Location: 100 Orchard Road, #03-25 (Lobby Level, Concorde Hotel), Singapore 238840

Taste-type: Japanese

Price: Mixed Sashimi $45, Mixed Sushi $60, Tempura Udon $28

How to get there: MRT to Somerset or taxi to Concorde Hotel. The restaurant is hidden around a corner to one side of the lobby.

Contact: (65) 67322911

I am running for my life down Orchard Road when a behemoth of a thug punches out of Louis Vuitton, grabs me bodily and, with one gargantuan heave of his gold-sequined muscles, flings me all the way past three shopping malls and through a low-lying window of the Concorde Hotel. I get to my feet slowly, none too enthusiastic to return to an upright position. The thug is already lumbering downhill towards my splintered crater, two iron chains thumping this way and that as he bares his fluoride-lacking teeth in my direction and stops. A small red dot appears in the middle of his forehead. His forehead then disappears, as does most of the upper half of his body. I turn and, with plaster flaking from my balaclava, bow in recognition.

The infamous Ninja of Nogawa, sometimes known as Chef Kevin, modestly accepts my deference and bids me spar with his cooking for some time. Being already informed of this establishment’s sterling reputation for razor-fresh sushi and quiet traditional dining, I happily agree to this friendly challenge, eager to see what surprises the Ninja of Nogawa has in store.

So it begins. I cut through the Ninja of Nogawa’s famous toro tuna with precision and finesse, letting the tingling fattiness of the cut echo on my tongue before I close it off with a final gulp. The other slivers of sashimi dance with me for a time bfore I finish them off, gently crushing the sweet juiciness of the scallops and splitting each morsel of tuna so as to savour its finely-hatched creaminess. This is no challenge, none at all. I fling a shuriken good-naturedly in Chef Kevin’s direction and he deflects it with equanimity into a gaggle of over-dressed Singaporean women and their male handbag-porters.

The main assault flies over the counter and is so fresh it leaves an army of streetsweepers in its wake. I catch it with a flick of my hand, sapping its momentum and lowering it to eating-height in an instant. Each glistening morsel – tuna toro, salmon, even a burgeoning anago – seems to glare balefully at me, daring me to consume such minimalist beauty without a second thought, daring me to succumb to my barbaric impulses curtailed by years of training. I happily oblige.

A row of salmon toro and tuna nori falls swiftly despite its elegance and blossoming explosions of flavour.

The beautiful piece of uni goes swiftly too, eliciting a smile for its slightly alkaline tinge that takes the edge off what might have been a cut too sweet. Soon the succulent toro and kingfish have been swept away and I toss my head and bellow up at the night sky before carefully replacing my chopsticks on the pebble provided.

A bowl of udon presses in with its smooth and silky-fine noodles, but I threaten its crisp tempura heart and it beats a hasty retreat. I have conquered all, and I prepare to formally thank the Ninja of Nogawa for a terribly tasty duel

when he pulls out his secret weapon

The hairy crab stares at me. I stare at the hairy crab. It is cute, in an odd sort of way. But it is also hairy. And scary. And its eyes glow with a vicious hatred which exceeds even that of a Singaporean women bereft of Louis Vuitton. I run, while I still can.

Concluding remarks: slightly pricey, but worth it for the fine sushi. Quiet save for the charmingly effusive service of Chef Kevin. Beware the crab.

Location: 20 Campbell St, Haymarket NSW 2000

Taste-type: Thai

Price: Kai Dtun $7, Crying Tiger $12, Emerald Duck $15, Gaeng Panang Nuea $14, Green Mango Salad $18, Suep Nohr Mai $12, Pad Thai $12, Iced Bread $6

How to get there: Train, bus or tram to Central or Haymarket, then a quick walk. Chinatown parking can be found if you have the skills.

Contact: 02-92111808

Lennycakes is on the lookout for lady-boys. This is not because of any compunctions towards such specimens of humanity – as he is at pains to remind us over pre-dinner drinks – but because the Chat Thai experience is touted as being “great, fresh and authentic” and anything authentically Thai (or so his logic goes) must include lady-boys. Some of us hold that Lennycakes is taking this premise of authenticity a little too literally, but we are nonetheless expecting of a good night. Chat Thai’s reputation is somewhat legendary in Food Blogger circles and we are anticipating excellence.

