I have a dear friend from Italy called Antonio Breschi, a pianist and a composer, and one of the most talented men I know. He also happens to be a wonderful cook. This week he was over in Ireland making a recording and we decided that a trip to a restaurant would be a good way to catch up on our respective news. I let Antonio decide where we should go, and he decided that a Chinese meal was exactly what he wanted. ''The Good World' in Georges Street. Meet me there,' he said. At ten to eight Susan Morley and I met the bearded, smiling and effusive Antonio just outside the restaurant, enveloped from head to toe in Arctic survival gear as a defence against the unfamiliar Irish winter wind.

I've never had Chinese food in China, only in Europe, but I've never been crazy about what you get here. Rightly or wrongly I feel that what I'm getting is about as far from authentic as you can get. Maybe it's the baggage of the years past, when a Chinese take-away was what you had after ten pints of beer on your way home. Serious over-indulgence in alcohol seems to demand a hefty dose of MSG. So in we went out of the cold and found ourselves in a medium sized restaurant with indeterminate fixtures and fittings. Why should it be that Japanese restaurants always seem to be stylish and Chinese ones not? It's a puzzle. But maybe I'm coming at this from the wrong angle. Perhaps a meal in a Chinese restaurant is supposed to be quick and cheap - the original fast food. They're not designed for long, lingering meals. This was demonstrated clearly enough as the evening wore on: all the tables around us changed occupants, some more than once. Whatever else, the Good World is a busy restaurant.

Now my friend Antonio has been a phonaholic for as long as I've known him and the advent of mobiles has made him more so. But sitting in this restaurant I realised that he's far from unique. The various cacophonous jingles of mobile rings were a constant backdrop to the conversation. Three young people at a table beside us at one moment had three separate conversations - each one with people who weren't present. It occurs to me that that's the problem with mobiles - they destroy the here and now with intrusions from elsewhere. Then again, if you don't really want to talk to the person you're with, perhaps a ringing tone becomes a welcome interruption. I'd guess that by mutual consent we will eventually find a set of manners to deal with them.

Anyway, between bells and whistles we sat down at a table near the door where only I got the full blast of the icy wind every time someone came or left. Antonio was full of news of his latest project and regaled us with its intricacies while a waiter came a couple of times in a vain attempt to take our order. Our indecision was compounded by the fact that it's an immensely long menu: it begins with five set meals ranging in price from £17-19, which look like you'd need to be very hungry to choose, and they're followed by starters that run from £3-5, beef dishes, chicken dishes, prawn dishes, sea food dishes, duck dishes, curry dishes, chow mein, European dishes and finally a page of dumpling dishes. All the main courses are between £8 and £10, which these days is very much at the economic end of the price spectrum. Antonio rather wilfully took control of the wine list so I never got to look at it, but he chose the good Australian Penfold's Bin 21 1999, a Semillon/Colombard/Chardonnay blend which at £13 was remarkable value.

What we eventually chose was this: a chicken and mushroom soup for Susie, a crab soup for Antonio, squid rings with salt and pepper for me and sesame toast for all of us to pick at. Antonio was adamant that we'd never manage three main courses between us, so we ordered two; a king prawn dish and a crispy duck, plus fried rice for three. It turns out he was right, we never actually finished the last piece of duck. I didn't taste the soups, but both Antonio and Susie were happy with them. My squid rings were okay, a thick batter and slightly chewy, but tasty enough.

Apart from the fact that of our main courses one was fish and one was fowl, the other difference was that the prawns arrived sizzling on a cast-iron platter and the roast crispy duck was cold. Well, no, not cold, more tepid. We called over a waiter and asked if the duck was supposed to be like that. He looked at us incredulously. 'You want it hot?' he asked, as if we had just demanded a plateful of something thoroughly unsavoury. 'Well, yes. If that's possible.' He took away the platter and came back about five minutes later with hot duck. Presumably the work of a microwave, I was surprised to see it hadn't changed the texture or colour at all and, I have to say, hot was a definite improvement.

And so to dessert. The dessert menu is a glossy laminate with pretty pictures of what's on offer. Clearly bought-in, they were very reasonably priced at £4 and included things like a coconut shell filled with ice-cream, which Antonio had, a tiramisu, a banana split, and lychees which Susie had. I mentioned that Antonio was a good cook, and during dessert he put his culinary expertise into practice. Fishing in his pockets he found some good Swiss chocolate which he melted, using the lid of the hot tea-pot for a heat source. He then spooned this onto his ice-cream and added the juice of the lemons that he fished from our water glasses. By the time he'd finished the table looked like a bomb site. He tasted his dessert once more. 'Much better. Molto buono.' The waiter came to renew our pot of Chinese tea. He pointed to the lid, his face taking on the expression of someone who's just been sneezed on by a stranger, 'What's that?' 'Chocolate,' said Antonio, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

I quite enjoyed this meal, although much of my enjoyment was in Antonio's company. A bill for three of us came to a little under £70 to which a 10% service charge was added. Talking of service it had been efficient, brisk, very polite but somehow curiously impersonal.