Just as at Chef Josh Eden’s previous restaurant, 66, each table of diners at Xing is greeted with a question: “Do you know how this works?” The answer, bemusingly enough, is that “each dish is brought to the table when it’s ready” rather than carefully synchronized with its mates. Whether this is a proud statement of individuality or an apology in advance for slapdash service is hard to tell. Xing (pronounced “shing”) doesn’t approach the caliber of Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s 66, where Mr. Eden created elegant, stylized interpretations of mostly Shanghainese dishes; nor does it try to. At Xing, opened by Hell’s Kitchen entrepreneur John Dempsey, Mr. Eden, in the role of “consulting chef,” brings his talents to bear on vernacular Chinese-American food.

Mr. Dempsey’s restaurants (Fluff, Vynl) look good, in a showy way, and Xing’s high-polish modern setting of burnished wood, recessed colored lights, and a groovy canopy of green striated plastic makes it a handsome example, filled with young neighborhood couples and stylish professionals. The cheerful, energetic service can be sloppy – dirty plates from the previous course sometimes linger on the table after dessert is served, and, apology notwithstanding, the restaurant’s “we bring each dish when it’s ready” policy turns out to make the meal feel somewhat uncoordinated. A flood of brightly colored cocktails doesn’t quite soften the incongruity of serving such plain food in this modern, highly designed environment. In a carefully assembled space like this, governed by a chef with Mr. Eden’s impressive résumé, when the playfully puffy red plastic menu offers General Tso’s chicken ($12) it’s hard not to anticipate a clever, modern twist on the familiar dish. But no – this is pretty much what you find at a good corner Chinese joint: glistening fried chunks of white-meat chicken with a starchy coating and tangy glaze, heaped on a plain white platter with broccoli florets.

Most of the menu runs along similarly matter-of-fact lines. Four steamed vegetable dumplings ($5), served in a bamboo steamer with a soy dip, taste fresh and well made but utterly conventional; likewise a crisp, plump spring roll ($4) stuffed with pieces of smoked tofu and crunchy vegetables. A starter of crispy squid ($7) is one of the restaurant’s best offerings: whole juicy little squids breaded and fried, tossed with chili slices, seasoned very saltily with five-spice salt, and topped with pepper slices. In a pleasing dose of careful detail, a lovely pale corona of perfectly cut cucumber slices garnishes the plate.

Some of the chef’s deviances from corner-style Chinese don’t quite succeed. In Peking Duck salad ($11), a few room-temperature pieces of crisp skinned, fatty duck nestle on top of a huge, ordinary salad of greens and sprouts: the tasty duck morsels are gone right away, leaving diners to probe the dull salad in a futile search for more. An overwhelming pork-belly salad ($8) hardly seems geared to the slim, dapper clientele: The dozen or so twice-bite-sized chunks of belly are 80% sheer melting pig fat with a few clinging shreds of crispy meat, all on a bed of vinegary cabbage slaw, and topped with fried wonton wrappers. It’s unquestionably tasty, but to eat the whole thing is a heroic feat.

Main dishes range from standard takeout classics, like the General’s chicken, to slightly less standard fare. A “Sichuan grilled” hanger steak ($18) has a medium-rare chewiness and a bounty of beefy flavor that a spicy bath of chili-garlic sauce enhances nicely. In a more classically Sichuan dish that is a delicious departure from the menu’s more banal territory, slabs of fine soft tofu ($8) on a bed of garlic-fried pea shoots are covered simply with a fiery, pungent ma-la sauce.

Another winner is a dish of sweet prawns ($15) that pairs the big, juicy arthropods with soft walnuts in a delicate oniony sauce to which the nuts give a mellow panache. Moo shu pork (or chicken, interchangeably) ($12) is fresh and tasty, and faithful enough to the corner-takeout archetype that the accompanying pancakes are stale and unusably brittle. A steamed halibut filet ($17) with familiar soy-ginger seasoning lurks enticingly beneath a grove of cilantro leaves, but the unusually tough fish becomes unpleasantly soggy in the sauce.

A sweet late-harvest torrontes wine ($7) from Argentina’s Zuccardi, ripe with dense fruit aroma, makes a terrific finish to the meal in lieu of Xing’s desserts (all $7), which have a certain flair of presentation but fail to satisfy. Gelatinous mango pudding comes as a golden dome surrounded by white tapioca-studded coconut cream, looking like an oversized fried egg. But the pudding is hard and the tapioca too monochromatic in flavor; the strips of mint leaf strewn over the dish are the tastiest element. Hot doughnuts, served spilling from a white cardboard takeout container with a mound of five spice sugar for dipping, are a great idea, but in practice they’re tough and bready.

An array of beers includes Xingu from Brazil, which may have been chosen for its name but nonetheless provides a sterling backup to Xing’s food. Fruity cocktails (all $10) with kitschy names like Rickshaw and Jade Dragon break no new ground: the Electric Karma, served in a ceramic Buddha with arms upraised and a straw through his navel, is one of the best, made from vodka, pineapple, and fresh ginger puree. The Kowloon Cooler, a sparkling concoction of guava juice, lime, mint, and rum, does its job well, too.

With such unambitious cooking, Xing’s road to success has to be its enjoyably sleek air, not its garden-variety food. Coasting on looks in Manhattan is a manageable risk, of course, and diners who want something finer won’t have trouble finding first rate food at Grand Sichuan, two blocks down.

Xing, 785 Ninth Ave., 646-289-3010.