While the only circumspect balls Lennycakes finds are those deep-fried and on the chefs’ counter, our experience of authentic Thai culture is about to get a rude awakening. When presented with a sizable queue out the front of the restaurant, we take a number and adjourn for drinks, thinking to come back in half an hour. Upon our return, my teammates and I are pleased to note that our number is on the verge of being called, and we congratulate ourselves on our time-management prowess. Unfortunately, just like any man picking up a lady-boy, we have toasted our success somewhat prematurely.

As time stretches on and our party is passed over again and again for entry, we begin to heat up without the need for any spicy Thai fare in our bellies. When we query the waitresses over this apparent oversight, we receive a response as authentic as Thai governmental practice: full of plastic smiles but completely lacking in competence. We are told again, and again, that the “Big Table” necessary to sit six people is unavailable and we must – despite the waitstaff at times sending seven or more customers in at once – simply stew and wait our turn. We are also made privy to the realisation that the restaurant is “extremely busy”, as though a rebuke for our impudence. Lennycakes becomes so incensed with this treatment that he moves to single-handedly slay the entire waitstaff, but I stop him with a quiet word or two.

When the People of Riling Smiles finally deign to let us into their kingdom, we are not given the promised Big Table but instead receive a cramped round-table as what seems a sort of conciliation prize. One guest wisely suggests the restaurant reinvest its obviously-burgeoning profits in extra tables and less uppety waitstaff rather than ornamental lights and overpriced streaks of paint on canvas. Having already experienced the authentic taste of Thai people-management, I take the extra precaution of checking for escape routes in case of a sudden and inexplicable riot.

When the food finally arrives, nearly two hours after we first took a number, we are somewhat impressed but not appeased nearly enough to make up for the poor door-service. The Kai Dtun simmers with a squishy, velvety texture, and is wolfed down by our team once we experience its eggy creaminess spiked through with grains of ground chicken. Despite being Number 2 on the menu, its taste is quite unlike that of a Number 2.

The Pad Thai is also above-average, fried nicely and topped with generous slabs of chicken and bean sprouts. However, it fails to amaze our tastebuds to the extent we might hope for from such a famous establishment. The staff put the customary peanut-sprinklings on the side of the dish when we inform them of allergy-issues, a fact I must commend them upon.

The meal at Chat Thai goes downhill after that. Most disappointing is the Green Mango Salad w/ Soft-Shell Crab (pictured), a hodgepodge platter of crab and various uncooked vegetables that resembles an appetizer more than a full meal unto itself. The crab’s batter, too floury for my taste, has slathered itself over and muted the juices of the crab. while the chili-ginger sauce incinerates any semblance of palatable subtlety with its fiery excess of ginger. The beef of the Crying Tiger gums up the teeth with its overcooked chewiness, while the Gaeng Panang Nuea is acceptable but somewhat dull in taste. We take to the Suep Nohr Mai like masochists to spiky chains, each of us ingesting a mouthful of violently incendiary salad and testing our ninja resolve to the limits.

The fame of Chat Thai’s desserts is widespread, superlative and, as we have ominously predicted after our experience so far, terribly undeserving. If sugar was a wild animal, then the famous Iced Bread would be its fecal matter. Drowned in rose syrup and placed on somewhat stale and sour bread, the flagstaff mound of ice in this dessert is barely edible, and the two ninjas who dare try it find themselves unable to suffer more than a few bites. There is no lesser indictment of the Iced Bread than the fact that we leave two plates of it barely eaten on our tables.

According to the preface of the restaurant’s menu, “Chat Thai” can mean two things: the literal “Thai Nation” in Thai, or the more buoyant and convivial “Talking about Thai” in the Western colloquial. There is, as many will know, another somewhat less complimentary meaning of “Chat” in the vernacular, one we believe is wholly more appropriate to describing the establishment. Even my stomach concurs with my team’s opinion, voicing its displeasure by evacuating its contents the next morning in multiple sittings (a concept apparently unfamilar to Thai restaurant reservations). Customer service and common courtesy are small matters, but they are increasingly rare in the restaurant environment and, in this case, are not even excused by excellent fare. The team is of one mind: Chat Thai must indeed Thai harder.

While I doubt the ability of my words to dent the voluptious reputation of Chat Thai, I feel it is my duty to at least make a stand. Such is the blessing and curse of being a food blogger: to be at liberty to speak freely, yet to at once know that one’s free speech is unlikely to be heeded. Yet a good ninja fights with all weapons he or she can muster, and words are often one – if not the most respected – of them.