The Kitchen God is also known as the God of the Hearth and is the official guardian of the family. Traditionally, his altar is located just above the stove, a position from which he can watch over the family's conduct and where incense and offerings are made. The Chinese feel that the heart of a family resides in the kitchen and that when its members are properly fed and nourished, they will be content and have abundant energy to work hard and prosper.

The Kitchen God's most critical role comes before the Chinese New Year's celebration. During the propitious period seven days before New Year's day, he ascends to heaven to present his annual report on the state of each household's affairs to the supreme spiritual being, known as the Jade Emperor. My Uncle Sam describes the Kitchen God as the "connecting link between God and man, and the censor of morals."

Prior to the Kitchen God's ascent, the traditional Chinese home is thoroughly cleaned, and sweet offerings are made to coax his influences. With his favorable report a family can expect good fortune and auspicious blessings in the coming year.

Not long after my friend's visit, I set off to Chinatown in search of a Kitchen God altar. Living in New York City this journey was merely a matter of a half-hour walk. I went directly to the temple supply store on Mulberry Street. I chose a simple red, wooden plaque, about eight inches high and four inches wide, on which the four Chinese characters, "Reserve Fortune Kitchen God," were written exquisitely in gold. The altar costs about five dollars and included small rice wine cups and incense. The clerk reassured me that my Kitchen God would not only improve my fortunes, but protect me from kitchen disasters, provide extra nourishment, and make my cooking more delectable. Who could resist?

As I prepared my altar I reflected on the Kitchen God's omnipotence. My Auntie Katheryn had told me that when she lived in China she remembers certain times when women were prohibited from worship of the Kitchen God. Uncle Sam recalls as a child watching my grandmother arrange the incense and food offerings, after which she would ask one of her sons to bow towards the sky. Surely, I could trust that by now the Kitchen God's views were more inclusive.

A week before Chinese New Year's I thoroughly cleaned my home. I then placed a bowl of oranges and tangerines as a sweet offering to the Kitchen God. I also poured him three small Chinese cups of rice wine, enough for him to get a little drunk. I lit the incense, regarded as soul food for the Gods, and watched as its smoke beautifully enveloped the plaque before making its heavenly ascent. Coincidence or not, good things began to happen. Three presentations I had been anxiously concerned about went smoothly; new job opportunities were offered me; and travel invitations came my way. Perhaps the timing of this good fortune was coincidence, but nonetheless, I smiled at my altar every day, happy to share the credit.

The Kitchen God has now become a permanent and reassuring presence in my kitchen. It reminds me to be conscious in the kitchen and in life. I continue to interview my family and friends on the meaning and protocol of the Kitchen God and have been treated to unexpectedly beautiful conversations about spirituality. I have been graced with remembrances of old China. I am grateful to be adding ancient ritual to my life that honors my heritage. Fortunately, playfulness does not elude our sensibility: the Chinese acknowledge that the offerings are a bribe to the Kitchen God: that the sugary food are meant to sweeten his report and that the wine is meant to intoxicate the Kitchen God into forgetting bad deeds, or at the very least, slurring his words so that the Jade Emperor cannot understand his report. If the year is favorable, many people clean the plaque and reuse it the following year. If the year goes badly, some Chinese replace the plaque to change their luck.