You’ll be forgiven if, upon entering Mr. Chow, you think you’ve wandered into Signor Chow by mistake. The fleet of handsome, Italian-accented waiters and the dramatic sunken dining room — mirrors and black lacquer everywhere, like something out of Pacino’s Scarface — do nothing to suggest Chinese food is on the menu. Appetizers include a pile of prawns and crispy seaweed accompanied by addictive candied walnuts, bamboo steamers of miniature vegetable dumplings, and chicken satay, although the peanut sauce tastes like it’s made with dairy butter. The main courses are more decidedly Chinese, and more successful: Beijing chicken, nuggets of tender breast meat with those candied walnuts in a yellow bean sauce; chunks of sea bass with ginger and cilantro, in a simple white sauce; and Chinese broccoli lightly stir-fried with garlic. The secret to its fatty-but-not-too-fatty Peking duck (can duck be chubby?) is the pancakes, which are the best in the city.