Joe Poon always smiles. On this afternoon, Poon, 58, is to lead a tour of singles through his famed cultural Wok 'N Walk, where he'll hit a fortune cookie factory, an herb shop, a fish market and a bakery before bringing them to his Arch Street restaurant for a calligraphy lesson, a watermelon-carving session and a four-course meal.

When this same group cancels without warning, 10 minutes before its intended start, I look at Joe and tell him I'd be furious.

"Don't worry," he says, unflapped, with eyes as wide as his toothy grin. "Be happy."

When we get to the closing of his famed Joseph Poon Asian Fusion Restaurant at 10th and Arch — Poon smiles, even if his words don't hold the cheeriest message.

"The lease is done. My landlord — rather, his sons — doesn't want to extend the lease."

The landlords — in Poon's mind — know the value of the address Poon's made famous since its start in 1997. Joe hears they'll open their own restaurant at the location — the one with the high ceilings and the pumpkin-colored walls filled with pictures of an always ebullient Joe leaping and laughing, thick black hair waving in the wind.

Joe's still smiling. He doesn't seem miserable. He's not angry he'll no longer have a restaurant. He's going out with a bang — 700 reservations in under a week in these, the last few days of Fusion. And after eight years of Poon Fusion (before that Joe's Peking Duck House, before that Sang Kee), Poon's boundless zeal will carry through to him into his next space — the property at 10th and Cherry he's purchased for his next enterprise: Chef Poon's Kitchen Table, a school/private-event space where every meal is like eating at the chef's table.

Though it has more cold stainless steel surfaces than a morgue, Poon's Kitchen Table sounds homey, a giant walk-in closet that just happens to serve food if you book it for private meals, parties, banquets and benefits.

"The entire floor is one big kitchen. You sit in the kitchen. You eat in the kitchen. You hang in the kitchen. You love the kitchen."

Poon loves the kitchen, loves the art of the meal. So much so, he thrives on seeing its skills taught to younger students, especially ones with little money. That's Joe's story. He comes to Philadelphia from Hong Kong in his early 20s after teaching himself to carve exquisite fruit and vegetable sculptures; watermelons are his specialty. With $8 and little English, he works odd jobs in Chinatown's cookie factories and restaurants. "I didn't know the language. Didn't understand business. I was nothing but a waiter. But I worked hard." He saves money, gets a scholarship from the Episcopal church and goes to both SUNY at Oneonta (a nutrition major, fueling his love of healthy fresh foods) and the Culinary Institute of America (CIA), where he learns international cuisine and pastry art. He still takes trips to CIA to brush up on his skills, work out the kinks and learn new stuff.

Because someone helped him, Poon helps those less fortunate who need to cook. "I have special talent — to motivate kids. When I'm finished, they don't have attitude. I cook them dinner — some lobster, a bottle of wine. I keep talking. That's the lesson. One hour. Be social. When I'm finished with them, they're like Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. Confident."

The other part of his doing a walk-in kitchen school and private-party venue is to make a space for his right-hand girl, Jenny Li, and his two closest cooking friends, Helen Yu and Crystal Jiang. While Poon himself had intended to travel to London and Japan in order to further his own studies, the U.S. Immigration people came calling to ask Yu and Jiang to show proof of employment. "I have no choice. I must have a business for them to work at so they can maintain their status in the United States. I have no choice."

There are great benefits for Poon to keep these women close. They know how to deal with the VIP crowds in the restaurant business, they know their own customs and culture as well as those of the Americans they cook for, and they know the ins and outs of fine cuisine from dumplings to ducklings — skills they learned from Poon.

"Some chefs don't like to share their secrets. That's not me. I want to kick these kids' butts to learn, not just my way of cooking and not just to appreciate my culture and their own culture. I want to show kids — more Asian, sure, but any kids — how to serve Americans at their tables. I want to teach them how to serve all cultures. I want to teach them to serve fresh, healthful food like I do. The stuff to keep you skinneeeeeeeeee. And with manners."

They should learn "bonjour" and "aloha" as well as "al dente."

They should, these students ("the fat kids, the shy kids"), learn humor, how to drive the customers crazy the same way Poon does, with silly energy, with toys, with jokes. To Poon, cooking is about pleasure — the meal and the experience around it. "Give customers the food they love. But have fun. Mix it up. Like my Peking duck? Put it in taco with scallions. Keep the atmosphere light. Chefs take themselves too seriously. Not me. Hee-hee-hee-hee."

Don't worry. Be happy.

Chef Poon's Kitchen Table, 1010 Cherry St., second floor, 215-928-9333, www.josephpoon.com. Call for information on classes and events.