Whether you want to know about Toridokoro Matsumoto presents something of a red pill/blue pill dilemma.

In “The Matrix” the red pill represents knowledge and painful realities. The blue pill represents comfort and blissful ignorance.

So, would you rather know about the presence of a great restaurant in our community, even if the painful reality is that you may never be able to set foot in it, or would you prefer to remain blissfully unaware of its presence?

For me (red pill all the way), anything new to our community is worth noting, although this hidden yakitori restaurant takes the speakeasy trend to its extreme. You can dine there only if invited by a regular patron.

Private clubs with restaurants open only to members have always been with us, associated with the upper echelons of society that — to put it nicely — prefer privacy over noise and crowds.

In Japan, secret restaurants are more about loyalty than exclusivity, intended to honor the regulars who offer support through good times and bad. Locally, I’m sure many restaurant owners have noted the sudden rush that comes with a grand opening or media attention, only to see seats empty once the casual gawkers have disappeared. Owners of secret restaurants don’t want such one-timers displacing their regulars.

Contemporary secret restaurants are more egalitarian than private clubs, although you still need connections to get in. These kinds of restaurants are scattered throughout the United States and are popular in Asia. In Shanghai I went to one where passage required knowing a four-digit code that changed daily. Monolithic stone doors magically opened only for guests who placed their hands through the correct four holes in a wall in the correct sequence, each hole corresponding to the numeric display of a telephone.

Locally, this idea has manifested in the form of private pop-ups, but it’s untested as a full business model. Will there be enough customers? Time will tell. Certainly, Hawaii has a history of the person-to-person “coconut wireless” that connects us.

Because of the restaurant’s Japanese roots, its clientele starts with the Japanese community, so start making a list of all the Japanese transplants you know.

I drove past Toridokoro Matsumoto in Central Hono­lulu about four times trying to find it amid a series of run-down walk-ups. There’s no street number or meaningful signage, so I had to park illegally and search for it on foot. If not for employees opening a gate, I would have been wandering about for a while. Even after they asked whether I had a reservation, I was uncertain about this run-down apartment building.

But inside it was like being transported to Japan. The minimalist, Zen-spirited room seats about 20, half at a bar counter with a view of yakitori master Osamu Yamamoto at work.

Only minimal English is understood. The menu is also in Japanese, but the choice is simple: $50- or $70-per- person prix-fixe menus starring chicken. Dishes are humble, but without the distraction of drop-in crowds milling about and making demands, all attention can be focused on the food. Each dish that comes out of the kitchen is perfection.

Most of the nonchicken courses were appetizers, starting with an edamame vichyssoise, and peeled cherry tomato in dashi with a sprinkling of Parmesan. Other starters were mizuna with yuba, and a salad of minced cucumber, macadamia nuts and chicken served with house-made tofu. Chicken liver pate and minced chicken in bell pepper followed.

In the U.S., chicken is considered cheap and plentiful, so we gobble it up without a thought. Here the chef demands that we consider each of the bird’s parts as a gustatory miracle.

This may be the only restaurant in town that serves chicken tataki, seared but otherwise raw. If you closed your eyes, you would think you were eating ahi sashimi that’s a little chewier in the cooked parts. Only fresh chickens from Hawaii island are used.

Next came the yakitori — gemlike pieces of breasts, fried chicken thighs and gizzards, perfect in their stark simplicity. Guests could season them with a choice of black truffle salt, dehydrated miso, yuzu­kosho (a paste of chilies, yuzu and salt), shichimi pepper and other spices.

Between bites, skewers of crunchy grilled mountain yam and negi added more variety before a finish of teriyaki beef hearts, soft-boiled and grilled quail eggs, mushroom fried rice, pickles and a small cup of chicken broth.

Dessert was more about the egg, a light custard that had one of the diners, a chef from out of town, sadly scraping the sides of his near-empty glass, struggling to scoop up every last yellow bit.

At a typical restaurant we could keep ordering our favorites until stuffed, but here the small bites of chicken left us wanting more, not because we were still hungry, but because they were so darn good. Driving that kind of craving among a limited clientele will be key to this restaurant’s survival.

Nadine Kam’s restaurant reviews are conducted anonymously and paid for by the Star-Advertiser. Reach her at nkam@staradvertiser.com.