Score: 15/20

I SHOULD begin this week's review with apologies to my editor for its lateness. Not the usual day or two either - frankly, that's not such a rarity - but a whopping 12 weeks, although it's hardly my fault that I couldn't get a booking.

Ocha - the name translates loosely as ''Japanese restaurant with outdoor toilet'' - has consistently been one of Melbourne's most oversubscribed restaurants since it opened in 1994. Hopes were high that Yasu Yoshida and Michelle Fong's move from bijou Kew digs to a place double the size in Hawthorn would solve the problem but the build-it-and-they-will-come principle doesn't apply exclusively to Kevin Costner films.

Anyone who wants to stick to the orthodox route is looking at a three-month wait for a weekend booking - and even then, you have to look deep into your soul to decide if you're a 6pm or an 8pm kind of diner.

Is it really such a surprise? Ocha has always been one of those places with the most rabidly loyal clientele; rusted-on regulars who would only give up the last prawn dumpling if it were prised from their cold, dead hands. At the new restaurant (it's in the Beehive redevelopment, next to Barkers), there's an exultant feeling in the air - hard to describe but it's somewhere between a cult and the first day back at school, with lots of air-kissing and inquiring of manager/circus ringmaster Paul Skerrett how the new place is going. I'll provide the answer: swimmingly.

Japanese restaurants aren't exactly known for their style smarts but Ocha has done well - without trying too hard - settling on a clean, bright space of white-painted concrete and white walls and gossamer curtains that dissect the larger space in two and cleverly create a sense of intimacy and general sexiness.

There are still some design issues. The tables are closely packed, which means A) plenty of noise; and B) it's difficult to chart a course to the (blessedly) indoor toilet. It's also a bit tricky to see the specials board unless you're sitting directly in front of it. Still, I'd say nix the menus altogether - it's what the regulars do. Ocha's reliably great but it's the kind of place where the inside steer will lift the experience that extra 10 per cent, with the waiters taking a nimble course between tradition and novelty - which is precisely the sum total of what Ocha is all about.

You might start with little canapes with minced salmon mixed with wasabi mayo and flying fish roe on a potato crisp ($15) - a creamy, salty starter that defines what Ocha's more modern tendencies are about (Western-leaning, slightly retro and lively as hell). Then the ebi dango, otherwise known as those prawn balls ($5 each). As close as they come to a signature dish, they're all about the springy-textured meat encased in jumbo rice flakes that are equally chewy and crunchy. Heavenly.

Flavoured salts are big at Ocha, which only makes me love the place more. From the specials list, there's a subtle curried sodium wonderfully married to fried sea eel, which is reminiscent of flathead in both texture and taste - yet another really great dish that hovers shyly on the borderland between snack and meal.

What else? A gorgeous porterhouse tataki/carpaccio ($15) with the citrus hit of ponzu; or calamari ($22/$33) with a batter so feather-light and ethereal, it seems to defy the laws of frying, served on a bed of rocket that flatters pretensions to balance. Both dishes - both excellent - add fuel to the conversational fire of ''Where does Japanese food end and Italian food begin?''

There's also transcendent tofu age - big blocks of the silken stuff with blisters on the side and shredded bonito lending its weight to a clean, precise broth ($10.50). And grilled scampi, about which there's little to comment, save their simple excellence and their price ($8 each - like much of the menu, eminently reasonable).

Make sure you get the sushi and sashimi selection ($25/$33), too, although bear in mind that it's one of the most obvious differences between the Ochas. Sushi rice should be oh-so-slightly warm but at Ocha II, it, along with the plate and all the accoutrements, is fridge-cold - one of the necessary evils of the bigger premises? But the quality of the fish - especially the tuna belly; pale pink and faintly lined with fat - isn't in question, nor the painstaking effort Yoshida goes to, such as neatly, almost imperceptibly, dissecting each scallop to insert a layer of nori, or encasing the fried soft-shell crab futomaki roll with a layer of daikon.

The one dish they actively promote about which I really can't get excited is the wasabi beef ($29.50), an East-meets-West roast that crowns a piece of eye fillet with some subtly wasabied mashed potato that, like cloud cover on a humid day, steams the meat into surrender.

The service under Mr Skerrett is as professional as ever but just occasionally scattershot as some of the newer members of the Ocha team get up to speed on the byways of what is after all a fairly lengthy

menu.

I'm glad they have kept some of their endearingly daft traditions, such as the curly parsley garnish on each dish and the BYO policy (despite also offering a fair wine list at reasonable prices). The number of people turning up with bottles, many with multiples, adds another dimension to Ocha's immense popularity - and those noise levels. You know what they say: one bottle, dinner; two bottles, party.

I'm certainly not complaining. It's a hearty welcome to the bigger, sexier, grown-up Ocha.

And adieu. Until we meet again in three months' time.

Score: 1-9: 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.