He will only want to be known as Ah Hong and is very reluctant to tell much about himself and his culinary craft. But don’t pre-judge him, he is very friendly and has paid his dues in the Japanese makan scene and has not much more to look forward to, except to make “a bit more so I can contribute to the less fortunate.” It’s just that he does not handle the spotlight very well and you can tell, by his quiet and smiley disposition.

There is a Catch 22 situation here. He has served me one of the most stunning platters of sashimi I can ever recall. It came fisherman peasant style- chunky and perfectly sliced, like one who knows the anatomy of a fish well. The huge slices are sooo soft and smooth, and they melt and evaporate in the mouth after two light clenches of the jaw. And on a few occasions, he served up a heart stopping piece of sushi, which I could not resist nor walk away from- wrapped in toro (tuna belly), topped with very fresh uni (sea urchin, with no suspicious pong) and speckled it with fish roe. Aiyiyi, I can visualise that little piece of sin and often have dreams and nightmares of and I absolutely luuurved it. Once, he served this round blob -grilled, stewed in stock and then braised (I am only guessing how he made it) in teriyaki sauce with sake. It was gooey and heady with flavours inside but was hard and inedible outside- it was a stewed giant tuna fish eyes, bigger than a golf ball. To my perverted palate, it was ambrosia. Just before you think this is some weird extravagant exercise in Japanese makan, he’ll ground you back to earth when you are subjected to his omakase meals (cook what the chef likes for you) with some plain fried light salted nagaimo (wild mountain yam) chips and a homely bowl of udon in clear broth.

Up close, you can tell how well Ah Hong grills his salmon.

But here’s the twist- I had given him, at his insistence, my word that I must not recommend this little restaurant of his. “I can’t handle the crowd as my place only sits fourteen.” Ah Hong explains further, “all my regulars fill the place every night and they know what I offer each day in and out.” And he has this thing about wannabe Japanese chow fans here, “I don’t really like serving up the fare that they are familiar with, like tempura, ramen and yakitori.” Which explains why, if you know this restaurant, it is hard to get reservations, unless Ah Hong knows who you are. The door at his restaurant is perpetually closed every day. You knock and if they know or are expecting you, you’re in, otherwise, you get a “sorry, full house tonight.”

So here’s the hook to the twist in today’s plot. He now also runs a hawker stall and I chanced upon it a few weeks ago when I bumped into him at Beach Road (his restaurant only opens 3 hours for dinner). I cajoled and he uncomfortably relented to tell his story here – that it was an escape from the sterile same face and routine at this other little “secret” restaurant and a good opportunity to rake a few bucks more for his personal charitable causes. He offers the usual Japanese set rice meals and I can now tell you where and that his grilled salmon set is a class apart from his peers. It is done, dressed with just enough sauce, to retain that juiciness and it sits on a bed of soft Japanese rice (many hawkers trim cost here with plain rice or South Chinese pearl grains). And his tempura set, has only one simple discernable difference than with top Japanese eateries- he uses a lower grade oil for frying, but it still comes crispy and light and dipped in the same batter he uses at his restaurant. His other top seller (and he’s been at it here for only three months) is the grilled chicken set- charred a shade darker than usual outside but succulently juicy inside.
His set, which begins at around $4.50, come with the usual miso soup, that triangular slice of water melon, salad and an unusual (for such stalls) vegetable soup- sweetly flavoured with mushrooms, carrots and daikon (Japanese radish).

Ah Hong’s set meals start from $4.50 and it is all value and no hype.

When asked, since it’s a hawker stall, he answered “yes, I use MSG.”. But I realized its actually Japanese kondashi ( a $50 a can type of naturally dried fish dust), and all at once, I knew there were things this chef, who has stints in the old, respected but now defunct Kampachi Restaurant here and with master chefs in Japan, will not compromise on.

You can try, but I think he will also not compromise on his stand in letting all and sundry know about his other fourteen seater in town. Perhaps he will tell you his full name.