If you’ve ever dined in the rarefied omakase bars of Japan, you’ll know that they often come with rules. Eat your nigiri in one bite. Don’t dip the rice in the soy sauce. In fact, unless expressly directed to by the chef, don’t use the soy sauce at all.

At Aoi Tsuki, the latest in a string of new, high-end sushi omakase spots in Melbourne, there are also plenty of rules, although they’re delivered in a much friendlier manner.

The U-shaped sushi bar, which is hidden in a back room of a small building in South Yarra, accommodates only 12 diners and acts as the stage for its two chefs, Tei Gim and Jun Pak. Dinner here, which costs $235 per person, doubles as a bit of a two-man show for the chefs, who are obviously giddy at finally realising the dream of having their own restaurant.

And so, the guidelines are delivered as jovial banter rather than admonition: the one-bite rule applies. The rice is a little hard on purpose. You may eat with your hands or with chopsticks. And please, the most important thing, you must eat the sushi within 10 seconds of us giving it to you.

This is an odd rule for a duo who have made their name selling elaborate take-away sushi boxes, reasoning that expensive sushi can be enjoyed long after the fish has been cut and laid on top of the rice. But again, one gets the sense that the prospect of presenting the meal directly to people, and watching them consume it, is a great joy to the chefs and their staff.

Throughout the meal, they ask diners what their favourite bites are thus far. They giggle and tease one another. They talk about their long days, arriving at 6am to begin preparation for that evening’s two seatings, often not leaving until after midnight. They want to know who here has had an omakase meal before, and are suitably impressed with diners’ tales of other meals and their knowledge of fish. It’s a good place to dine if you want to boast about past sushi conquests.

The meal begins with a series of cooked and raw small bites: the first dish was – perhaps a little oddly – the least traditional: a chawanmushi with blue cheese melted into the top layer of savoury egg custard, adorned with a small scoop of caviar. There is tender abalone in a mellow sauce made with its liver. Sea eel is folded with shiso and then tempura-fried for a layered and rich couple of bites.

After five or six of these creative small dishes, the real fun begins. The chefs present a large box filled with fish they’ve been slicing diligently during the early part of service.

It really is like a jewel box, the slivers of fish laid out in shining pinks and opaline cream colours beside one bowl of gleaming orange salmon roe and another of darker orange uni. The chefs encourage photos, too, unlike some Tokyo sushi bars.

The parade of nigiri, each made individually, takes up the bulk of the evening – and provides the most pleasure.

There’s a smooth, soft, pure-white squid to start, and they weren’t lying: the rice is a little harder than I’m used to, not quite as vinegared, but the fish takes centre stage as a result.

There’s more than one kind of tuna, firm and gorgeous kingfish, and dry-aged salmon. But the best bites are often the least expected: the creamy, firm sweetness of alfonsino, the silvery freshness of King George whiting. A bowl of ikura (salmon roe) and uni over rice is so generous and lush it almost feels like dessert.

A few things feel off-balance: a topping of salty mullet roe overwhelms the subtle meatiness of bluefin tuna, for example. (Speaking of bluefin tuna, I wish Aoi Tsuki wouldn’t rely so heavily on fish that’s endangered, although it’s hardly alone in this.)

The restaurant had no alcohol license the night I visited, although that issue may be remedied by the time this article is published. The plan is to sell sake and beer, but no wine.

It’s a bold move to open a restaurant with a menu this expensive, but perhaps it’s a smart move: Minamishima in Richmond, the obvious comparison – a meal there costs $265 – is always fully booked.

But is Aoi Tsuki that much more special than other newcomers, some of which charge significantly less? This is certainly a less pared-back experience: the fit-out and feel of the place, as well as the hushed and friendly service, feels deeply considered.

I get the feeling that for certain diners, the price and its inherent exclusivity will be part of the point. Like I said, this is a good place to come and boast about past experiences – and also a good place, perhaps, to formulate future boasts, too.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine