Huo guo. Malatang. Jeongol. Lau. Suki. If this is the first time you’re reading any of these words, I dare say it won’t be the last. “The biggest food/restaurant trend of the past five years is malatang/hot pot,” wrote Adam Liaw on social media in January. “It’s not even close.”

The celebrity cook was right. Haymarket, Burwood and Chatswood especially are thriving ecosystems for dipping raw meat and veg into a simmering broth.

At a malatang shop, you pick your noodles, proteins, greens and soup, then staff cook your lunch for you.

Most other forms of hot pot, such as China’s huo guo and Korea’s jeongol, are communal affairs: cauldrons bubbling on a portable stove, surrounded by families fishing for lost prawns. Some broths are light and clear, others are boldly spiced and sinus-clearing.

Hanasuki opened near Chatswood Westfield in February and it is almost certainly Sydney’s first Japanese-style shabu shabu hot-pot restaurant. Shabu shabu roughly translates as “swish swish” for the sound of paper-thin slices of beef, seafood and vegetables swirling about and cooking in your soup. At Hanasuki, that soup is a complex dashi of dried fish (sardine, mackerel, bonito), shiitake and umami powerhouse kombu.

There are no camping-store gas burners on the tables, though: this is a house of fine stemware and personal induction cooktops. Blond joinery is inspired by high-end sushi counters, and lobster sashimi is $280. One Japanese whisky offered is $55 a nip.

We stick to the house white, a 2021 Hahndorf Hill “White Mischief” Grüner Veltliner, which is smashing value at $13 a glass. It also has the bright acid required to enhance an assorted sashimi platter ($64.90) of snapper, kingfish, latchet, tuna and mackerel, deftly sliced and bristling with sea-salty freshness.

But you don’t come to Hanasuki for the raw fish, even if it is quite good: you come for the four-course shabu shabu sets, each designed to feed one person, starting at $66.90 for the option that includes luscious kurobuta pork and rising to $169.90 for the A5 Kagoshima sirloin version. (A5 is the highest grade wagyu beef; Kagoshima is a place in Japan with a lot of fat cows.)

There’s a starting snack of seared scallops, topped with salmon roe in a yellow-green yuzu sauce, that has a lot of shouty flavours slapping you at once. I could have lived without it. Things become a lot more delicious once the dashi arrives, though, even if I do spend the next half-hour in fear of overcooking everything my chopsticks touch.

Clearly, I need more hot-pot training so that dipping fish balls becomes as second nature as swiping fries through gravy.

Wagyu is the easiest way forward for first-time hot-potters since it only needs a five-second swish, ready to dip in citrusy ponzu or creamy goma dare (sesame sauce). We opt for the A5 chuck roll set ($114.90), and while the serving isn’t huge, the marbled fat is so rich and buttery I can’t imagine anyone asking for more.

In any case, if you’re hungry, there are unlimited vegetables, including pumpkin, enoki mushrooms and napa cabbage (unfortunately, I leave the latter in the soup too long and it comes out tasting like a babushka’s pantyhose).

Sensing we need help, our host recommends one minute for the oyster and two minutes for the prawn in our pork belly and seafood set ($84.90), but I don’t think there’s enough ponzu in the world to make a poached oyster appealing.

Migration and growing numbers of international students boosted hot pot’s popularity before the pandemic. Post-COVID, I suspect the shortage of hospitality workers makes it an attractive business model. Most of the cooking is done at the table, while ordering from electronic screens, as at Hanasuki, is becoming increasingly common.

However, staff aren’t just whacking plates down here: the third course, the zousui, is made by a waiter at our table. Whisked egg is folded through the reduced dashi and rice to create something that’s half-congee, half-risotto and completely soul-nourishing.

Desserts are a cut above, too, especially a silky almond tofu pudding channelling panna cotta.

Despite all this, I’m not itching to return. It’s hard to relax when you’re worried a tofu block has been cooking too long, or that the scallops need a few more seconds. Clearly, I need more hot-pot training so that dipping fish balls becomes as second nature as swiping fries through gravy.

At least there are plenty of opportunities to hone my skills. Next up, Thailand’s mu kratha.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine