There’s something quite unusual about Wong, the latest restaurant from chef Simpson Wong, who has in the past brought us Jefferson, and Jefferson Grill (both no longer) and Café Asean (still thriving after 15 years).

It has nothing to do with the food, though it is a thrilling rickshaw ride through Asia with stops in Malaysia (his birthplace), Hong Kong, and Ho Chi Min City. It has nothing to do with the room, an urban Cornelia-street loft anchored by an open kitchen and food bar, lit softly with glass-domed lights, and crowded with tables so tightly spaced there’s little chance you will be able to exit once you manage to squeeze into your allotted four-inches. And it doesn’t have to do with the waves of people, flannel-shirted, skinny jeaned, banged, and bearded, flocking to the Lululemon-like logo etched onto Wong’s glass storefront like the cast of Jersey Shore to a strip mall equipped with GTL.

The amazing thing about Wong has to do with what’s not in sight: cell phones. While there is no stated policy about them, you won’t see any in the dining room. Nope. No one is asking Siri to remind them of a 9am meeting. No one is checking for new email. No one is texting. No one is meandering through reviews on Yelp. There’s not a cell phone in sight. Instead, people are eating, err, feasting. People are talking. They’re leaning in. They’re laughing. Talking to neighbors. Sharing with them, too. It might as well be 1990 in there, before the dawn of social networks and the loss of social interaction. It’s wonderful.

The couple seated next to us the night Jamie, Susie, and I were having dinner ogled our first courses (duck buns, shrimp fritters, scallops and “meatballs”) with little restraint. We were getting “I’ll have what she’s having,” looks. Completely justified. I’d have done the same in their position, seated within reach from such wonderful food, with only still water to sate them. Well, that is until their bread service arrived, and then, well, they could’ve cared less about our food. Again, I don’t blame them. This bread service is the best in New York City at the moment. (Well, the homemade pita at ilili is pretty fantastic, too.) But here, Simpson serves something beautiful and delicious, a little token from the kitchen that starts the meal on such a lovely note you feel transported to a beach in Thailand under a blanket of stars. He serves a stack of warm homemade naan, the shape of buttermilk pancakes, on a pretty tray with a peanut curry dipping sauce and a bouquet of mint leaves in the tiniest of vases. It’s remarkable gesture that starts the meal off so sweetly.

The food continues, for the most part, to reward. The duck bun ($9) is quite nice. It’s prepared in the style of your classic char siu bao (barbecued pork bun), but instead it’s stuffed with a confident quack not a squealy oink. The duck gets topped of with cool refreshing slices of cucumber, pickle, and layered with Chinese Celery for the right amount of zip and zing. But I’ll add that the bun itself is remarkable: round and pillowy but the color of a yeasty biscuit not a piece of white bread, and it’s touched with a slight sweetness that makes it seem like it would be right at home on the breakfast table slathered with butter and jam or stuffed with fried eggs, and slabs of smoky bacon.

While the Times’ Pete Wells went nuts for the scallops and crispy duck tongue meatballs with cucumber and jellyfish ($15), I’d agree and disagree. Yes, I loved the scallops, cooked impossibly well so they’re plump, caramelized and sweet, and I enjoyed those wacky and wonderful crunchy on the outside, quacky on the inside duck tongue meatballs. My problem was that I had no idea why the two were on the same plate. There was no unity to the dish, and no connection between the two components. I think each would fare better if given their own star turn. Perhaps those duck tongue meatballs would work as a sandwich, tucked into some naan with a curry paste like some wicked tricked out falafel? And those scallops, so perfect, could be served just with slivers of jellyfish and cucumber on their own, not losing the spotlight to the tongues.

