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One of the things I like about New York City is that even though the Big Apple has all its various ethnic neighbourhoods, you typically don't have to travel too far uptown, downtown or crosstown to get decent non-American fare. Chinese, Indian, Ethiopian, Thai, Japanese, Pakistani, Mediterranean, Argentinian, whatever -- chances are, whether you're walking down Avenue A or 26th Street, you could pick any of those cuisines and end up in a pretty good place.

But, I think the most intimate study of the country's now-cliched melting pot is standing by baggage carousel 18 at 11.30 on a Monday morning, right after the arrival of two flights -- UA 896 from Singapore (via Hong Kong) and AA 10 from Tokyo.

As the conveyor belt reels into life (crunk crunk), the suitcases and backpacks and duffel bags and crates and boxes and odd-shaped items ski into being from that square hole in the middle of the baggage carousel. Not all of them have arrived at their final destination. There are people travelling on to Orlando and Detroit, but also places that don't contribute as much to the cosmopolitan make-up of the country: Memphis, Grand Rapids, Mich., Some Small Town, N.C., Bloomington, Ill., Nowhere, Ark. So, it's no wonder they're filled with beauty products from Vietnam, mango ice-cream from the Philippines, DVDs from Hong Kong and fake Louis Vuitton purses from Thailand.

Of course, I'll never know for sure, not having X-ray vision. I'm just guessing, because that's what I'd bring if I came from any of those countries. I'll tell you what came from Singapore -- in my Samsonite and duffel bag, I had Chinese New Year snacks, a new pair of adidas running shoes, gifts for Jack and Jessie from my mum and some dirty laundry.

Clack clack clack

I'm proud to be Chinese -- our ancestors were pretty smart. We invented noodles, silk, gunpowder, ping pong, and apparently, we also founded America way before Columbus had his first serving of pasta. And we also invented a card game named mahjong. More than that, we made three-dimensional glass tiles so that you didn't have to hold the cards in hand for a four-hour round. You could eat, drink, gesticulate wildly while telling stories and play, all at the same time. If you had a flair for theatrics, you could also discard tiles with aplomb, stack the deck with style and bang on tiles to showcase a lovely winning hand or disgustedly to knock the bad luck out of a lousy one.

I first learned how to play mahjong from my Singapore Recreational Club softball teammates. We were on a training tour of China and somewhere between Beijing and Shanghai, I stacked my very first deck of tiles, and promptly knocked it over before I refined my game etiquette (there is a lot of this -- rule number one: do NOT be slow). We played softball during the day, played Pictionary at night and travelling between cities when 10 people couldn't crowd around two seats to draw and yell, we played mahjong.

Now, for anyone who's ever played a team game, you'd know how close you can get with your teammates, particularly if your team had a good mojo going. We had a fantastic one. We came from all backgrounds -- college, no college, veteran, rookie, English-speaking families, Chinese-speaking families, had our own set of wheels, took the public bus everyday -- it didn't matter. Over mahjong, we bonded like a perfect double play, like a spot-on centrefield-second base-catcher tag-out assist. We talked softball, then we ate, chatted about our mutual love for travelling, ate again, sassed each other out and joshed about everything else, and when we ran out of things to talk about, we talked more softball. And then we ate.

So I learned how to play mahjong, and I learned about a whole new world outside my prestigious private school education, and I love it. Whenever I'm home, all I have to do is send an email with one word: "Mahjong?" And we'd set a date. For the last 10 years, I've considered my mahjong kahs (legs -- a nickname for partners) some of my closest friends. They say it's not possible to have that many good friends, but it is. There really are that many good people around. You just have to make sure you've got the mahjong chops to go with it.

Doing Dhana

Chinese New Year rolls on... feasting, over-indulgences, mahjong, drinking, lots of fun. But enough about that.

Last Thursday, we did our annual dhana, a Buddhist act of giving. Our family always dhanas at Chinese New Year, to share the joy and abundance of the festival. Having performed it an orphanage and for the construction workers who built our condo in previous years, my parents decided to help out at the Metta School (www.mettaschool.edu.sg) this year.

