Last week I went to the launch of a glossy new foodie magazine called Yes Chef! (£4). It was held at the Fifth Floor in Harvey Nichols and was an object lesson in where not to hold a party.

After speeches in the restaurant, everyone was urged into the food hall where bemused customers helped themselves to glasses of wine and party guests picked up merchandise wondering if any of it could be construed as a canapé.

Located not far away is the new Brazilian restaurant Mocoto, so I thought I would try that. Lots of tables were apparently free in the downstairs dining area - you can peer in from the street - but I was told that the only table available was one they never used as it was in front of a howling draught.

I asked one of my party to see if we could eat at neighbouring Mr Chow, still chomping along after 39 years. He returned with the thumbs-up sign.

At Mr Chow we were shown into a sort of holding bar in the basement where music, identified by one of my companions as "hard-core trance", was played at deafening volume. We asked for it to be turned down and the waitress said that Michael Chow, who had been in a fortnight ago, had stipulated the volume. But she agreed that it was far too loud and turned it down.

I've forgotten which floor at Mr Chow you are supposed to be on and which one no one who is anyone would be seen in, but our table at the back of the ground floor opposite where the dessert trolley is parked was definitely restaurant Siberia.

A truculent Italian waiter - one of Michael Chow's innovations was employing Italian waiting staff, but over the years they have become grumpier than any Chinese employee was ever alleged to be - tried to bully us into the £35 per head prix fixe for the whole table. Even fresh from Yes Chef ! We weren't going to go along with that but that was how we were charged anyway.

Regulars love the food, which stays reassuringly consistent and is eaten with knives and forks - no chopsticks offered. Newcomers gasp at the cornfloury sheen and vivid colours of the sauces.

The effect of the witty design detail of an underlit square central hole in the table over which the white linen cloth is stretched is ruined when it just illuminates laundered-in stains. When my mate Kate emailed to thank me for dinner she wrote, "It's San Lorenzo with soya sauce, isn't it?" Absolutely.

• Price above estimates a meal with wine for one.