A couple visiting Ho Jiak looked around in confusion. I can see why

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On a recent weeknight, a young couple was ushered into the spacious dining room at Ho Jiak Junda’s Playground, Sydney chef Junda Khoo’s Malaysian fine-diner. The restaurant sits in the middle of his ambitious three-storey complex − his first foray into Melbourne − in a laneway off Bourke Street in the CBD. Jaunty piano jazz played a little too loudly in a room that was brighter than you might expect for an upscale venue. The space is encircled by windows covered in drapes made of gold netting, set against light wood tables and brown banquettes. Female waitstaff wear black brocade cheongsam dresses. The young couple looked around, quizzically.

“This is the main restaurant?” the man asked his waitress. She explained that there were three: fast casual Da Bao on the ground floor, Ho Jiak in the middle, and beer hall Ho Liao upstairs. “I think we meant to book that,” the man said. “We were expecting something a little more lively.” They took a minute to peruse the menu, then decided to move the party upstairs.

Which is a shame, because there’s some truly delicious food to be had at Ho Jiak. But at the same time, I get it. There’s something a little stiff about the feel of the place, of the nervous-seeming servers trying to find the wine you’ve ordered on their iPads, of the bright lighting and gold netting and tiled flooring.

The menu is organised in familiar brackets – bites, entrees, mains, sides – and there are currently a bunch of truffle additions to the main offering.

The most fun to be had is with the dishes where Khoo takes a Malaysian staple and throws a spanner in the works: warm, comforting curry puffs with a slurry of Stilton cheese for dipping or smearing (yes, it works). Rendang with stretchy roti, accompanied by two fat bones full of quivering marrow. The laksa bombs – chicken and prawn dumplings in a rich laksa broth with fistfuls of bean sprouts – are a signature at his Sydney CBD restaurant for a reason, delicate and bold, perfectly balanced.

Some dishes are more creative, like a lovely slice of silken raw kingfish draped across a shiso leaf, then topped with pineapple salsa and a tamarind-heavy granita that mimics assam laksa.

And some are traditional dishes with luxe ingredients thrown in, like a sticky rice with foie gras that accompanies rock lobster, or char kwai teow with a smattering of hand-picked mud crab that adds a sweet pop to the familiar noodles.

Vegemite has long been known to Australian cooks as a vector for umami, and Khoo cleverly thinks to use it as a sauce for Angus beef short-ribs. But the result is a little too glossy, a little too much like the stuff you get at fast-food restaurants, not quite elegant enough to justify the $58 price tag.

Other things felt wonky, too. I had two cocktails, both very pretty and very sweet (which I expected, given ingredients like lychee), that arrived almost warm – room temperature at best. On the other hand, white wine is served extremely cold, which is a pity because the selection is great. Of course, you can ask to keep it off ice; of course, this is a small quibble. But details matter in a setting like this.

It’s an easy (and insidious) trap to fall into, to profess that Asian food works best in more casual venues, or that Australian diners don’t understand or want upscale Asian cooking. (It’s also just not true, as a little spot you may have heard of called Flower Drum exists to prove, among others.) But any restaurant with luxury aspirations has multiple hurdles to clear, food being only one of them.

A huge part of the fine-dining experience is being immersed in a space that feels magical, with service that’s smooth. Vibe is not everything, but it certainly is important at the higher end of dining. As it stands, the vibe and service at Ho Jiak are a bit too reminiscent of an ’80s hotel restaurant. I can’t tell if that’s intentional or not, but it doesn’t come across as nostalgic, just weirdly out of date.

Khoo ought to be commended for putting this kind of thought, investment and care into a temple for Malaysian food, and it is absolutely time that we had a restaurant that spoke to the higher ambitions of this cuisine. Unfortunately, being the first often means that you’re the practice pancake, one that others learn from.

My gut tells me that Ho Jiak needs to be more fun, more slick, a little darker, a little sexier, a little less corporate feeling – or at least a few of those things – to truly hit its mark.

Good Food reviews are booked anonymously and paid independently. A restaurant can’t pay for a review or inclusion in the Good Food Guide.