what a difference a half hour makes. if you aim for dinner at 6 o’clock, but become distracted beforehand in the subterranean cave of delights that is basement books, your 6.30 arrival at din tai fung will mean another 30 minute wait for a table. when we did front up at 6 a few weeks ago, we were ushered straight in.

the half hour of waiting groomed our appetites into big growling beasts, such that we had to order two baskets of xiao long bao (one serve with crab, and one without, and oh, how they both burst with sweet, porky, crabby juices) to quell their grumbles. between the four of us, we also put away a little dish of cold cucumber salad — more a miniature great wall fashioned out of thick slices of the gourd, in a chili-oily dressing; a large dish of dry-fried green beans with minced pork; a bowl of soup noodles with a moist and tender fried pork chop on the side; another bowl of soupy noodles topped with pork and picked vegetable.

we like pork, we do.

here’s the thing, the servings at din tai fung are moderate, and the food delicate, but dessert is constructed to a whole other scale. we were just short of full once the last noodle had been slurped, that last sliced of peppered pork chop dealt with. and we were bold, and ordered fresh mango over crushed ice.

and as it approached the table, other diners swiveled their heads around to stare. behold: a mountain of shaved ice (packed a little too tightly tonight; they should have served it with an ice pick) doused in mango syrup and sweetened milk. a generous globe of mango gelato perched precariously at the summit. fat slabs of mango at its base. and when it was gone — no, actually, we only made it three-quarters of the way through — we were completely stuffed.