I have no complaints about the shrimp fritters though. These are huge, the size of peaches, loaded up with shrimp and fried in a wonderfully fluffy, light and airy wheat-flour batter that also contains shreds of sweet potato and jicama, along with garlic chives. It crisps up so there’s no grease, nothing soggy, just a lot of crunch followed up by sweet shrimp. The fritters come in a big white bowl the size of a nun’s habit, with bits of ham, noodles, Asian pear, and sunflower sprouts ($13.50). Given the size of the fritters and the drama of the bowl, this is a dish that makes head’s turn as it is walked through the dining room. It’s the Lady Gaga of shrimp fritters.

We also tried Simpson’s signature Cha Ca La Wong, Hanoi-Style Hake with fresh turmeric, dill, and rice noodles ($17), which was my favorite dish of the evening. The flash-fried fish is practically perfumed with fresh dill and it’s a beautiful marriage. Toss a hunk or two of the fish over those vermicelli noodles and fire it up with nuoc cham and you’ll wonder why people eat meat. Thanks to this fish, Hanoi may be my next travel destination, but for now, it’s a lot easier just to hit Cornelia Street.  Not a lot of TSA screeners hitting the A Train stop at West Fourth Street, yet, at least.

Lobster Egg Foo Young is also fanciful dish, loaded up with leeks, dried shrimp crumble and topped with a salted duck egg yolk that does a nice job of running its heart out ($24). Don’t ignore the column titled “side dishes,” in particular the Crispy Cauliflower with Spicy Peanut Sauce ($7). Devi’s Manchurian Cauliflower used to be a favorite and this dish, a fantastic and unexpected duo of Thai peanut sauce and unapologetically deep-fried cauliflower, just toppled it. It’s a dish that could easily replace French fries. Shake Shack, please sub this cauliflower for the crinkle cuts. Thanks.

Now, much has been said about pastry chef Judy Chen’s desserts. And in my humble opinion, much more should. Because let’s be brutally honest here. The woman is a genius. A prophet. An angel. She has turned roasted duck into ice cream in her now famous Roast Duck Ice Cream with Star Anise-Poached Plums, Crispy Tuile and 5-Spice Cookie ($9), a dish that is meant to evoke Peking duck. The plum sauce is represented by poached plums and by a sort of lime rickey soda made with plum wine. The five spice powder that seasons Peking duck turns up on top of a delicious shortbread cookie, and standing in for the crackling skin is a crisp sugar tuile.

The dish is miraculous. This is the kind of ice cream you’d choose to eat on a hot summer day even if given the choice of 101 of your favorite flavors, all sourced organically and served in compostable cups with recycled spoons. Her ice cream Duck a la Plum ice cream will be the best thing any of us will eat this year. Take my word for it.

Now this is not to shortchange her other desserts, which are also dizzyingly and dazzlingly good. Her caramel apple shortcake with sugar-roasted apples, and light-as-air brown butter cake with cinnamon cream, and an adorable miniature caramel apple suitable for Cindy Lou Who from Whoville, will also wow you. And what of her chocolate snowball—a blackout cake wrapped around chocolate pudding all covered up in a fluff of Italian meringue like an igloo in the chocolate arctic with slivers of pomegranate fruit jelly and a shot of Sichuan hot cocoa ($10). People! Judy Chen must be worshipped. She is the next Sam Mason. The next Jehangir Mehta. The next Johnny Iuzzini. She should really take a bow at every meal. Please, call her out when you're there.

By now, if you’re meal goes anything like mine did, you’ll be sitting there, warm and cozy with a belly full of duck fat ice cream, while crowds of people line up outside waiting for a table. They’ll hover happily out in the cold, watching their breath, as you sit there. They don’t mind waiting. They know what’s coming. And as you try to squeeze out of your tiny space, you’re belly quite a bit larger than it was a couple of hours earlier, you’ll look around. And how 'bout that? It’s still happening. People are talking. Laughing. They’re sharing. They’re (gasp!) connecting. And, as they leave the restaurant, they will think, wait, I have to text! I have to tweet! I have to update! But they won’t. Instead, they’ll savor the moment and share it with the ones they’re with.

Wong is located at 7 Cornelia Street, 212-989-3399, http://wongnewyork.com

Andrea Strong