Do you remember when chefs just cooked? I ask because, as we hit the end of 2010 - the year in which Gordon Ramsay attempted to turn himself into an episode of Dallas, and Marco Pierre White hooked up with the now departed Bernard Matthews - I can't help but feel that the whole celebrity chef era has, finally, reached a kind of psychic crisis.

Once it was a novel trend that we could indulge, but, now, the modern British chef is so wrapped up in business and TV, so alienated from his natural self and the purpose of cooking, that we, the dining public, I feel, need to take a step back and redefine what exactly we mean by "chef". Once, cooking professionally was seen as a highly skilled craft, a calling even, prized in and of itself. Now it seems that applying heat to food is just something that "chefs" do to reinforce their core brand message.

In recent months, illustrative examples have readily suggested themselves. Take Tom Aikens. Tom, you'll remember, was the massively talented two Michelin star chef who, having flown too high and expanded too quickly, went bust - shafting many of his suppliers in a pre-pack administration.

Now, call me old fashioned, but after that, you might have expected Tom to take that hard lesson on board, wind his neck in, and rebuild his reputation by discreetly devoting himself to what he does best: cooking in a kitchen. Instead, two years on - thanks to his backers Oakley Capital - Tom is already running four London venues and is reportedly looking for sites in order to roll-out his Tom's Kitchen casual dining concept.

From Michael Caines and his ABode group to Michael Deane's fiefdom in Northern Ireland, such empire building is very much the modern way. That focus on business, however, has fostered a culture among ambitious young chefs where now they talk, without embarrassment, not about cooking as a beloved craft, or even pursuing Michelin stars for their own sake, but about building their brand to the point where it can be leveraged across all sorts of expansion, endorsement and consultancy.

TV plays a crucial part in the process. For some, it becomes everything. Matt Tebbutt recently put his hitherto well-regarded Foxhunter restaurant up for sale, in order to - and I think this crystallises the hubris of the celebrity chef era - concentrate more fully on his TV work.

He is not alone. Earlier this year, John Burton-Race decided that all that chopping, frying and split shifts at the New Angel was too much hassle, and left to concentrate on his (inexplicable) TV career and various consultancies. As Albert Roux told Restaurant Magazine, last month: "[The UK industry] is a little baby compared with France. I see more and more young people joining the industry, but some just want to be on TV - they are better off going to RADA than into a kitchen."

I'm not militant on this. If, after years of paying their dues, an otherwise dedicated chef wants to funnel the kitchen staff they have trained into a second (preferably different, stand-alone) venture, that is understandable. Two venues in the same area is manageable. Having eaten at its predecessor, the Bell Inn, I have high hopes for Claude Bosi's new Wimbledon pub. Equally, given how many fantastic independents have to fight for custom, I can't damn outright those who use TV to boost their profile. Preferably, they would share Sat Bains' principles. Bains will only get involved, sparingly, in programmes where he will actually cook (eg Great British Menu) and shuts his restaurant if he isn't available that service.

However, I think we can make a distinction. I think we need to start calling the likes of Aikens and Tebbutt what they are: brand managers, businessmen, celebrities, but not chefs. When Paul Heathcote was busy growing his restaurant group, he would openly acknowledge that, at that point (although he is having a rethink) he was more interested in spreadsheets and bank loans than pots and pans.

There is no shame in that, but it is different. It is not working as what we would traditionally call a chef, and that needs to be stated publicly. Why? Because currently, diners and aspiring chefs alike see these business dynamos, with their multiple venues and TV shows, as the heroes of British cooking. They are seen as being at the pinnacle of the professional chef's career ladder. Which is bullshit.

The real heroes of the British restaurant industry - the people who most deserve the title "chef" - are those often unsung, self-effacing owner-operators who are out there, quietly cooking in the same restaurant every day, honing their craft over decades. They are not cooking to win plaudits per se, and certainly not to earn big money, but because they take satisfaction in seeing a job done properly, and in delivering pleasure to their customers. I'm talking about people like Shaun Hill, who, having 'retired' was driven to return to the stove at the Walnut Tree, Bristol's legendary Stephen Markwick or David Everitt-Matthias, surely the least well-known two Michelin star chef in the country.

It is not just industry veterans who have that mindset, either. Paul Kitching is too obsessive to run two businesses, and swears far too much for TV, while Marc Wilkinson at Fraiche has followed a similarly singular trajectory, working alone in his Michelin starred kitchen. Brett Graham, a chef who relishes the battle of every service, seems refreshingly unmoved by the growing clamour around the Ledbury. Robert Thompson, the youngest British chef to ever win a Michelin star, and consequently a target for TV production companies, has likewise avoided such distractions. As he told the Observer: "I want to build my reputation, not on TV, but solely for my food."

Is the media to blame for all this? Perhaps, but rather than rehashing that old argument, let's use this blog as tiny corrective. Who are your unsung kitchen heroes? Which chefs are out there, quietly and unfussily, cooking not for fame or money, but because they love it?