A curious new trend is creeping clumsily into clubland – the transformation of traditional nightclubs, dance dens and lounges into “full-service” hotspots that serve food.

The club/restaurant hybrid seeks to appease needy nightcrawlers tired of hopscotching from spot to spot in the pursuit of the perfect night.

“We’re trying to do an all-purpose club where you can come for dinner at 8:30, then go to the downstairs lounge and start dancing or hang out and have drinks with your friends,” says David Rabin, a co-owner of the new Meat District lounge Lotus, a winning example of the new hybrid. “I think we’re the kind of place where you could spend your whole night.”

It’s an intriguing premise for weary clubcrawlers – but does it work?

Can a nightclub that specializes in sweat-drenched dance floor debauchery double as a decent restaurant?

The Post sought to answer that burning question by visiting five nightclub/restaurants recently-One51, Ohm, Hush, Lot 61 and Lotus.

After a week of parting velvet ropes to hunker down in the darkened confines of a club to eat dinner, we’re a little plumper, a little wiser and definitely ready to dish.

First we went to One51 (151 E. 50th St.), a favorite of Derek Jeter and his hard-playing Yankee pals.

We sidled into a table overlooking the dance floor, which at 8 p.m. was bare except for a lonely legion of little tables set out for dinner.

The tables would be swept away at 10 p.m. for a popular bridge-and-tunnel dance party, but until then One51 served rather awkwardly as an eatery for us and a table of nine drink-clinking stockbrokers.

We had the pan-seared Maryland crab cakes, which disappointed us with their mushy texture as we stared in fascinated horror at the pink-neon One51 hologram spinning on the wall next to us.

The sautéed breast of chicken with portabello mushrooms was a little soggy and the rock lobster tail a bit rubbery – not unlike the middling fare you’d wolf down at a wedding.

Before we left, we gazed down from the upstairs lounge at the tempting tube-topped girls trickling in and decided we might return some night – after dinner.

Ohm (16 W. 22nd St.) is a cavernous Flatiron club that boasts a decadent decor of blood-red curtains, Roman pillars and a snake-like, copper-coated bar.

A beefy bouncer who barked into his headset led us to a bank of tables near the dance floor, cordoned off by a velvet rope.

Ohm’s executive chef, Robert Gagnon, was imported from Tavern on the Green. The food is decent enough, if you don’t mind not being able to see what you’re eating and shouting over the thumping dance beats.

The hearty 16-oz. sirloin steak, which was tasty if not exceptional, was nicely complimented by a green peppercorn sauce and spinach mashed potatoes.

The pistachio-crusted chicken breast with morel mushroom sauce and a polenta cake was also pleasing.

But it seemed that with every forkful of food, another group of thick-necked guys would push past our table toward the dance floor, where they undoubtedly hoped to run into the same tube-topped lovelies who turned our heads at One51.

As we headed upstairs to the V.I.P. lounge, we wished them luck.

By the time we hit Hush (17 W. 19th St.), we were prepared for the three disco balls spinning over the dinner tables and the blasting Jennifer Lopez remix.

About 20 guys in khakis and plaid shirts were having after-work cocktails annoyingly close to the dinner tables set on the dance floor, so we asked to be seated somewhere quieter.

“How about the cave?” suggested owner Steve Steckel, a burly former head bouncer at Studio 54, as he led us to a purple velvet booth that looked like the kind of love lounge where fuschia-favoring funkster Prince might canoodle.

We nibbled on succulent Puerto Rican gulf shrimp – inexplicably draped atop a softball-sized mound of guacamole wrapped in an onion skin – as we settled into the cushioned nook.

The garishly romantic setting was a welcome distraction from the noisy crowd at the bar.

“We started off hip and trendy,” Steckel shrugged, “but eventually you have to go commercial to make money.”

Next we decided to play it safe and supper at Lot 61 (550 W. 21st St.), restaurateur Amy Sacco’s tastefully trendy lounge is a celeb favorite.

Unlike some of the previous hotspots, Lot 61’s hipster clientele is nearly as likely to order food as drinks.

The tasty steamed Chilean sea bass with Thai curry glaze and sticky rice wrapped in a banana leaf arrived in a bamboo bucket. A penne with wild mushrooms, asparagus and truffle oil was pleasing.

On the night we visited, the attentive waitstaff was still buzzing about a martini-swilling Quentin Tarantino getting carried away and rubbing watermelon on his giggly galpals during a recent visit, so we were on our best behavior.

Continuing our upward trend, we stopped by a special advance tasting at the much-buzzed about Lotus (409 W. 14th St.).

Ruling the kitchen with an iron oven mitt is the renowned Richard Farnabe, Tommy Hilfiger’s personal chef, formerly of Mercer Kitchen and Jean Georges.

Farnabe’s French-themed fare did not disappoint.

We feasted on an exquisite paupiette of John Dory (that’s rolled-up fish), with foie gras and chanterelles and an excellent sautéed lobster with artichokes in a lemongrass mint broth.

For dessert, a cannelloni of creme brulee ice cream served in a pool of caramel sauce gave us a satisfying sugar high.

Later, we sat at the bar and watched Matt Dillon, Fisher Stevens and a gaggle of fashionistas devour the delicious fare.

But no matter how appealing Lotus was, we couldn’t bear the thought of holing up in one hotspot for the rest of the night.

Instead, we reverted to our old clubcrawling ways, waddled outside and hailed a cab.