Inside Edition

Altogether it's a young, talented team with a shared goal — perhaps even obsession — to produce gloriously delicious food. Seriously. Bernstein leads the mission and relates to the two J's in an easy, professional manner (they worked with her at Azul). For the first hour or so that I was in the kitchen, Bernstein was all sweetness and smiles, like an Argentine-Jewish version of Reese Witherspoon. Chefs, though, are like heads of state: As charming as they might be, you know they have to possess a tough side to have gotten where they are. Sure enough, when it came time to tackling the pluckier tasks, Bernstein's less Reesey, more cheflike bearing emerged. A spat between a couple of dishwashers was one such incident. After taking the antagonists outside individually for a brief chat, Bernstein gave the sous chef a quick appraisal of the situation, which basically consisted of her not being enthralled by one of the two dishwashers. Judging by her tone, I'd be very surprised if that worker were still washing dishes the next day.

Michy's kitchen operates like the classical old European restaurants of yesteryear, when everything was made from scratch. There are no walk-in freezers, no microwaves, no racks stacked with boxes of pasta, canned goods, premade salad dressings, or shiploads of Sysco products. Whole chickens, ducks, and fish are taken apart and portioned, the bones reserved for stocks. Steaks are cut from the whole sirloin — in a creative manner: A side of New York strip gets turned into stocky, square bricks of meat. Schaan spends hours every morning rolling and cutting various pastas for the day and then meticulously pipes calabaza squash purée (sweetened with crumbled amaretto wafers) into what will be agnolotti — all of this painstaking work for a dish used only as an accompaniment to duck breast with Oaxacan molé. And speaking of painstaking work: Bernstein makes the molé as well. Gnocchi, mayonnaise, French fries: prepared on the premises.

While cleaning a giant white fillet of striped bass, the sous chef noted how exquisite a fish it was. "That is beautiful," Bernstein concurred. "How much was it?" "$11.25 a pound," he replied. The expression on Bernstein's face was similar to that of someone seduced by a potentially perfect pair of shoes in a shop window who then looks closer and sees the $600 price tag.

Let's swim with that striped bass for a while. After it's allotted into neat white rectangles, a prep cook fills each one with a duxelle of black trumpet mushrooms enhanced with garlic, shallots, tarragon, and thyme and then wraps it in brick dough (similar to phyllo). Meanwhile another cook prepares a silky yellow sauce from locally grown corn. Later, when the bass is ordered, a line cook will roast it to a golden brown, ladle a circle of the heated sauce on a plate, and place the fish on top. Bernstein then adds a relish of pickled corn and mushrooms, and checks that everything is in order before the waiter carries it to the dining room. A bowl of rolled, moistened minitowels sits by the station in case the plate rims need wiping.

Wand-shape graters are also positioned here, along with chunks of Pecorino Romano and a black Italian truffle the size of a golf ball. Bernstein used an enthusiastic hand while shaving both, which isn't surprising; there is something generous about all of the food here. Even the lunchtime hamburgers are plump, hand-formed, and graced with tomato wedges so thick, juicy, and fire-engine red they look like models for an ad campaign by the Council for Higher Tomato Sales.

Desserts such as baked Alaska and strawberry shortcake are crafted in-house too, the former coming under discussion when a couple of cooks questioned whether the dulce de leche ice-cream filling made it too sweet (it is also layered with pistachio ladyfingers and drizzled with passion fruit sauce). Bernstein didn't think so, and apparently the debate got back to either the pastry chef or front of house, who a short time later sent word that the baked Alaska was getting rave reviews from the customers and is one of the top sellers. I, meanwhile, stole away to the back corner of the kitchen and set about gobbling down my lunch, slices of foie gras torchon (the liver marinated in brandy/madeira, wrapped into a cylindrical shape, and poached) with delicate brioche toasts and blood orange marmalade. Yummy.