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I’ve never seen it happen, but I’m told people steal things from restaurants. Steak knives, bread plates, potted plants and table lamps – if the object can fit in a handbag or pocket, at some point somebody is going to try to flog it. Here’s hoping those fork thieves keep well away from the charming Amuro, which is a sticky-fingered diner’s dream.

It’s the chopstick rests, mainly – shiny, like lucky-dip trinkets on a blackwood counter. Our chopstick pillows are little bunches of ceramic bananas, but other guests are provided with porcelain pea pods, miniature frying pans and sliced quail eggs. I Google “cute chopstick rests” (I wouldn’t mind owning the bananas), discover a whole world of Japanese collectibles, and immediately close the tab on my phone. I spend too much on dinnerware as it is.

Amuro, which opened in late February, occupies a sliver of Darlinghurst two blocks from Oxford Street. It’s a minimalist room of polished concrete and stained timbers, designed by sought-after architect Matt Darwon. In another life, it might have been an Aesop store; now, instead, there’s a row of bar stools around an open kitchen where chefs grill fish and greet guests, and occasionally help the waitstaff take orders.

Leading the operation is Kei Tokiwa, a softly spoken all-round nice guy who speaks about sake like Jiro dreams of sushi. He loves talking about sake so much, in fact, there isn’t a written drinks list at Amuro. Since most Australians’ knowledge of the fermented rice drink is limited at best, Tokiwa says “it’s better to jump straight into the conversation”.

“If I write a list, people are still going to ask about which sake to order,” he tells us while pouring different samples of the stuff: a refreshing Dewatsuru Junmai Daiginjo “Marlin” sake and an Imayo Tsukasa “Black” number which might be the driest thing I’ve ever drunk.

We land on the Marlin (one of the pricier options at $24 a glass), which has the bright acidity of a great riesling, making it ideal for pairing with seafood.

No drinks list? No bookings? If you’re wearing pearls right now, feel free to clutch them.

A cold, clean rock oyster ($8), perhaps, enhanced with green apple and sour shiikuwasha citrus. Or blow-torched salmon topping ochazuke ($26) – a humble, toasty rice dish invigorated by pouring green tea over the cooked grains.

Tokiwa’s menu changes daily and is built around simple, rustic Japanese dishes such as ochazuke, and it’s a welcome addition to a city with too many high-end sushi joints most of us will need to mortgage a kidney to eat at.

The most expensive dish I’ve seen is $36, and that was nicely marbled wagyu brisket, slow-braised with soy and mirin and brushed with a lip-sticking reduction of the cooking juices.

If there is a “daintiest prawn dish of the year” award, Amuro’s ama-ebi ($18) is a strong contender. It’s a neat line-up of six tiny spot prawns with a taste that reminds me of hot-buttered popcorn; pickled wasabi stems crown the little guys for kicks.

A bowl of okra and tofu ($12) is spiked with numbing sansho pepper and chilli oil to create a delicious, hot, gooey mess.

Tempura king brown mushrooms ($14) are battered in such a delicate way they almost feel healthier than they were before hitting the deep-fryer.

Chicken karaage ($16) is just as greaseless, the knobbly two-bite-sized bits of fried chook – maybe six of them – buzzing with another healthy dose of sansho.

Sweet and garlicky Taiwanese-style pork sausage ($16) is thoroughly tasty, even if it’s dense and rich and best shared.

Consider ordering the five-spiced half duck breast ($24) all for yourself, however, for its beautifully rendered fat against juicy flesh, pink like a mountain range just after sunset. A house-made hoisin-ish sauce pumps the flavour up even further.

Annoyingly, you can’t book for any of this. A no-reservations policy means that on one Wednesday-night visit, I’m told there won’t be a seat for at least an hour. I sit on a negroni at another bar nearby and return to find four couples queuing in front of me. Time your run early (say, 4pm, when the doors open) for the best chance of avoiding a street-side wait.

No drinks list? No bookings? If you’re wearing pearls right now, feel free to clutch them. But Amuro is so earnest and unique that Tokiwa pulls it off.

I take home a postcard with the day’s menu on one side, and a photograph of Kyoto on the other. The banana chopstick pillows, meanwhile, stay where they belong. On the way home, I cave in and order a set for myself.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine