Not a big deal, I know. A lot of people eat at this Chinatown staple after hours. Well, not a lot. But enough. There was a large Chinese family (complete with kids) and a group of three Euro-hipsters when I was there.
The interior is stark, stark, stark. No frills. Clean, with large, round communal tables in the back, and a row of red booths along the wall, and one of those hideous, backlit, framed scenes of some exotic locale. (Why are those thought to be attractive?). The light was blindingly florescent.
The menu is large; many choices for midnight. My waiter quickly took my order and brought it out within seven minutes. I made few requests, for I had seen how pissed off he was with the Euro-hipsters, who kept asking for chopsticks, and special hot sauce, and this and that, to show that they were cool and knew what to request so as to be authentic Chinatown habitués. I hated them, too.
The food was good, not great. But there was a lot of it. I took my hand-written receipt with me, which panicked the staff. They stopped me at the door and reclaimed it, writing me a new one that I could take with me. Outside, it was dark again.