Before it was a restaurant in Murray Hill, Leslie’s was a love story.
Chef Sebastián Fernández was 16 years old when he started cooking professionally in Chile. He did not finish his academic training for economic reasons, but he found in the kitchens a more demanding school: that of daily effort, the pressure of service and absolute respect for the profession. He learned early that anything worthwhile requires time, perseverance and character.
Interestingly, those same rules would end up defining his relationship with Leslie Ames.
They met when he frequented the cafe she managed. First it was admiration, then complicity, then partnership. Over time, the personal relationship became a creative alliance. Together they opened restaurants in Miami, celebrated successes and faced the inevitable challenges of starting a business as a couple. Now, in New York, the project bears her name: Leslie. It’s not marketing; It is declaration.
“The responsibilities came naturally,” explains Chef Fernández. She dominates the front of the room, dealing with the public, the rhythm of the room. He inhabits the kitchen, the space where fire and silence impose their own rules. As in any relationship that works, they do not compete: they complement each other.
That dynamic is felt in the restaurant. Leslie doesn’t scream; welcomes The space is warm, without excessive pretensions, as if the intention were to replicate the intimacy of a shared table rather than impress with spectacle. Here, cooking is the language.
Chef Fernández, recognized among the “Sixty Best Chefs in America” by the Food Network Wine & Food / SOBE Festival, has lived experiences that few chefs achieve. Cooking for Barack Obama on Martha’s Vineyard, for example, taught her that true sophistication is not in the protocol, but in the detail. “Everyone is VIP,” he repeats. And that philosophy has a lot to do with love: making the person sitting in front of you feel special, even if the world around you is full of noise.
The menu speaks the same emotional language. Deviled eggs inspired by your grandmother’s recipe are not gratuitous nostalgia; They are affective memory. Daily handmade pasta isn’t just technical; It is repeated dedication with intention. The smash burger, far from being simple, is shared comfort. At Leslie, the dishes do not seek to dazzle, they seek to connect.
New York is not an easy city for relationships. Not for restaurants either. Starting from scratch in a fierce market means vulnerability. “The most difficult thing is to start without anyone knowing you,” admits Chef Fernández. But perhaps there lies the clearest parallel: as in love, every day you have to conquer it again.
Valentine’s Day, inevitably, puts that idea under the microscope. While many opt for predictable formulas, Chef Fernández prefers to remain faithful to his identity: leading product, classic execution, without artifice. Oysters, seafood, well-done meats. Romance without exaggeration. Because, in the end, the most lasting seduction is not in the spectacle, but in authenticity.
Working as a couple for more than a decade is no coincidence. It requires communication, patience and clarity in roles. “The spark keeps talking a lot and respecting each other,” says Chef Fernández. In the kitchen—as in a relationship—there is fire, pressure and chemistry. And yes, the personal inevitably ends up on the plate: in the care, in the energy, in the invisible detail that transforms a meal into an experience.
If anyone were to take away just one impression after dining at Leslie, Chef Fernandez hopes it is consistency. Let them feel that behind each dish there is a shared history, a society that works and a firm conviction that simplicity done well never goes out of style.
In Murray Hill, Leslie’s isn’t just a new restaurant. It’s proof that some of the best recipes—like the best relationships—are built with time, respect, and constant fire.
