Szechuan Chinese holds down one of the worst imaginable locations in all of restaurantdom, in a nearly inaccessible strip mall off Sixth Avenue. Still, for close to thirty years, the customers have kept coming. And most of them are coming for the dumplings: heavy and huge, as big across as a balled fist. The dough is just the right thickness; the filling is pork and ginger and herbs, assembled by hand and worked with the fingers like a great meatloaf. Served eight to an order, a single plate is a meal in itself -- satisfying on a level that, after half the dumplings are gone, no longer has anything to do with simple hunger, but everything to do with the pampering comfort of salt and grease and the work of skilled hands.