The Metta School is a charity-funded school for mentally disabled and autistic children. Run by the Metta Buddhist Foundation, it accepts students of all ethnic and religious backgrounds, which is the beauty of it all. Mr. Yong, the principal, is Christian and Mr. Anuwar, the vice-principal, is Muslim. Mr. Anuwar is a guy in love with his job, which in this era of all you need isn't love, says a lot about compassion and dedication. He knows the names of every student skipping by him, knows their medical conditions and family backgrounds, indulges in showing off all of the school's new facilities. These kids, he says, aren't like other kids because they have an IQ of between 50 to 70. But they have something other kids may not -- a lot of heart.

We donated two buffet spreads, Thai and Indonesian cuisine. There were 371 students to feed, the older kids aged 13 to 18 in the morning session, the younger kids aged 7 through 12 in the afternoon. An unusual treat brings out something you don't often see, love and selflessness in their purest and most unadulterated forms. Standing in line with plastic plates in hand, as we piled on curry and satay and fried rice and mee siam and chicken wings, the kids made sure their friends and classmates who hadn't made it to the canteen yet would also receive a platter of plenty before scampering off to tuck in. With 80 to 90 percent of the school coming from families with a monthly income of S$1,000 (US$600) or less, this was a rare -- or new -- treat. The kids wanted more satay, more chicken wings and more fried wontons (no second helping of veggies, please; even kids with special needs are kids, after all) and they got more -- there's no room for Mr. Bumble in dhana. And when they were done and we were facing mountains of leftovers, we packed it all up for them to take home. But they weren't taking it home for a second wind feast -- they picked and chose what they knew their moms and dads and brothers and sisters liked. And because there's never enough reason to grin and beam and laugh, we gave out bags of lu dan (braised eggs). Chinese New Year is always a joyful occasion in my family, even electrifyingly fun, but this is possibly the happiest time of the holiday for my parents.

We tell the whole world that Singapore is a food paradise and that eating is our national past-time, but that's not always the case for everyone. That day, we tried our best to live up to our country's good name, but more importantly, I hope we were able to help some little kids realise they were just like everyone else, deserving and special.

Friends

Jim Beam came in from Kentucky, Absolut from Russia and Dona Patrizia from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It was good times with good friends, just like the way it should be. After the party, my cousins and I hung out in the patio, talked, had mixed drinks and live music by Dion.

When the Kohs throw a party, they throw a party. I have a feeling we outdid ourselves this year. On the third day of the New Year, we always have family and close friends over for a feast and last night, we had FORTY (40) guests. Dear me. That's 10 bottles of wine, 20 cans of beer, 30 boxes of iced tea and the following spread:

- Yu sang
- Keong chou (braised pork hock in a sweet vinegar sauce, a Hakka specialty)
- Buah keluak (a Peranakan dish with a nut and chicken in a rich sauce)
- Two gigantic fried fish, one in a sweet soy sauce, one slathered with oatmeal
- A stew with auspicious seafood like sea cucumbers and abalone and mushrooms
- Braised oxtail
- Sayoh lodeh (a malay vegetable curry)
- Lap meh fun (a platter of steamed rice with various types of Chinese sausages)

We had Uncle Robert's home-made yogurt for dessert.

To kick off the feast, we had a lion dance troupe perform in the garden and driveway. According to legend, a ferocious beast, Nian ("year"), would terrorise Chinese villagers every new year, but was finally scared off by the beating of drums and cymbals and a costumed lion. The lion dance is now a symbol to remember the heroics of our ancestors. My cousin Pei was part of a lion dance troupe in high school and declared this year's performance of a higher quality than the previous year's.

Tonight, the fourth day of the New Year, my dad hosts the annual company dinner where he treats his employees to a lavish meal. As with previous years, it's at the Shangri-La Hotel, one of the best in Singapore.

I'm going to work out this afternoon.

Very Auspicious

On the second day of the new year, we gamble (not on the first day, because you don't want to risk losing anything to start off the year).

