At some fateful moment in the 13th century when Kublai Khan was preparing to lead the Mongol hordes into battle, hunger struck. With no time to make a roast or stew, the legend goes, the Great Khan’s chef carved very thin slices of raw mutton and plunged them into hot broth for a few seconds. Besides serving as an inspiration to those of us who believe there is always time to eat, the chef’s impromptu recipe is said to have given China its ancient and delicious hot pot tradition.

Hot pots did not jump to Japan until shortly after World War II, when kelp joined the broth and the name was changed, onomatopoetically, to shabu shabu. But like hot pots in China, shabu shabu is a do-it-yourself bash where everybody around the table gets to dunk and swish the ingredients they like best. Chefs are not required.

Then on Delancey Street last fall, a new shabu shabu restaurant appeared where a chef standing behind a counter does all the cooking for no more than eight people at a time. Her name is Mako Okano. Out of a style of dining that has always been a big, informal free-for-all, she has built a quiet, refined, intimate spot called Shabushabu Macoron.

Usually backed up by two other women, but occasionally working solo, Ms. Okano moves deliberately. She will gesture to the place mat, where the night’s eight or 10 courses are written out in Japanese, right to left, and then to another slip of paper with the same courses printed in English, again right to left. The price is $128. There are no choices to be made. Ms. Okano has modeled her restaurant on omakase sushi bars, where the chef calls the tune.