Our last dinner here was Mom’s 60th birthday banquet when I was nearly done in by the concept of the “intercalary month.”

We arrived early to beat the Chinese New Year’s weekend dinner rush — a strategy which worked in our favor: an hour later, and it was an entirely different scene at the restaurant.

Below, seafood for the huoguo, literally: “fire pot” — a popular cold weather dish sometimes referred to as “Chinese fondue,” though the similarity to traditional Swiss fondue is only tangential. Instead of melted cheese and wine, the pot is filled with simmering, savory broth; instead of chunks of bread for dipping, there is an array of raw meats, seafood, vegetables, tofu… pretty much an endless variety of items to be cooked in the hot soup, fished out with wire ladles, and dipped into sauces afterwards. At the end of the meal, the delicious soup base makes for a wonderful finish — usually accompanied, inevitably, by the errant piece of rubbery shrimp, which you’ve neglected to fish out before it’s been boiled beyond recognition.

I’ve always known this mollusk as a “razor clam,” but it’s more properly called the Atlantic jackknife clam:

Oysters to bring in more good things for the new year. (These I ate raw, with a squeeze of lemon juice — is there any better way? )

…and despite all the hoopla over new data on the high mercury levels in tuna sushi, I could not resist:

Flickr preview: The Harlem Globetrotters at Izod Center (February 16, 2008).

Today marked the beginning of Year 4705 by the Chinese calendar — the start of a 15-day celebration that culminates with the Lantern Festival on the night of the first full moon.

The year of the Rat is the first in the sequence of twelve Chinese zodiac animals, familiar to many via those brightly printed paper placemats in Chinese restaurants of yore: rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, ram, monkey, rooster, dog, and pig. (Once so popular, I can’t recall the last time I saw one.)

The related children’s story goes that the Jade Emperor wanted to designate a dozen animals for the calendar, and announced a race through a river to determine their order. The cat and the rat, being the worst swimmers, devised a plan to cross the river on the back of the naive and agreeable ox. On the day of the race, though, the competitive rat pushed the cat off into the river, and rode the ox’s horn to victory himself, jumping off at the opposite bank to reach the finish line first. (“You dirty rat!”) As a result of the rat’s betrayal, the cat came in dead last — 13th — and did not get a year named in his honor. Swearing vengeance, the cat has chased the rat for all eternity… and has hated water ever since.

We had plans to check out the new year’s festivities going on in Chinatown this afternoon. I could hear the building din on my approach from the subway on Canal. Here, the madness on Mott. Drums! Lions! Second time in a week I was showered in confetti.

Seemed like a fun idea at the time, but in practice… not so much, after a while. “The crazy secret about New York is that many locals can’t stand crowds.” Word. We hastily decamped to the relative calm of Baxter Street a few blocks away, where we opted instead for a lunch of Vietnamese food that thankfully, did not include rats.

Well, not that we know of, anyway.

A dozen friends, new and old, gathered in the restaurant’s lower level. Early in, it was established that we would place ourselves (willingly, happily) in SL’s capable ordering hands, and just eat whatever food was placed before us this evening. So began the parade of deliciousness — off and on the menu. A platter of batter-fried seafood, sauteed pea shoots, pan-fried noodles with seafood, braised E-Fu noodles with black mushroom (for longevity), and this, the first of two restaurant specialties that required advance ordering: Short Rib Beef in a Pumpkin. Yes: that’s short rib beef! In a pumpkin! Was ever there more a delightful combination of words spoken? The dish was brought out to the table in one glorious piece, with chunks of steaming, lightly curry-spiced meat exploding tantalizingly out the top of the hollowed out squash. Our glossy-tressed waiter, brandishing a large chef’s knife, made quick work of the soft, pumpkin flesh before our eyes.

Salad Walnut Prawns — a classic dish made up of the seemingly strange combination of deep-fried jumbo prawns, slathered in a sweet mayonnaise, and laid over a bed of dressed mixed fruits, broccoli and candied walnuts. Tasty, though.

And the second show-stopper of the evening: the House Special Crispy Chicken Stuffed with Sticky Rice. Essentially, a whole chicken, deboned and de-…fleshed(?), crammed with a combination of sausage-studded sticky rice, and then deep-fried and meticulously reassembled into the general shape a chicken, albeit a rather flat one. Head included, of course — to symbolize wholeness and togetherness.