First, we play blackjack. Half of the family gathers around a round garden table in Grandma's patio, and the wheelin' and dealin' begins. I played two hands -- one for myself (drawing even) and one for Uncle Charley (I won him $6 and got $1 as a tip). It gets pretty crazy with smack talking -- man, we're rowdy.

Then, we play mahjong. It's the smartest game in the world -- down to the fact that the cards are porcelain tiles which stand on their own, so you don't have to hold them in your hands, and so you can authoritatively or triumphantly throw them with a loud clack in the middle of the table. It also helps keep old ladies' minds sharp and is an antidote against senility. Cases in point: both my grandmothers, who are also mahjong partners. I won $20, but the big winner was Uncle Limcy, who walked off with $55.

Before all that, we had brunch at Ah Ma's again:
- Yu Sang
- An assortment of Chinese sausages
- A traditional Hakka stew -- I forget the name and can't identify what's in it, but it's very tasty
- Mutton soup
- The hodgepodge dish again
- A new dish by Ah Ma -- fish shaped into little fishes, with peas for eyes, a shrimp's tail for its tail and a cross-sectioned slice of chilli for its mouth
- Ngoh hiang -- it translates into "five spices," a sort of spring roll with a meat filling

Mmm, iced 7-Up to go with brunch on a sunny day!

Feddy Gets My Mojo Going

Roger Federer, you're my hero. Even though Dad said after Marcos Baghdatis took the first set in the Australian Open final that he thought the dude from Cypress might win the match, I never lost faith -- the match reminded me of the U.S. Open final when you tightened up after going down to Andre Agassi, got the wake-up call, then played with your usual brilliance to bag the championship. This isn't the pre-2004 Roger Federer who never lived up to his potential.

In other sports news, Sara emailed to tell me that our soccer team won our first match of the season (after two unnnecessary losses, close games). How did she know that I was wondering about the outcome of the match I missed? I'm such a nerd.

I'm up at 6.20am because I crashed right after we got home from dinner at Uncle Eddie's. It's less jet lag than catching up on sleep I've lost on the plane, I think. I hope. Again, Uncle Rob cooked, and we ate:

- Yu sang (a cornucopia of various shredded vegetables and fried wonton pieces tossed by everyone in plum sauce as we call out auspicious greetings to one another)
- Lobster in a spicy chilli sauce
- Crab in the same sauce
- Grilled salmon
- Shrimp tempura
-Vegetables with scallops
- Braised pork's feet (mmm! Mom's contribution)
- Beef rendang (a type of Malay curry; again, from Mom)
- Chicken curry (once more, courtesy of Momma)

Mmm! Mmm! Good!

I haven't weighed myself since I got home but my growing gut tells me a true story. I'm going to go back to bed and try squeeze in a run by the beach before brunch at Grandma's.

Another Doggone New Year

Because it's a New Year tradition to not eat meat before noon (so you're starting the new year cleansed), we eagerly counted down the minutes to noon at Grandma's this morning before we could invade the tray of bak kwa.

As usual, we arrived at 10am and immediately, everyone mobbed everyone else with hugs and New Year greetings. Grandma was avalanched by mandarin oranges -- given to a person of seniority as a sign of respect, signifying wealth. After taking the annual family portrait, we broke out into two groups for a vegetarian brunch -- the grandkids on the patio, everyone else at the main table in the kitchen. We ate:

- The hodgepodge dish (I forget the name, but we eat it every year as a Hakka -- our Chinese ethnicity -- tradition), a braised stew of cabbage, various types of mushrooms, fatt choy (a fungus delicacy that looks like a clump of hair)
- Fake siew yoke (roast pork), char siew (barbequed pork), kidney (why would you fake that?)
- Spring rolls
- My mom's vegetarian curry

All served with rice, chased with water.

Then, the best part of New Year -- the snacks. The kok zhai (peanut cookies), love letters (rolled-up wafers), almond cookies, pistachios, cashews and all are great, but oh, the bak kwa!

It's time to re-focus on the Australian Open -- Roger Federer has a seventh Grand Slam title to win.

