Like most such operations, Din Tai Fung operates on the pack them in and whack it out principle, which means it isn't the place to be whispering sweet nothings without being overheard by nearby lunchers. That also means you're likely to be treated to intimate details about subjects you'd prefer not to hear about, but proximity, in the absence of an operating manual for debutant dilettantes, turned out to have it's advantages.
Obviously sensing confusion, the girls next door broke off an in depth discussion of the realities of the Holocaust as portrayed in movies and developing personal relationships to offer advice on ordering and suggestions about the items on offer.
That advice pointed us towards the establishment's trade mark, the quite wonderful soup dumplings. Novices are pointed towards the first item on the dumplings menu (the pork version $10.80 for eight), which we duly tried, and on advice from the neighbouring table I had a go at a spicier version that I was subsequently unable to locate on the menu that the Urbanspoon app links to, along with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc that similarly fails to feature.
Based on this visit, Din Tai Fung will definitely be getting a return visit, and with a number of operations scattered across the globe, it looks good as an option wherever we're wandering.
A word to the wise, though.
Madam's hardly a big eater, and with lunch an uncertain proposition Hughesy had filled up with a latish big breakfast, which meant we were limited to single serves of the items already mentioned. Next time it'll be a case of skipping breakfast, hopefully after a light supper the night before and lobbing on the doorstep at opening time for a serious dumplings gorge over lunch.
We took a bit of a wander from there, working our way back to the Travelodge for a rest, abbreviated by the discovery that the mobile phone charger had gone missing, a hike across to the Hilton, where I was told the item wouldn't have made its way through the system until the morrow.
Interestingly, there was no suggestion that the charger wouldn't turn up, and nothing to suggest the matter was of such little significance as to be beneath the establishment's attention.
Hardly the reaction, in other words, that you'd get from your common or garden Australian but we've outsourced it offshore customer service operation.
From there, since we were in the neighbourhood anyway, Madam wanted a gander at the State Theatre, based on reports of the visually opulent art deco interior, which of course wasn't accessible though the first section of the foyer gave a reasonable indication of the glories within.
The hike back to the Travelodge took us along a circuitous route in search of the most likely dinner option (just to scope it out, you understand).
Due to defects in the memory department I was looking for Siam I Am rather than Spice I Am, and walked straight past the establishment in question, which had, fortunately, registered on Madam's consciousness, so once we'd sorted that minor detail back at the Travelodge I took a quick stroll round to the nearby wine merchant, where a bottle of 2003 Mesh Riesling set me back a very reasonable $27.