Twitter is increasingly devoid of positivity. This leaves Instagram, with its friendlier vibe, top of the heap. Away from often-incendiary copy that reads like generational warfare there’s a breed of social influencer – predominantly focused on Instagram – with integrity; who’ve parlayed respect and opportunities from the social space.

“For me food has always been a passion and something that I love to explore,” says Tim, the Sydney-raised, London-based brains behind @clerkenwellboyec1. With 185k followers, he doesn’t give his last name and you won’t find gratuitous selfies on his feed. Tim is to most, anonymous. No mean feat considering he was curator of the global hit Cook for Syria. “I have a full-time job and for me it’s a kind of escape, a true passion. I don’t have a desire to become a critic or have food as my full-time career.”

Tim’s posts capture the food scene in London and beyond. He’ll be the one bagging the window table for natural light, snapping with his smartphone, like 80 per cent of his fellow diners. “It’s opened up a lot of opportunities in a positive way in terms of meeting amazing people who I’ve looked up to for a long time,” he says. “Food icons like Jamie Oliver and Nigella Lawson plus food critics whose columns I love reading like Grace Dent (The Guardian) and Fay Maschler (London Evening Standard).”

Being someone with digital influence is a responsibility, says Tim. “It’s not just to be someone who says everything is great because it’s free. I don’t critique to the point where it’s a restaurant review, because I’m not a restaurant reviewer. I want to celebrate food and shine a spotlight on the places that deserve recognition, not just the hottest new places.”

In terms of the ethics of social influence, Tim is clear on the lines that he draws for himself. “It’s all about disclosure. I’ve never emailed a restaurant to say, ‘Can you give me a free meal’. I’m just a normal diner, so I just want to enjoy my meal and have a good conversation with who I’m with. I usually post the next day or the day after, and I post less than 10 per cent of what I actually eat and photograph.”

This is perhaps the simple secret of his success, and the downfall of those that seek to push the envelope of their social value. “In the last six to eight months it’s changed,” says Joanna Reymond-Burns of Melbourne-based Reymond Communications. “When we develop a strategy, we’d include influencer engagements, a couple in a month, depending on the budget of the venue. But the influencer industry is so large now that the impact isn’t what it was say two years ago.”

While Reymond-Burns still engages with some trusted contacts for her clients, focus has pivoted to business influencers. “I see there’s strength in working with local businesses who will come in for lunch with other business people and those guests will then come in off their own back with their friends or their family,” she says. “A business influencer may have a strong social media following, but it’s certainly a little more old school.”

With diminishing returns on wider influencer activity it’s a move that’s echoed throughout the marketing and PR world. For Reymond-Burns it’s still a case of honing in on core guidelines. “Do your research; ensure that the audience of that influencer is going to be a customer that comes into the restaurant and know they’ll respect the restaurant, that they know their food and drink, and how to communicate that to their followers.”

Working with social influencers isn’t easy, she concedes. “Relationships can change; it could be that payment is asked for, or it could be taking advantage of the venue and ordering very expensive wine.” Ultimately, it comes back to communication and respect, she says. “The offering is set out, our guidelines are quite firm so we try to avoid upset on either side. I was fortunate to grow up in the hospitality industry, so I really understand how restaurants and chefs work, the budgets of restaurants. Working in hospitality you learn a respect for people.”

And so what about the critic in this changing landscape? The game’s not up for what some see as an old-school medium. Reymond-Burns says it’s all about providing information, “and then from there all we can do is encourage them to visit. They certainly don’t accept invitations. They might come to a launch event or a dinner we host, but more often they’ll say, ‘I can’t come until I’ve been in and done my review’.”

“We’re there for those that are interested in what they eat, where to dine and want to be engaged in the discussion,” says Anthony Huckstep. “That’s where the critic comes in. With the blurred lines of influencers and the like, honest, genuine, ethically formed opinion with no strings attached is rare, and valued by many.”