We are besieged by arms reaching around, between and over us, all simultaneously trying to flip the pages of the single menu to their own outlet's selection and telling us, in variously accented Japanese, just how good this or that particular dish is.

Choosing what to have is perhaps the biggest problem you face in this multinational yatai tucked down an unprepossessing side street off the main drag that passes beneath Shin Okubo Station on the Yamanote Line just north of Shinjuku.

However, as I'd never been there before, my first reaction when I walked in the open doorway was, I admit, mild shock. After dining out in Japan for many years we become, for want of a better word, spoiled.

We expect the dainty little white hand towels, we expect piped music (whether we want it or not), we generally expect a table to ourselves, and we expect to be left alone for at least a few minutes to make our selection from an unstained menu.

Leave all your expectations at the door when you go into Yatai-mura Shin Okubo.

It is a square room barely big enough to squeeze in a dozen scratch-topped tables and stools for patrons of the seven separate outlets around that offer dishes from Thailand, India, Indonesia and China. The Philippines outlet is scheduled to open anytime now, according to the posters.

Their counters are cluttered with old-fashioned pay phones and rice cookers, soup bowls and a box of "premium bananas," beer bottles (full and empty) and containers of chopsticks. There is also a crate on one counter labeled "Randy Yokohama" -- I have no idea what it contains, and I'm not sure I want to.

But you should never judge a book by its cover: The food is excellent.

We had the mixed kebab set, half a pineapple scooped out and filled with a sweetened rice, a spicy spinach dish and Vietnamese-style spring rolls with a spicy sauce. And beer, naturally.

All around us was controlled mayhem. The barkers for each restaurant accost each new arrival with a cheery "irasshai," even if they are clearly not Japanese, and by 8:30 p.m. people are lining up out the door and down the street to get a seat. That's usually a good sign.

Kaori has only been working there for six months, but she loves it.

"It's tough work as we're always so busy, but it's very interesting because you never know who you'll get talking to," she says. "We'll have about 200 people pass through here on an average Friday night, from all over: Indonesians, Chinese, Thais, Japanese. You name it." Add two Brits to that list. Umesh Singh Negi has been chef at the Siddique for four years since arriving from New Delhi, and he says he still can't believe how frantic the place gets.

"It gets very busy. Even when you think it's going to be a quiet day it gets busy," he says. "It's a good place for people who want to get together to enjoy themselves -- I call it the 'Enjoy Palace.' "

That much is clear from all the people around us, talking in half a dozen different languages. Tsingtao and Tiger Beer bottles clink after a party of a dozen or so younger diners have dragged a couple of tables together. Beyond them, a chubby salaryman looks like he is in his element as he orders another beer -- although his immaculately attired date looks like she was expecting something a little more salubrious.

But that's all part of the down-to-earth charm.

"There are so few places in Tokyo where you can go and still feel like you are in Asia," says Kyle Hudson, from South Africa.

Conor Hehir, a Canadian, has been coming here for five years and is on first-name terms with most of the staff. "When I step through these doors it's like I'm stepping into eastern Asia and out of Japan," he says. "I've brought lots of people here and they're always overwhelmed by how busy it is.

"In all the time I've been coming here, it hasn't changed at all," he says.