Restaurant review, Shrimpy's, London.

Where have they all come from? All these hipsters, tiny of beard and large of spectacle? Is there a shuttle bus, bringing them over from east London? Why is that man wearing some kind of shortie pyjama suit? And shouldn't that girl try and cover up some of those tattoos with a pretty scarf?

This week we're in Shrimpy's, which pretty much represents the cutting-edge of London dining, at least for those of us who don't get out much. Look away now, if you are sensitive to any of the following words. Pop-up. Art space. Urban regeneration. Calexican food. For Shrimpy's is – in a move guaranteed to stymie even the most ardent parodists of trendy nonsense – a temporary diner housed in the kiosk of a former petrol station. Marooned in the interzone of high-rise developments behind Kings Cross, the old filling station has been re-purposed as a canalside gallery, bar and restaurant, and rebranded as – hah! – King's Cross Filling Station. Once, this was a notorious red-light area. Now the miniskirted girls are buying, rather than selling.

Last time I queued in this space, it was to pay for pump number four and a packet of Rolos. Now I am threading my way across an al fresco terrace, through what seems to be a staff outing from Perfect Curve, and lining up for a table in the booked-out diner. It's small – imagine, say, a petrol station kiosk that has been taken over by architects. The look is American diner with a quirky urban twist, the counter lined with bar stools but sporting flowers and thrift-store pineapple lamps, the walls painted with naïve primary-coloured motifs, like the window display of a particularly inept tattoo parlour.

But the welcome is warm, the velvet banquettes comfortable and the tables draped in crisp linen. Staff are impeccably turned out, in classic French waiter garb of white jackets and black ties. The formal effect was slightly undermined by our Amazonian waitress's double-decker hairstyle – a bleached white bubble perched atop a dark buzz cut. "I've never been intimidated by a waitress's hair before," whispered Harry.

Read more at http://www.independent.co.uk