Happy New Year!

Why, hello there. And happy new year -- it's still the eve of Chinese New Year in Chicago, but it's 1.07am in Singapore and officially the year of the dog and 4703. The Chinese people have been in existence for many moons -- that's a scientific fact, because it's the lunar new year.

So much has happened today that I couldn't resist resuscitating the old blog (vroom! vroom!), and since I'm no longer a corporate drone, perhaps my daily life would be more exciting and I'd be posting on a regular basis. I hope you, friends and readers, will keep me honest.

The best thing so far, this new year, is having Uncle Rob home from Sydney to celebrate it for the first time in almost 25 years. No kidding. And, Uncle Charley! He's not a real uncle like Uncle Rob is -- Robert is my mom's older brother. Charley Desanges is one of my dad's best friends, who's stopped over in Singapore on his way back to Nice (where he's from) from Nomeau, where he's been for the last two weeks, visiting his two brothers. (Nomeau is a French island in the South Pacific, where everyone surfs and catches fish with a hand-thrown harpoon.) You know that scene in "The Sound of Music" when the Captain gets the telegram that the Baroness and Uncle Max would be visiting, and the children scream in jubilation, "Uncle Max!!!" That's my brother and me this morning, when my dad said that Uncle Charley was in town for a week-and-a-half. "Uncle Charley!!!"

We usually have the traditional new year's eve reunion dinner (that's like Thanksgiving dinner, when the whole family comes together from wherever everyone is and eats a meal of abundance -- to ensure we'll always have enough to eat for the whole year) with my dad's side of the family, but since my cousin Kevin was home from New York last week, they celebrated a week earlier. So my mom's side came over, and earlier in the week, after a brief quibble, Uncle Rob won the coin toss to make dinner. Uncle Rob owns a rotisserie in Sydney but used to be the executive chef at the Waterfront, one of the top restaurants in the city -- he ran a kitchen of 60 (sixty!) cooks. The menu:

- Cold seafood platter (lobster, oysters, prawns)
- Les moules (Belgian-style mussels)
- Black pepper steak
- Baked ziti in marinana sauce
- Tuna carpaccio with Japanese seaweed salad
- Caesar salad
- Six bottles of wine, ranging from French to Australian to American

It was the first time in family history that we had a non-Asian feast for our reunion dinner. I had to nap for 10 minutes before we made our annual visit to the temple just before midnight to receive blessings for the year -- I have never faced Buddha half-drunk (merci beaucoup, Uncle Charley) in my life, and I wasn't going to start this year.

But, I'm barrelling ahead too quickly. The day started out great with Amelie Mauresmo's victory over Justine Henin-Hardene in the women's finals at the Australian Open. I avidly hate Henin-Hardene -- no sportsman should be as cocky and smug about their talents as she is. Mauresmo won in a strange fashion... it was almost too easy for the current World No. 3 who had never won a Grand Slam, or was it karma? Her semi-finals opponent Kim Clijsters retired in the third set from a torn ligament and Henin-Hardene gave up the battle in the early second set, because of an upset stomach. But my heart broke when Henin-Hardene walked slowly and heavily -- the antithesis to her tennis play style -- to the net to announce her retirement with the same whatever it was that enabled her to last 56 minutes into the match, taking a beating and playing like Venus Williams circa recently. And that was all that held her up... she broke down at her seat and again during the trophy ceremony.

For someone to whom winning is so important -- you'd think that it is all muscle on Henin-Hardene's small frame, but it really is muscle and pride -- pulling out of a Grand Slam final must be like losing the killer topspin off your power forehand (that's Justine's bread-and-butter shot, if you don't follow tennis). She had an upset stomach because she doubled her intake of anti-inflammatory pills to numb an aching shoulder. She would always do what it takes to win, but this time, she got too far ahead of herself. It's not breakfast of champions this morning in the Rod Laver Arena, it was the humble pie of would-be champions. And losing is always a hard pill to swallow. Maybe a better game next time, Justine... and Amelie, one of those Notre Dame gargoyles must've been grinning down on you today.