As we were seated at Stefan's at L.A. Farm on Tuesday afternoon, it was obvious that chef-owner Stefan Richter was unsettled. He flitted about the restaurant without purpose, avoiding any conversation that might extend beyond pleasantries. Frequent trips were made outside for cigarette breaks. Picture the Tasmanian Devil in a toque.

Richter, a finalist on "Top Chef" last season, was facing the day of reckoning that every restaurateur lives for and dreads. That afternoon the major media outlet in the city would post online its first review of his restaurant. By 2:30 p.m., a printout of S. Irene Virbila's positive review in the Los Angeles Times was circulating among Richter and his business associates; by 3 p.m., two bottles of sparkling wine had been popped open.

"The review is only up for a few seconds and then they take it down," one of Richter's staff says, explaining that only by refreshing a particular URL was it possible to get a sneak peek of the notice. The consensus was that Virbila understood and appreciated Stefan's. "He's more interested in having a viable restaurant than dazzling foodies," the critic concluded. "He's been able to gauge what people want to eat, which may be exactly the kind of professionalism needed to succeed in this economic climate."

Richter had to wait to learn that he received two stars -- the number he was hoping for -- but was pleased he would not have to engage The Times in any sort of public battle of words defending his new enterprise.

"The economy is bad and people have to adjust," Richter says, the tone of his voice constantly at the fever pitch viewers came to know on "Top Chef." "Before I opened, I realized people can't afford $20 glasses of wines these days. Good food. Wines at $10 a glass and $36 a bottle. You can't cater to yourself; you have to cater people. If I want split goats hooves on a platter, it's my problem."

I didn't expect to be present for the tense review-posting moment. The lunch invitation I had from Richter's publicist was to sample some of the specialties and then chat with Los Angeles' most exciting Finnish import since Esa-Pekka Salonen. In more than 20 years of editing and writing music, theater, TV, film and restaurant reviews, this was the first time I had been present when the subject was getting the news, interpreting each paragraph, and finally translating the words into a thumbs up or thumbs down. The table at which we were seated in the airy space on Olympic Boulevard became celebration central, lunch extended to the dinner hour, the champagne was replaced with white wine selected by Richter.

Richter and chef Leo Fellippe are in accord as they pick out the menu's fun and interesting items to serve to the table -- the Like a Big Mac slider, Tater Tots with Hidden Valley Ranch, beef tartare with poached quail eggs, pork cheek and caraway sausage with sauerkraut and mashed potatoes, pumpkin soup, arancini, lamb loin.

Similarly, they agree on what has to stay on the menu to lure the critical Hollywood lunch crowd from the the eastern edge of Santa Monica -- a Caesar salad, a turkey burger made from a house-ground mix of 60 percent breast meat and 40 percent thigh.

Their rabbit salad, they agree, is one of a handful of dishes that is not working and will be replaced. "I can't just drop things and shorten the menu," Richter says. "I'll get bored if I don't create new items."

Richter, 37, was portrayed as the snotty European during his lengthy run on Bravo's "Top Chef" fifth season; he might as well have had "arrogant" stitched into the breast of his chef whites. His cooking, based on judges' comments and what viewers saw, was spot-on until the finale, when he slipped. But confidence was never an issue on TV, nor is it at Stefan's at L.A. Farm, where he plays the role of welcoming host.

"People want to see the true Stefan. They act surprised -- you're just like you were on TV. I thank ['Top Chef' producers] Magic Elves and Bravo for trying to make me look like an arrogant bastard. Am I arrogant? Yes. Am I a hard-ass? Yes. But you have to be in business, or people will take everything away from you. Having a great right hand in Leo gives me a chance to tell people what I'm about."

And that, to be summed up in a word, is America. It's American cooking. Classic rock on the restaurant sound system. It's the 1964 red Mustang he drives, the Journey T-shirt he wears during the interview. The anecdotes he tells of his 13 years in the U.S. are seemingly constructed to elicit laughs or compassion. So neatly told, they deserve titles: "The $200 Red Truck," "Drinking in a Black Neighborhood in Detroit," "The Almond Experiments," "Making 17,000 Servings of Salad Dressing in a Studio Apartment" and "The Auction."

Most stories end with a graphic and potentially offensive pronouncement or a declaration about the greatness of the U.S.A.

"I'm pushing America," he says several times, explaining his cuisine and plans for the future. "This is the land of opportunity. It's too much work to be Old World, where things have to be lined up properly, trying to duplicate something from Europe. America is a great food nation. It's simple -- take certain things from certain countries but don't try to re-create old European [dishes]."

That American streak showed up in his wine list, which Virbila cracked needed a "makeover." Richter is unbowed.

"I'm glad to keep it American -- 10 whites, 10 reds, 10 beers."

As the dinner crowd arrives, Richter embraces the dining room, playing ambassador. Wines left over from the previous management are cracked open and shared with various guests. At each table he inquires about their tastes, occupations and satisfaction with the cocktails. Traffic level was moderate for a Tuesday. It gave Richter a chance to do what he wants others to do: Relax, take in some Rush or Journey, and enjoy some food and drink that doesn't break the bank.

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