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People talk about food melting in the mouth, but unless they’re eating ice, butter or chocolate, they’re probably being poetic. Another explanation is they’re at Bay Aka, a kebab place near Clayton Station, where the lamb skewers fall apart at the merest touch of a tooth.

Caramelised over charcoal, outrageously juicy and tender, this is meat that hits like premium wagyu. A fine wagyu steak could cost $300 at a fancy restaurant. This lamb, though? It’s $5.50 a skewer.

Owner Adil Matrozi is from Xinjiang in north-western China, where cumin-spiced lamb is a key dish. He’s proud of his rendition but doesn’t know what the fuss is about. “It’s simple, really,” he tells me.

A mixture of leg and shoulder meat is marinated overnight in a brine that also includes onion, cumin and pepper. It’s threaded onto flat metal skewers then grilled over charcoal so the exterior caramelises and the interior becomes startlingly soft. Chilli powder is sprinkled over the meat as it sizzles.

Order it by the skewer or have it with a simple salad over juice-absorbing flatbread. You can have lamb rolled into a wrap, too, great if you’re on the move.

Chicken skewers are good, jazzed with garlic, ginger and paprika paste but nothing sent me into rapture like the lamb.

Wheat is the most important crop in Xinjiang and breads and noodles outweigh rice in popularity. Thick noodles are hand-pulled to order: they are a springy delight.

You can have your noodles long, with sliced lamb and a tumble of capsicum, dried mushroom, tomato and chilli paste, or you can have them snipped short and stir-fried with the same meat and vegetable melange. I prefer the long noodles, partly because slurping is encouraged but also because they catch the sauce so well.

If spice isn’t your friend, ask for the dish to be toned down, or pick up a house-made yoghurt drink to ease the burn.

Xinjiang restaurants don’t necessarily serve rice but Bay Aka caters to a diverse community of residents, hospital workers and Monash University students, so Matrozi has added a simple pilaf to the menu.

Open since last August, Bay Aka is a humble place with just 20 or so seats. Half the orders are for take away, but there’s a low-key charm to sitting in the glow of the charcoal grill with the thwack of woks filtering through the kitchen porthole. I fancied I could hear the twang of noodles being stretched, but I was probably making that up.

What I’m not stretching is my love for the lamb. I put a lot of food in my mouth in an average week. Much of it is great, some of it is just OK. It’s a rare bite that sends my senses into new territory: this melting morsel is my version of striking gold.