Food not only has the ability to create fond memories, it can momentarily transcend any sense of time and place, leaving you in pure revery. As a professional napkin wearer, there have been only two dining moments to cause me to well up. I know, tough Aussie blokes like me aren’t meant to have feelings.

Anyway, the first time was at Napa Valley’s The French Laundry, when chef Thomas Keller’s sabayon of pearl tapioca, oysters and Osetra caviar first graced my lips. The second was just recently at Melbourne’s Minamishima.

To dine here is to immerse yourself in the gastronomic temple of chef Koichi Minamishima, an oasis of tranquillity, tradition and focus, and of simplicity, humility and respect. From the very moment you’re swept from the surreptitious street entrance through a glass door, something quite spiritual overwhelms the senses.

Black floor tiles, American oak and a textured grey wall provide a basic back palate for his colourful culinary brushstrokes. Meanwhile, former Flower Drum head sommelier, Randolph Cheung, has procured a stunning list of sakes and wines that help frame the dishes. You can dine at tables in groups, but you miss the chance to watch the chef ply his trade. Instead, sit on one of 12 chairs at the bar and succumb to the sushi omakase (chef’s choice) menu.

He sources vinegar for his rice from his home in Nagoya, salt from the southernmost prefecture of Japan, Okinawa, and seafood straight from the source. Watch on as he patiently flays his knife to prepare every morsel, each delivered with a dissertation of its provenance, ingredients and whether you are permitted to dip it in soy sauce. Grilled broad beans arrive first with a mound of shiitake salt. Then, a procession of stunning seafood – some coated in ponzu or soy, others with wisps of ginger. The give of razor clam and bite of alfonsino. The creaminess of calamari and sweetness of scallop, scampi and sea perch.

Seared flounder fin leads to Japanese crab, garfish, mackerel and tamagoyaki (omelette), before a stand-out sea urchin, southern bluefin tuna and lightly smoked sea eel. Sublime. It’s about as far from sushi trains as Kenzo is from Best & Less. There’s no avocado or kewpie lathered over wet fish. Rather, it’s a veritable wonderland of the season, technique, temperature and timing. Minamishima is too humble for gratification, even though every muscle in your body beckons you to bow to the chef. He’s a little master. If there is a restaurant worth going to more in Australia right now, let me know. I’ll bring the tissues.