One evening during the lunar new year season, my husband and I were invited to the annual family banquet of the descendants of pioneering O'ahu and Big Island grocer, rancher, food wholesaler, logging company owner, furniture manufacturer and real-estate man Chun Quon Yee Hop, founder of the C.Q. Yee Hop family of companies.

There, a new dish came into my repertoire, and a fresh appreciation for the spirit and enterprise of our Island ancestors.

Since Chun (his name is given in the Chinese fashion, with the family name first) had 16 children by three wives, it is not surprising that today his direct descendants number 443 (or they did then ... who knows how many babies have been born since January?), among them my friend and hostess for the evening, Marylene Chun of Kailua.

Great-grandson Brandon Chong, acting as emcee, taught us the proper way to say "Happy New Year." (It's not Gung Hay Fat Choy!) and introduced Amber and Nicholas Chun, who, along with Chong, narrated the story of Goong Goong's (Grandfather's) life.

Born in the small village of Gong Pui in Guandong province, Chun meant to be a scholar until he was forced to leave school to help his father. Striking out on his own, Chun arrived on the U.S. Mainland with 17 Hong Kong cents in his pocket. Taking ship for Honolulu, he got a job as a butcher and eventually opened a one-man meat stall in Chinatown in 1887, which became one of Honolulu's best-known meat and grocery markets, patronized by everyone from the wives of plantation executives to Chun's fellow villagers.

By the time he died in 1945, Chun, who spoke Hawaiian and some English as well as Chinese languages, owned a multidimensional and diversified retail and wholesale empire. His funeral is said to have been one of the last here in the full Chinese tradition, its long procession stopping traffic in Honolulu streets while hired mourners wailed, with a paper Cadillac, paper house and paper images of servants and maids burned ceremonially.

One remaining effect of his storied life is that his family has ready access to a place large enough in which to gather — the banqueting hall above Golden Palace Seafood Restaurant, the one with the gold-and-scarlet pillars at 111 N. King St. The building is owned by and is the headquarters of the C.Q. Yee Hop companies.

Kwai Dick "Uncle Dickie" Yee Hop, 89, the last surviving son of the founder, came by to visit our table as part of a dignified progress around the room, greeting all the nieces, nephews, in-laws, grands and guests. We also met "Auntie Bhat," Patsy Chun, 91, the oldest living daughter.

The courses flowed by: Chinese chicken salad with fatty duck and crunchy jellyfish; chicken soup with white fungus and mushroom; honey walnut shrimp, gailan (Chinese broccoli) with steamed chicken and ham; abalone in broth with mushroom; duck with barley stuffing; steamed fish with tofu and scallions; longevity noodles; cake; and, essential to New Year's celebrations, gau (rice-flour pudding).

Whew! Ironically, of all these creations trundling up the dumbwaiter from the busy Golden Palace kitchen below, the one that most intrigued me was arguably the simplest: the fish with tofu. My girlfriend and I speculated that the fish might be sole, but that seemed unlikely — sole for this many people? But it was certainly as delicate and moist as sole at its best.

What was it? Wilfred "Uncle Ahong" Lum was consulted, and he explained that the fish was tswai or swai, and that C.Q. Yee Hop and Co. is the exclusive wholesale dealer for the frozen product, bringing the fish in from Asia for local restaurants and other wholesalers. A little Internet research on Marylene's part revealed that the other name for swai is basa, a term increasingly familiar to Americans because the catfish industry pressured the government to prohibit importers from calling it catfish.

In fact, I'd met up with basa just a few weeks ago, in a Burmese dish. Basa, Pangasiu bocourti, is a Southeast Asian river catfish, raised in aquaculture operations in Vietnam and Thailand. You can find them frozen in Asian and ethnic markets, or sometimes as fillets in fish shops or at grocery fish counters. It is a very mild-flavored, tender-textured fish with no objectionable fishy smell. Basa is rated a "good alternative" to endangered or unsafe species of wild fish by the Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch program. In its place, you can use any mild-flavored white-fleshed fish: monchong, 'opakapaka, halibut or, yes, sole.

I particularly appreciated the nutritional soundness and seeming lightness of the dish after indulgences such as the walnut shrimp (the secret is mayonnaise) and the rich duck.

But when Golden Palace chef Bing Yung Lin later demonstrated the dish for us, I found out that, as often happens with ethnic foods in restaurants, what seems light actually isn't. Still, the recipe is readily lightened, and when I began to research its cousins, I learned that this dish can go from subtle to spicy, depending on regional differences and the preferences of the cook.

The classic Cantonese dish as it's prepared here in Hawai'i calls for only six ingredients — fish, tofu, oil, scallions, ginger and light soy sauce. Other versions make use of a black-bean-based marinade and spicier ingredients.

Lin doesn't speak much English but Golden Palace owner Howard Lam explained that their practice is to use soybean oil and light soy sauce (not "lite," which is low-salt, but "light," which is a traditional Chinese version lighter in flavor profile). Vegetable or peanut oil and regular soy sauce are acceptable. The dish is not on the restaurant's regular menu, but you can order it just by asking.

Once you've mastered the simple steaming technique, you can alter the recipe to your taste. It can be made at home with ease.