This tiny six-seater is the size of a bento box, but it packs a wasabi-like punch

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Six people arrive for dinner, shedding coats, pulling out stools, muting phones – three couples who have never met. Behind the wooden counter, chef Yusuke Morita waits patiently. His wife, Izumi, in a formal kimono, arranges drinks.

It’s hushed, and we talk in whispers. But two hours later, we tumble out into the laneway, having dined on 18 courses, poured each other sake, told tall stories, and had an excellent time.

The smaller the omakase restaurant, the better, and Kisuke is as small as omakase restaurants get in Sydney. It might be the size of a bento box, but it packs a wasabi-like punch.

The Shikoku-born, one-time head chef of the prestigious Suntory Restaurant (which became the home of Tetsuya’s) checks his spotlessly clean workplace, nods a welcome, and when all are seated, begins. Rule number one of omakase – don’t be late.

With bookings opening at 1pm on the first day of every month for reservations the following month, we’re already feeling lucky simply being here.

Nigiri (sushi) will form the core of the experience, but there’s some gentle showmanship with a platter of opening delicacies, placed on the wooden counter in front of each guest.

A Royal Miyagi oyster from Boomer Bay floats in yuzu soy; miniature squid are coated in a mustardy sweet vinegar sauce; and the tiniest, babiest, braised eggplant melts on the tongue like a lozenge. A sheaf of dried herring roe is as crisp and crunchy as cartilage.

Chawanmushi is usually seen as a vehicle for amped-up luxury ingredients these days, but Morita-san allows the lightly steamed dashi-based custard to star, with just a spoonful of Siberian caviar on top as seasoning.

It’s an almost mesmerising experience, as each dish is prepared in front of you. Small fillets of Ora King salmon are lightly grilled, topped with a jammy miso paste and quickly torched. Finely sliced wagyu – so marbled, it’s as pale as pork – is powder-puffed with flour and braised, to return swimming in thick, silky gravy.

At last, it’s nigiri time, as cypress trays of meticulously prepared fillets of fish magically appear. Each fillet is methodically sliced using the full length of the blade, the rice tamped, the sushi handed to the diner still with vestigial warmth.

Tonight’s selection shows off tuna in three ways: chu-toro (medium-fatty), o-toro (fatty belly) and an interesting akami zuke – lean tuna marinated in soy dashi and served with yuzukosho (preserved green yuzu rind, green chilli and salt).

It gets better – there’s bass groper with ponzu, kombu-cured John dory, pearlescent scampi with fish bone salt, cuttlefish with uni soy, and simmered anago (sea eel) with torched tsume (thickened sweet soy). Nothing is over-seasoned, everything tastes clean, fresh, balanced.

A nori-wrapped hand roll filled with rice, cuttlefish, toro and sea urchin is spiky with fine diamonds of golden pickled radish, and a cooling twirl of skinny Inaniwa udon noodles comes crowned with sweet sea urchin.

Much is made in-house – pickled ginger, miso paste, and even the squishy little balls of glutinous mochi served with fresh fruit and a soothing green tea at the end.

Suntory’s The Premium Malts on tap is malt-forward and nicely hoppy, and the brief list of wines is outnumbered by nine sakes and five whiskeys.

The smaller the omakase restaurant, the better, and Kisuke is as small as they get in Sydney.

Kisuke is old-school omakase in the best possible sense. It’s not flashy, with no posturing for the camera and no earth-shattering heights or depths. Instead, you are in the hands of someone who has developed their knowledge over decades and who uses those high skill levels to deliver a direct connection between diner, chef and fish.

My dishes may be different from yours, but the experience will be similar – personal, immersive, transparent, and almost homely.

As Morita-san says: “I want my customers to feel they can talk to my wife and me, laugh with us and enjoy a true omakase experience.”

That’s what you get, and it’s more than enough.