There were more dishes, selected for their symbolic auspiciousness: another chicken, roasted, and topped with preserved vegetables. A whole steamed flounder; the Chinese word for “fish” is a homonym for “abundance”. And an oyster casserole, to bring in “good things” for the coming year.

We ate our fill — or perhaps just beyond — and finished with a round of orange wedges (for wealth) and bowls of red bean tong shui (sweet dessert soup). How a few of us still managed after all that to squeeze in a post-dinner trip to the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory can best be attributed to a new year’s miracle.

Though when it comes to such temptations, I align myself with New York’s Insatiable Critic Gael Greene, who declares quite rightly: “I shall never trust anyone who doesn’t love ice cream.”

I had seen the show in 2006 and found it fine, if not all that compelling, entertainment; nonetheless, when I was offered the opportunity to check out the show tonight, there seemed little reason to turn down a ticket. The venue was about a third empty tonight, probably due in part to the outrageously steep ticket prices, which soared to Young Frankenstein-esque levels of $280(!) apiece. For the price of admission, audiences could expect the usual assortment of traditional musicians and dancers, lavish costumes and dramatizations of Chinese legends. The various scenes were supported by a full orchestra comprised of both Eastern and Western instruments, played out against a backdrop of the Music Hall’s enormous LCD screen on which scrolled floating buddhas, glowing temples and pastoral landscapes.

Fan dancers, swirling scarves and ribbons, tumbling acrobatic dancers, singers accompanied by a Steinway… all pretty standard. But then, about half a dozen acts in, a startling collision of politics and culture — “The Risen Lotus Flower” depicted the persecution of Falun Gong in China: three women, peacefully meditating, coming under vicious attack by Communists, portrayed as black-clad thugs with red hammer and sickle emblazoned on their jacket backs. (No points for subtlety there.) They beat and kill one of the women, whose spirit rises to its just reward in heaven. What the…?

The change in tone was jarring, and I swiveled around in my seat to check out the reaction of other audience members. Most didn’t seem particularly surprised or disturbed, though I did note a few people walk out. The following act to this bizarre display: an erhu soloist.

After intermission, nestled among the Korean-style and Mongolian dance sets, another segment with anti-Chinese government undercurrents: “The Power of Awareness.” The Communists were back, this time attacking a mother and daughter holding up banners with the Falun Gong message of “Faithfulness, Compassion and Forebearance.”

I would have captured some of these images, but the organizers seemed particularly strict on banning photography of the show: a billboard on stage declared “PHOTOGRAPHY STRICTLY PROHIBITED” — a message reinforced in English and Mandarin announcements before each half, and by several men walking the aisles bearing “NO CAMERAS” signs. Check out videos and photos on the show site, though none feature the segments I just described.

So was I the only one caught completely unaware of the show’s agenda? A couple days later, an article appeared in The New York Times, drawing attention to Chinese New Year Splendor co-sponsors’ alignment with the Falun Gong movement — a relationship not at all clear in any of the show’s extensive advertising. Gothamist covered the controversy as well, sparking a rather heated debate in the comments section.

Chinese authorities have labeled Falun Gong a cult, outlawing its practice and even issuing a statement against NTDTV’s “so-called Gala.” Regardless of one’s views toward the Falun Gong practitioners, what is clear is that the Chinese do have a history of human rights abuses toward them, as noted with concern in reports by Amnesty International and the Human Rights Watch.

And all I was expecting to see tonight were pretty dances.

We must be regulars now, because our waiter chose this afternoon to initiate more personal interactions. His very first question to me, head gesturing toward my dining companion: “He’s Korean, right?” Haha. (Yes.)

After lunch, we passed these colorful lucky lanterns, set up for the upcoming Chinese New Year on February 7, 2008. The annual celebrations last 15 days, ending with the Lantern Festival on the first full moon of the new lunar year. The lantern-lighting tradition dates to the Han Dynasty, and though its origins are unclear, the most popular legend surrounding the festivities concerns a town’s deliverance from fiery destruction at the vengeful hands of the Jade Emperor of Heaven.