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Consider, for a moment, the global appeal of meat on a stick.

The sheep’s meat skewer arrosticini, for instance, is synonymous with Italy’s Abruzzo region and, locally, Wembley’s wondrous Monsterella.

Originating on the Indonesian island of Java, satay has since spread to Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand and the Windsor Hotel car park: home to South Perth’s Satay on Charcoal.

America, I suppose, gave us the corn dog.

Japan’s greatest contribution to the genre, meanwhile, is yakitori: literally “grilled chicken”. And what started as a way for canny Meiji-era cooks to upcycle other restaurants’ off-cuts has evolved into a school of cookery where heritage Japanese birds are dissected into skewers of remarkable anatomical specificity and grilled over long-burning binchotan charcoal. Whenever I’m in Japan, yakitori inevitably forms a sizeable chunk of my diet.

Following the November opening of Yakitori Washokudo – a 33-seat dining space and kitchen counter within the CBD’s Ginza Nana Alley precinct – I’ve been able to get my yakitori fix without the rigmarole of applying for an online Japanese eVisa.

True, Washokudo mightn’t do furisode (“swinging sleeves”), chochin (“lantern”) and the genre’s more outré, poetically named cuts, but it still serves chicken parts seldom found in supermarket meat aisles.

Things such as accordion-like ruffles of chicken skin ($5) that get slowly grilled until crunchy and surprisingly fleet-footed. Or squishy half-marbles of heart ($5) cooked to medium-rare that feel like a gummy a doctor might prescribe to a recovering KFC addict. While some will write off the presence of such chicken-y B-sides – or tail ($8) or gizzard ($5) – as mere shock value, I see this sort of menu diversity as a celebration of texture and the joys of whole animal cookery.

Not that every yakitori outing needs to be an ornithology lecture. Washokudo also dabbles in more familiar bits of the bird, not least the thigh that stars in classic preparations such as negima ($6), where the chicken shares stick-space with bolts of spring onion, and the springy meatballs known as tsukune ($15 for two) that slips some cartilage into the mince to create that all-important bounce.

But of all chicken parts that might be found at a yakitori restaurant, the one cut to rule them all is the humble chicken wing ($7). Here, a bamboo skewer gets threaded through the long edges of the mid-wing – the bit with the two small bones in it – as well as two nubbins of meat scraped from the drumette. When introduced to the business end of a konro grill, the flesh attains maximum succulence while the skin tightens into a crackly, spun-glass-like marvel. You never forget your first (good) yakitori chicken wing.

The cook responsible for the turning and (controlled) burning of your skewers is Naoyuki Suzuki: last seen behind the sushi counter at Northbridge’s James Parker. As Washokudo’s guy-on-the-grills, Suzuki doesn’t just keep his coals burning bright, he also seasons every skewer, either with sea salt to emphasise the natural taste of his ingredients, or by glazing them with house-made tare: a deeply seasoned soy sauce that slowly reduces to a glossy sheen. Feel free to specify seasoning preferences – I like the subtlety of salt and the way it helps crisp up skin-on bits of chook – otherwise Suzuki will sauce and salt skewers as he sees fit.

Other than chicken, duck ($19) and beef – the springiness of the wagyu tongue ($18) sure is something, isn’t it? – are among the other proteins our man works with, although your mum would probably like it if you ordered some vegetables to go with all this meat. Maybe a mini green xylophone of asparagus ($4); or that magnificent potato salad ($18) that, as per Japanese traditions, is whipped and fluffy rather than rich and creamy.

If you’re taking the day’s sake offering (from $12) for a spin, mamma would probably also like it if you ate some carbs. Rather than the oyakodon – a one-bowl meal of rice topped with chicken and runny egg – traditionally found on yakitori menus, Washokudo’s rice offering is ochazuke ($18) featuring rice doused by a somewhat understated chicken broth: I ended up using all of the supplied wasabi to doctor my soup. Instead, divert those dining dollars to the torisoba ramen ($21): made with a soy-based chicken soup sharpened with ginger and topped with duck fat, it’s the stuff that late-night noodle dreams are made of.

While I’ve relished every visit to Washokudo over the past few months, there have been some dropped stitches along the way. I was shocked to learn that asking for a bowl of plain rice added another $7 to my bill, and that the otherwise cheery, knowledgeable staff have a curious habit of not offering guests water. But the biggest (and best) shock was seeing how faithfully Washokudo channels the yakitori joints of Japan, doubly so for eaters parked at the counter where most native speakers tend to gravitate.

Washokudo does just one dessert: a houjicha ice cream ($7) that shows off the tea’s earthy, roasted qualities. It’s fine, but I’d suggest ending dinner at Monkey & Bird, Ginza Nana Alley’s nearby Japanese-style cafe-bar. As well as ace cocktails and spirits, it also serves utterly homely desserts including a splendid purin: Japan’s version of custard pudding. You could conceivably split one between two but for fans of French crème caramels and Spanish flan de leche, you’ll have no problem eating one by yourself. Like meat on sticks, wobbly baked custard is also universally loved.