8.30

"I `ate noise," explains Guillaume Lebrun and there is a brief moment of confusion as I try to figure out what dish he could be referring to. But the very French chef of Restaurant Patrick Guilbaud in Dublin is in fact explaining why at 8.30 a.m. the only sound heard in his kitchen is the rhythmic chopping, peeling and filleting being done by 12 chefs already busy at their stations. "There is no talk here, because there is not time," he shrugs.

Apart from the silence, the other surprise is that the chef is here at all and not down at some market haggling over produce. "No," he says, "these days, the market comes to me." As if on cue, the fishmonger arrives from Youghal with boxes filled with the day's catch.

The hierarchy in a kitchen of this calibre makes the army seem positively egalitarian. After "chef" as he is called by all the staff, the second in command is Regis, who came over from France seven years ago. Then Penny, a young Dublin woman who has steadily progressed from her start as vegetable cutter to her current prestigious position as chef de partie. All have commis chefs or apprentices working under them who take instructions without a murmur. Then there is the pastry chef, introduced as such because although he has been there years, Guillaume can't remember his name. "To me, he is the pastry chef."

Pastry chefs are a sort of breed apart in a kitchen. Their work is so precise and specialised they are largely left to their own devices. This one, Stephane, is the third of the four French people working in the kitchen, the rest are Irish.

There has been an added buzz since the award of the two Michelin stars. "We're all very very proud," beams Penny, as she fillets a pile of John Dory with the expert precision of a surgeon. Apart from emergencies, Patrick Guilbaud himself doesn't cook anymore. Looking immaculate in a navy suit, he arrives just before the waiters at 10 a.m. His job now is general management and being the public face of the restaurant. While the six waiters set up tables, polish silver and make sure every glass is gleaming, the pace and the heat in the kitchen pick up and the clock on the wall gets a lot of snached glances from everyone. Brendan, a Galwayman who became a chef at 29 after several deskbound years in Telecom, patiently rolls out hand made saffron noodles. "It's part of a starter. I've been on starters for a year now," he says cheerfully, hanging the yellow strips on a wooden clothes horse that looks incongruous In the stainless steel and tiled kitchen.

Beside him at the vegetable table all is not well. The courgettes, it seems, are being cut a little too thick and Regis patiently demonstrates to the two young vegetable chefs just how it should be done. It transpires that most of the courgettes will be used in the staff lunch, but that's not the point.

11.40 a.m.

Guillaume tastes every part of every dish. Everything passes except the saute'ed fennel. He takes a mouthful, storms off to the nearest bin and loudly spits it out. "Bah! Too much salt," he says with disdain, leaving the wide eyed chef to sort it out. Quickly. There are 40 people booked in for lunch. The four starters, four main courses, and several desserts that are on the lunch menu are either ready to be cooked, already in the oven or simmering away. Out front, the all French team of waiters have changed into their tuxedos. It is time for the staff lunch. Everyone, including Catherine, the front of house receptionist, fills their plate with roast potatoes, vegetables and a meat stew. She started her day by phoning around confirming today's bookings. "I used to do it only on weekend nights, but since the two Michelin stars, there's a waiting list for lunch and dinner every single day."

12.30p.m.

The first customers arrive. The kitchen staff stand at their stations ready for the first orders. The air of anticipation and practised tension is like being in a dressingroom prior to a performance. An order comes 10 minutes later and with it there's an immediate jump to action. The waiter hands the docket through the serving hatch to Guillaume who shouts in very fast French to the kitchen and is answered by a chorus of "ouis".

For the next two hours the trays of ingredients are transformed with such delicate detail into culinary wonders. The pace is like a definition of that most irritating of old maxims, less haste more speed, as the staff calmly move around each other doing their jobs. Guillaume is the last to see the food before it leaves the kitchen. Outside Patrick roves from table to table shaking hands, inquiring how each customer is enjoying his lunch. Being charming.

2.30p.m.

The food that has taken nearly five hours to prepare is eaten in just over an hour. After a post lunch clean up the kitchen staff take a break until 6 p.m. All the staff work five days a week, Tuesday to Saturday, morning and evening, with three hours break in the middle of the day.

In the afternoon Patrick has more meetings. The Michelin award has meant interest from the international press. "Yesterday we had a journalist from Le Monde over and he said that, we are the least expensive two star restaurant in the world. Lunch is £18.50 plus service charge, which I think is very good value." The average price of dinner for two comes between £100 and £120 depending on wines.

7.30 p.m.

The first dinner booking. Guillame prefers this shift. "Lunch is too hectic, everyone is in such a rush." The room outside has the air of people out for a special evening. Dressed up. Ready to have a good time. On very rare occasions food has been sent back to the kitchen, but he is not the sort of super chef to tear out and stand over the hapless diner demanding an explanation. "If they want it cooked more, we: cook it more." He shrugs. "After all people are paying a lot of money so they should be happy."

There are 70 in for dinner and while the front of house staff's evening will go on until Patrick has shaken the hand of the last diner to leave, the kitchen team are ready to go home just after 11. Before they go, the chef decides on the menu for the following day, orders the ingredients, and as he hasn't eaten all day sits down to eat his dinner.