Gong might best be described as a laid-back, unpretentious, pan-Asian bistro. It has a genuine warmth and buzz to it, and an infectious kind of animation that makes you want to lean into the neighbouring table and eavesdrop on what they are gossiping about. You don’t, because the tables at Gong have been sensibly placed just far enough apart to prevent nosy parkers like me from doing this.

After five minutes or so, we ask if we can move and ogle the chefs instead, who are up there behind the stout, blonde wood bar, grinning and knife wielding and having fun. In the dining room, globe lanterns in fire shades create an atmosphere thrillingly dark and romantic—a great place for a date—while real flames lick an open grill, and one lone and incredibly upbeat waitress works the floor, the smile never leaving her face. The place is packed and this extraordinarily efficient staff of three are not only thriving, they are happy and their happiness infuses everything around them.

I am particularly impressed when, about to tuck into our third bottle of sake (the bottles only contain about 50 centilitres before you go thinking I’m a total lush) the waitress warns that they are €10 apiece, and we switch to beer. Clearly their aim, while providing imaginative and devilishly good tucker, is to keep it affordable and therefore keep the likes of you and me coming back for more.

So we peruse the menu while snacking on a complimentary dish of steamed edamame. Crisp Vietnamese nem (fried spring rolls) explode with aromatic juices of pork, prawn, soy, coriander and white pepper, and are a fine way to fire up the taste buds before the rest starts arriving. Meanwhile, our jolly chefs hand sushi over the bar. They only do one type—a maki roll the size of my arm—and it changes every day. In this case, it comprised two long, thick loins of tuna (I know, I know, sustainable suicide) wedged in against creamy avocado. Just to slam my sustainability credentials a little bit more, we also had the ventresca de atun, grilled and served with a sour-sweet yuzu, which was good but probably the least exciting dish of the evening. Or maybe it is just that tuna in any cooked form seems to pale once you’ve had a hulking great slab of it raw. But enough of me and my dastardly tuna habit…