It ain’t much to look at—despite a recent renovation, the lighting’s still too bright and the seats are crowded together—but there are few finer dining experiences to be had in this restaurant-crammed city. In fact, in the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve seen chefs from far pricier places, still in their chef’s whites, dining here after their shifts were over. I couldn’t see what they ordered, but I always go for the sautéed pea shoots, a delicate, very green taste sensation; the salt-baked shrimp, the seafood equivalent of potato chips, they’re that light and crunchy; some slices off one of the ducks and suckling pig that hang in macabre style in the window; and the heat-packing Singapore chow fun, an al dente, spicy mix of thin, long pasta, diced vegetables, and pork. Portions are huge, and service is quick, so under-ordering will keep the tab in line (you can always order more if needed).