With its neon-pink signage (‘be a boss’) and dim lighting, loud music, natty name, scattergun menu and shiny multi-page mission statement, Bincho Boss feels every bit the branding design- marketing reverse-engineered restaurant it seems to be.

That’s not to say it’s all bad. Some of the food is, in fact, very good; for Tomotaka Ishizuka is in the kitchen. Bar a short-lived-though-acclaimed stint at the 16-seat kaiseki temple that still bears his name, the chef spent the best part of two decades keeping Crown’s Koko at the pointiest end of Melbourne Japanese dining.

Take the chawanmushi, the savoury egg custard that here puts its warm, wobbly embrace around chicken and prawn and is topped with shimeji mushrooms. It’s a gloriously generous hug of happiness, the pleasure far greater than its $8.50 price tag.  Also great: udon noodles generously strewn with prawns, scallops, mushrooms and assorted vegetables, and topped with finely shaved nori. Otherwise, most falls into fine-but forgettable. There’s okay karaage, the chicken better than the oily octopus. Prawn dumplings are functional, but the crisp salmon skin needs more crunch and less pet-treat chew.

There are hotpots, too, which means for a restaurant named after the revered smokeless charcoal used for yakitori and other grilling, that part of the menu is surprisingly light-on. The turkey balls, though, glazed in soy teriyaki, are tasty. Other things are just silly, designed purely for Insta-theatre. See the grilled wagyu that comes to the table under a salt crust that’s then hammered open.  The crust steams the meat, rendering it flaccid and way less appealing than if it simply came off the grill.

The wine list shows more thought, but with the misses outnumbering the hits, this place is less boss and more mid-level salaryman.