Mitsuno

Rating: 13/20

There were many things she might have said as we left.

"We're not far from that nice little bistro, Maris," might have been one. "We're surrounded by those wretched Chinese places you like so much (Ripples and Chun Po)," might have been another.

She could even have muttered: "So this is where you go for colonic irrigation," gesturing right to the business just a few doors from the restaurant in which we had eaten, Mitsuno. For there in genteel Malvern is just such a therapist.

Instead, she said: "There are times when your job is really awkward, aren't there?" And I couldn't argue, even if I'd wanted to.

The comment was based on dinner and her expectation that inevitable hard truths and commentary are much simpler to deliver when their consequences are cloudy. It's easier to dish it out to busy, bad restaurants than quiet places that are not quite my cup of tea for which publicity can have a marked effect.

And so, for the sake of the charming host who had looked after us and five other guests for the night, I was made to promise a glass-half-full approach.

Although Mitsuno was very quiet, rather daggy and not my scene, I think it has much to offer those with different priorities. Those for whom delightful, personal service, a quiet restaurant and an almost iron-clad guarantee of good service and an unstressed chef are priorities. Those for whom interior design matters not a fig. Those hankering for adventurous and reasonably good cooking with a Japanese thread that wavers in intensity from authentic to fusion-ist.

But if your idea of a modern Asian restaurant is Longrain, Cookie or Gingerboy - or Ocha or David's - Mitsuno is probably going to have trouble ringing your bells.

But back to that half-full glass.

The waiter-owner is charming, helpful, super polite and, not surprisingly, glad to see you. I do like it when a restaurant host makes you feel valued. We could not have wanted for any more. But it's uncertain how it performs under pressure.

There is a distinctly odd feeling about being the only table in a restaurant unless it's 11.30pm, you're half-cut, the kitchen is shutting and the owner is having a glass of vino at the bar. At 7.40pm, it's a little uncomfortable. When, at 7.35pm, I hear the only other table (of three) ask for a cheque, the old heart sinks just a centimetre or two; who knew you could go out for dinner and watch The New Inventors on the same night? The arrival of a young couple around 8pm almost has me sending over glasses of bubbles on The Age.

Back to the half-full thing.

The chef-owner, who had a place in Hobart before travelling to the north island, has structured his menu as a contemporary restaurant's: entrees, mains and desserts. I think it makes a more convincing argument for being a modern restaurant with a Japanese accent to the cooking than, say, Orita's in Toorak where most dishes ask to be shared even though on the menu they are stand-alone plates. And, says Melbourne dining lore, if it doesn't have a sushi/sashimi combo on the menu it's not a Japanese restaurant. Mitsuno's does not.

Consequently, there is a little ducky broth amuse bouche in an espresso glass with diced root vegetables at the bottom.

Diced nashi pear and raw ocean trout have a wasabi-flavoured dressing and are poured from a mould on to a square white plate with a slightly pickled cucumber ribbon garnish ($15); on the plate, small pieces of tomato flesh speckled with coarsely ground black pepper. Pretty good.

Two soft shell crabs - lightly floured, fried and halved - are served with green tea salt scattered over them, a pleasing seasoning, and more of that cucumber as well as two mounds of matchstick fresh radish ($15). This is pretty good, too; clean crunch to go with the fatty crab.

And a quail, cooked similarly, comes with a potent, tangy brown tamarind sauce, crisp lotus root chips and a mound of Japanese coleslaw: white cabbage peppered with the unmistakable flavour of chopped shiso ($15.50). This, too, is very pleasant - the bird responding well to the fryer and the sauce providing a refreshing dimension, the cabbage a cool, crunchy foil.

That is three of seven entrees (excluding a special). It's food that is high on visual priority, light (as opposed to rich) and clean.

I get the impression some mains veer into East-West fusion territory, always a worry. An entry from the menu: "Sliced lamb fillet with mushroom, parsnip and gnocchi in vanilla and yuzu sauce". Err, pass.

But a special - duck sukiyaki (one of the best-known one-pot dishes) - betrays the chef's heritage: a metal hotpot is brought to the table ready to serve (as opposed to cooking at the table). In the chicken and soy broth are wide egg/wheat noodles, mushrooms, tofu, braised leek, fresh baby corn and across the top a whole grilled duck breast, sliced and garnished with chives ($30). Something could have been done to reduce the subcutaneous fat but it is a lovely, traditional Japanese dish for sharing.

The other main might have been on 100 modern menus around Melbourne: a piece of excellent, crisp-skinned kingfish fillet on a bed of bok choy with a shallow, golden soy/dashi broth. You get a bit of fried jap pumpkin; a few discs of fried zucchini on top; in the broth, slices of button mushroom and feathers of fresh dill ($27). It's clean, pleasant, hardly rocket science, but appealing.

On the glass-half-empty front the decor - a mishmash of Victoriana with Japanesque flourishes - is staid and uninspiring, the music might have been composed by the love child of George Benson and Kenny G and the wine list is an irrefutable argument for bringing your own. We didn't, and the Huia 2006 sauvignon blanc ($32) is a bargain. If you like sauvignon blanc, that is.

One dessert, a cold pot of custard, studded with dried fig, dressed with a coffee syrup and served with orange biscotti ($9) is rather good, too. A little heavy, perhaps, but the flavour profiles of fig, coffee, orange and vanilla make love to each other in the mouth.

The spiced sheep's yoghurt is a weird Tokyo-meets-Tripoli number it's difficult to be certain about: the curd, with a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg, is wrapped in a faintly conical fried vermicelli cake shell (not quite the rice-paper cone on the menu), not unlike a crisp Sri Lankan hopper; there's sliced melon on the plate, crushed pistachio and pink rosewater syrup ($11).

It's, err, unique. But we're the only people here to admire it.

What the place needs is that ineffable quality: excitement. For me, anyway. I couldn't tell you I had fun at Mitsuno. But a lot of people are going to enjoy the little place for exactly what it is and that's not a bad thing.

And yes, this job can be awkward.

Score: 19: Unacceptable. 10-11: Just OK, some shortcomings. 12: Fair. 13:Getting there. 14: Recommended. 15: Good. 16: Really good. 17: Truly excellent. 18: Outstanding. 19-20: Approaching perfection, Victoria's best.