There are so many secrets in the new Star Leaf in Pasadena. But most importantly: Where is the spice?

The contradictions surrounding the Asian chain Star Leaf start with the official number of locations: There are 43 restaurants around the globe. Wait, no. Forty-five. Most of them are in China. You could have a Michelin star. The founder of the restaurants is an interior designer who designed all 45 locations. In fact, each location has its own design team. The recipe for the restaurant's signature “Royal Crown” fried rice was purchased after the founder saw the rice in a movie and tracked down the chef who created it. Hold on. There are 43 locations.

The myths surrounding the new Star Leaf in Pasadena, the chain's first U.S. restaurant, rival those surrounding the Loch Ness Monster. The story changes and twists depending on who you ask and when. Perhaps the staff plays a game of telephone before church services.

So I set out to solve this mystery surrounding a restaurant that the ladies in my mom's Mah Jongg group have been curiously discussing since it opened in April in the former Roy's space on Colorado Boulevard.

I was also intrigued by a recent online drama. Yelp disabled comments on the restaurant's page weeks ago, citing an increase in activity, racism, and the need to investigate the content. According to a Reddit thread, the Yelp activity was sparked by an influencer who declined a free bottle of expensive wine and subsequently accused the restaurant staff of bias.

When I arrived for my first visit, I had a notebook full of questions. The design team members, whoever they may be, have managed to transform the space into an upscale tropical oasis with jade green floor tiles, plush leather booths, and seats straight out of the Restoration Hardware showroom. According to the website, the dining room doubles as an art gallery, and all of the artwork is for sale.

Dark wood with intricate moldings line the walls and tables, palm fronds sprout from strategically placed planters, and louvered window coverings complete the luxurious Tommy Bahama ambience. It's the Long Bar at Raffles Singapore, reimagined as a sprawling restaurant, complete with an indoor and outdoor fish pond that may or may not have fish in it when you visit.

The first question you are asked when you are seated is if this is your first time. The server then launches into their version of the Star Leaf story. In my four visits I got four versions, although the server was the same twice. It is Southeast Asian food with Thai and Cambodian influences. It is Southeast Asian food that is mostly Thai but has Malaysian influences. It is all meant to be shared.

Regardless of the narrator, the information is conveyed seriously and with pride.

Royal Crown's fried rice looks regal indeed. White and black jasmine rice are packed into a round shape with chopped shrimp, scallops and spring onions. A sheet of orange wild Icelandic capelin fish roe is placed on top. The kernels of black rice are pleasantly chewy. After a good mix, each bite is rounded out by the sweet marinade and crispy roe bits. It tastes just as good as lunch the next afternoon.

The dish your waiter will praise more than any other is the Royal Thai Curry, a huge bowl of sauce accompanied by your choice of lobster, soft-shell crab or shrimp. The menu advertises a baked baguette. On one visit, I was asked to choose between rice or bread. The warm baguette is toasted and soft in the middle, like the small loaves you might find at your favorite banh mi shop. On all other visits, I was automatically given a bowl of white rice.

The gold sludge licks the sides of the bowl on the way to your table, almost spilling over the edge. It's thick and tastes like mashed potatoes, with little spice and a slightly bitter aftertaste. Strips of egg dominate the curry like egg drop soup. Should it be reminiscent of the marbled sauce around the chilli crabs I've eaten at hawker centres in Singapore? According to the server, it's “based on a traditional royal curry from Thailand”. After checking with a few Thai chefs in town, no one could decipher the curry's origins or any connection to the Thai monarchy.

The recommended lobster tail got lost in the sauce, the sludgy liquid as flavorful as a thick Japanese curry and swallowing up the nuggets of tender shellfish. I ended up using the curry as a dip for my bread, but found I preferred the baguette plain.

Soft-shell crabs paired far better with the sauce. If you want curry for dinner, the Rainforest Red Vegetable Curry is more robust, with a mix of well-cooked broccoli, Brussels sprouts and other vegetables and a slow burn that picks up momentum with each spoonful. But with all the curries and many sauces, it's missing the kicker: it lacks the punch, spice and funk most commonly associated with Southeast Asian cuisine.

Some variations on more traditional Thai dishes, such as Crying Tiger, are unrecognizable. It comes as a salad with grilled chicken, steak or tofu. The strip steak exhausts the toughest mandibles. On top, a sweet whole-grain mustard sauce slides off the meat. On the side, there's a pile of green salad with wilted lettuce and shaved Manchego cheese.

The skin of the banana leaf chicken is thin and brittle like Peking duck, crispy enough to be eaten like a chip. The meat underneath is disappointingly dry.

Chilean sea bass is steamed minutes from tenderness, which firms up the meat until cooked through. It swims in an electric green sauce full of lemongrass, cilantro, chili and mint. This will be your preferred condition for everything else on the table.

The kitchen is most heavily equipped with a deep fryer and dessert. Mamasan's shrimp cake skewers are chunks of breaded and fried shrimp sausage, loose in construction and studded with crispy watercress.

Squares of so-called night market tofu are breaded and fried in ground panko breadcrumbs, then dusted with a “Japanese seven-spice blend,” which is very similar to Chinese five-spice. Each piece is wonderfully crispy, with a shell that tastes like toasted cereal and a center that's as soft as vanilla pudding.

Dessert was consistently the most enjoyable part of the meal, and the presentation often elicited awe from my table and those around us. The Pink Mekong is a spectacle for four, a raised silver bowl with dry ice smoke rising from the center. The server pours pink coconut cream over it as the smoke dances across the table. Everyone reaches in with a spoon, trying to get a little of each component, like a big cup of halo-halo. Strawberry and coconut ice cream hug a pile of red beans that sits next to sliced ​​strawberries, diced green melon, and a pile of lotus seeds. My favorite ingredient might have been the peach gum, little amber nubs of a chewy, sticky substance that I'm told comes from the sap of a peach tree. It's all incredibly fun to eat.

June and July were dry on most of my visits, and I didn't drink the cocktails. But the fruit (and curry)-infused concoctions, served in fanciful glassware, were on nearly every table. And I can think of far worse ways to spend an evening than with a plate of crispy fried tofu and a Raffles Singapore Sling at the bar.

I may never know the true origin of fried rice or the exact number of locations. I'm still waiting for a restaurant representative to respond. If you're enjoying your dinner, I don't think it really matters. But the Loch Ness Monster has nothing to do with the secrets of the Star Leaf in Pasadena.