Muli Express

Oysters, and almost nothing else. The tanks run along the wall with the ones you're about to eat still in them, and you pick, and it gets opened in front of you.

The tanks are labelled. Pacifics from beyond Coffin Bay. Rocks that aren't the standard Sydney ones. If you're lucky they'll have the native Angasi in season, which almost nowhere has.

Try it fresh, with lemon, or with the specially mixed vinegar that comes from years of working out exactly what it should be. The three are different enough that you'll end up ordering more just to compare them properly.

Ask about the name. Ask about the story. This is omakase, but oysters — you hand yourself over and someone else decides the order you meet things in.

They're shucked one at a time so the shell's still cold and wet when it reaches you. A tray turns up in the order someone decided you should meet them in, lightest first, and by the fourth one you understand why.

The uni is rich and buttery and that's exactly what you want from it. The lobster roll is its own reason to come in.

Come hungry and come curious. You'll order twice as many as you planned because each one's different from the last and you want to know how.

The counter is the room, more or less, and you end up standing next to strangers comparing what you picked. Conversations start there that wouldn't start at a table.

It moves fast at the busy end of the day and slower in the quiet stretches. The quiet stretches are when you get the long version of where everything came from.

It smells of seawater and lemon and nothing else, which in the middle of the city takes some doing.

There's a wine bar next door and the two work together, so a quick stop becomes a longer one without anyone planning it. Little Bourke Street, in among everything else the city has, and the whole thing built around that counter.