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At some point during a meal at Yan – perhaps after you’ve slipped on a pair of black gloves to pull apart glistening smoked pork butt (inspired by Hunan-style red-braised pork, no less) to heap onto steamed pancakes, or you’ve marvelled at the crunch of fried enoki – the pastry section will erupt in a plume of liquid nitrogen, a mixer whipping up cloud-like coconut sorbet to be piled atop a coconut filled with young coconut jelly and juice. “Can I have one?” You’ll ask. And waiters, conspiratorial and charming, will nod knowingly.

But there’s plenty beforehand: delicate pickles to cut the pork’s richness; braised winter melon with rubbly, fiery chilli sauce; sesame-dressed tofu skin, served cold for refreshment. Meanwhile, sharp cocktails, house sodas and teas play seriously delicious support. Yan? Yes.