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About 20 kilometres east of the city, on a modest strip that has cricket-themed Sri Lankan restaurant Spicy Wicket and cosy, French bistro Le Gaulois (try the snails), there’s a simple, one-room eatery run by the man who, in 1975, opened what was probably Melbourne’s first Malaysian restaurant.

Danny Ko is 78 and his trusty wok has just turned 22. His wife, Honey, worked alongside him for decades, but her knees are not too good these days. In fact, their first place, Penang Coffee House, was Honey’s idea, luring Danny from his work as an engineer, then sweeping him into obsession, as restaurants tend to do.

Penang Coffee House in Hawthorn was a revelation that became an institution. Over 20 years, the couple served thousands of Melburnians their first curry laksa (spicy soup noodles), char kwai teow (rice noodle stir-fry) and satay chicken, as well as giving Malaysian students a taste of home.

In the 1960s, Danny Ko was one of those homesick university undergraduates: he understood the hankering for hawker-style noodles. In the early days, lemongrass, lime leaves and curry leaves were only available as frozen imports, and Danny’s mum posted spices for the laksa. Expats queued alongside dining cognoscenti and, in 1986, Danny and Honey even catered the 10th birthday celebration for Stephanie’s restaurant, widely considered one of Melbourne’s best places for fine dining.

Founder Stephanie Alexander recalls the “satay and other delicious things” served in the backyard. Her then-business partner, Duré Dara, is a regular at Danny’s even now, popping in for a month’s supply of rendang as required.

“There are no recipes, nothing is weighed, everything is feel, touch and taste.”

The Kos sold Penang Coffee House to a staff member in 1994; she ran it for another 15 or so years. Danny Ko took a seven-year break, ostensibly working as an engineer in Singapore but, really, eating and learning: “Once a restaurateur, always a restaurateur,” he tells me.

Danny’s Kopitiam opened in Glen Waverley in 2002. Kopitiam means “coffee house” but it describes a casual restaurant that serves noodles, soups, curries and rice dishes. This one has 32 seats, no liquor licence, and an order-at-the-counter system for dine-in guests.

Food comes as it’s made and there’s not much in the way of service, but Danny’s usually up for a chat if he’s not too busy.

There’s only one wok here and it has made thousands of char kwai teow ($16.50). Fresh rice noodles are tossed with pork lard, soy sauce, oyster sauce and garlic and never allowed to rest so the wok hei (breath of the wok) infuses every strand. A handful of prawns, bean shoots and fish cake is thrown in, egg is scrambled through, and that’s it, a simple, Penang-style stir-fry from the food-obsessed island where Ko was born.

His intense beef rendang ($22) is rich with roasted coconut, succulent with gravy beef, thick with coriander powder, rounded with belachan (roasted shrimp paste) and brightened with lime and curry leaves grown at the Ko home.

Lime leaves also flavour the curry chicken Kapitan ($22), a fragrant and tender Penang classic scented with aromatic spices.

In its simplest village iteration, kampung fried rice ($15) comes only with crunchy anchovies to make a cheap, nourishing meal of carbs with a little ballast. Danny adds chicken, prawn and water spinach.

Other dishes show similar finesse with humble ingredients: the mee pok ($15; egg noodles with pork mince) balances vinegar sharpness and chilli heat, and Singapore Hokkien mee ($18.50) is underpinned by prawn-head stock that creates a deep base flavour so the squid and chicken can have a protein party over the top. There are no recipes, nothing is weighed, everything is feel, touch and taste.

Melbourne has changed immeasurably since 1975. Laksa is a shopping-centre standard; you can buy roti at the supermarket; every fruit shop has lemongrass. But some things stay the same, thank goodness.

Danny Ko still makes traditional Malaysian dishes with care and a fine knack. Not everything is made from scratch. The thick, tangy shrimp sauce for the rojak ($15), a seasoned fruit salad, is from a jar. The rotis are bought, too: Honey used to be able to make 24 a day, but expedience won out, as it must.

The march of time will eventually consign Danny’s Kopitiam to the past, too. Who knows how long that thick, glossy wok will last, let alone the man whose wrists must tire shaking it?

In the meantime, this is a humble restaurant to treasure, and a cook and entrepreneur to honour for the way he’s changed the city we all share.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine