How I didn't meet Patsie Cheong.

Every country seems to have some kind of domestic über-goddess. In the States she's called Martha Stewart. In Switzerland we've got Betti Bossi. And in Malaysia she's materialized as no one less than the infamous Patsie Cheong.

There is not one topic of relevance to cooks and housewives this Chinese mak cik hasn't dealt with. Her recipe books range from Singaporean festival delights, Thai and Nonya (the famous cuisine of the Peranakan from Malacca) to Western dishes, cakes and pastries as well as recipes for Pregnancy and Confinement. My personal favourite is called "Joy of Making Dim Sum." And good Lord, what a joy it is to make those little suckers.

So while hanging out in Kuala Lumpur I was desperate to find the woman. But my task was going to be difficult, as Madame Cheong changes the colour of her hair more often than her underwear. On every cover she wears the same funky smile, but a different shade of black, brown, purple, orange or maroon on her head.

Running around the streets of China town I came accross any smell of bbq pork, any quality of silk garments, any remedy curing any disease, even spotted CDs of broadway legend Fei Xiang, a guy I had met a few days earlier at a Singapore rooftop party. But no sign of my beloved Patsie Cheong. Maybe she's not real, I consider. Maybe she's just a projection of a dream like the tooth fairy. Or Ronald McDonald. She's certainly got the right hair for that.