IT was the sight of a Star Bar that made my wife cry. Prior to that shocking moment, I hadn't realised that confectionary was capable of evoking such powerful emotions. But there she was, stood stock still in the middle of a busy shopping aisle in the Butcher Block in Queens, getting all misty about an overpriced piece of chocolate.

But it wasn't really about the Star Bar, as creamy and crunchy and delicious as they are - for the record, the author has always been more inclined towards the Mars Bar, but that's another conversation. No, it was what the Star Bar represented - the taste of home.

Of the country we'd abandoned, children in tow, in search of? we're not quite sure. While those more traditionally-minded souls might offer any number of culinary delights usually associated with the auld sod - a steaming pot of Irish stew, a plate of Halloween Colcannon or a dirty big feed of pints - the sight, after some months' absence, of a beloved guilty pleasure unleashed a torrent of emotion.

And yes, we know Star Bars are English. It was the principle of the matter. Having relocated the family from the wilds of Donegal to New York City some months previously (again, that's another story), we had spent months slowly, steadily negotiating our way into the American way of living. And, taking into account that we sat at the more bourgeois end of the broad immigrant spectrum, it was still an uphill struggle, a-one-stepforward-two-steps-back type of deal.

Having convinced ourselves that there would be little we would miss about Mother Ireland - we were only going to be in NYC for a couple of years at most, after all, and a little geographical perspective can do wonders for one's appreciation - we began to yearn, almost subliminally, for a modicum of context. It's the strangest things you begin to miss. Like spiceburgers with a scoop of chips. Or the Iveagh Gardens, even though you only go there every five years or so. Or Survivor as gaeilge on TG4. There's no discernable logic to it whatsoever. Which is why, one Sunday morning, we made the trek out to Queens. Or County Queens, as they like to call it. Sunnyside, to be specific. A place more Irish than Ireland itself. We required Irish produce. Comfort food. Context food.

Located on Queens Boulevard, between 41st and 42nd Street, the Butcher Block is an institution. The kind of oldschool, one-stop neighbourhood supermarket you don't even find at home any more - those ubiquitous Spar outlets, with their cardboard potato wedges and dodgy top-shelf magazines, just aren't the same. It's a cultural, culinary dropin centre. A place to feel at home in the middle of the most eclectic, multicultural melting pot on the planet. We're talking Brennan's bread, Batchelor's peas, yesterday's Daily Star - and pickled-onion flavoured Monster Munch. The stuff that dreams are made of.

It's a fact - the more you deny your dull Irish palate, the better the chance it'll come back to bite you on the arse.

We had come to the USA, once the land of freedom and opportunity, now the most despised country in the western world, in search of adventure, excitement and experience - an exercise in conscious living, if you will. Now we were filling two shopping baskets to bursting with the most mundane edibles imaginable, gladly, gleefully, giddily paying inflated prices for an auld taste of home. You picture yourself as a bohemian world traveller type, embracing eclecticism at every turn. And all of a sudden, you're living in that Galtee rashers ad, the one with the sad lad doing a fry-up in the middle of the night. Sure, it's breakfast time at home. Sad but horribly, horribly true. The bastard.

Many of us have lost sight of what it is to be an immigrant, let alone an illegal one. As the Celtic Tiger 2.0 (or is it 2.5? We're losing track) juggernaut trundles along, laying waste to everything in its path, it's getting increasingly easy - especially for anyone under 30, say - to forget about the good old shite old times.

To forget about those generations upon generations who, faced with the prospect of a bleak future, left and never came back. The Irish built America, after all, and they continue to build it to this day. Whether you were one of the lucky ones who landed a visa, or belonged to the untold numbers who continue to live here illegally as shadow citizens, devoid of the most basic of rights, their stories continue to resonate, to haunt us, even.

In New York City, legendary districts like Sunnyside and Woodlawn were the first points of arrival for tens of thousands of newcomers, seeking a roof over their heads and an 'in'. Many have settled there, become successes, had families and lived that American dream. Even more have assimilated themselves even further afield. Some disappeared off the radar, never to be seen or heard of again. Everybody's got a story. "We're grafters at heart and Americans like that - that's why we've always done well here, " says Robbie Kirwan, a thirtysomething barman and a longterm Queens resident. "The only difference between the ones who are here and the ones who stayed behind is that we basically got off our arses in the first place and made the move. There wasn't any big plan or big dreams or any of that, certainly not as far as I was concerned - there was just shag all happening in Ireland - which certainly isn't the case now. And that's why a load of people are moving back."

Which cuts to the crux of the matter. The tide has changed. Opportunity is rife. Some might still suggest otherwise. But they're wrong. The boom ain't going bust anytime soon. And the Irish are coming home. In droves. The situation can be surmised by the previously unimaginable sight of a major F�s recruitment fair staged - with considerable success - in Manhattan last autumn, largely aimed at attracting Americans to come and work in magical, mystical Ireland. After all, we can't give the jobs away these days. The event, which drew thousands, attracted a somewhat unanticipated, predominantly Irish attendance: immigrants, both legal and illegal, some disbelieving, others suspicious, many clearly excited by the prospect of a return to the new Land Of Opportunity, hitherto known as the bleak, prospect-free hole they had abandoned years previously.

If anything, the Irish community appears to have split right down the middle; those who have made the conscious decision to reside permanently stateside (a decision often informed by the laying of family roots) and those who gladly re-embrace the New Ireland and all it purportedly offers. "There has been a significant outflux of Irish people in the last few years, " says Irish Echo reporter (and former Queens resident) Ailbhe Jordan.

"To begin with, 9/11 changed things for a lot of people, made them reassess their priorities and make that move back. You have to remember that, with the security crackdown that followed, the decision is huge, especially if you've been living here illegally. Once you go, chances are you aren't going to get back in."

Founded in 2005, the Irish Lobby For Immigration Reform is a grass roots organisation petitioning for a radical change in the US immigration laws - one that will finally give basic, unalienable rights to the estimated 50,000 illegal Irish aliens still residing in the US. "We've come a long way. It's amazing how open and accessible that American politicians can be, " says ILIR executive director Kelly Fincham, "which hasn't always been the case with a lot of the Irish ones we've dealt with. Without sounding terribly Californian about the whole thing, if you persuade people here that they can make a difference, then they can. And I believe that we truly are." Their spirited efforts - most recently, they brought 3,000 supporters to Washington to petition key politicos directly - are directed in support of the controversial bill drafted by senators Teddy Kennedy and John McCain, calling for a massive overhaul of the existing laws. A year ago the bill was blocked in Congress - primarily because House Republican leaders were adamantly opposed to provisions that would have allowed undocumented immigrants to become US citizens. A year - and one dramatic midterm election - later, the Democrats have seized control and the Kennedy/McCain bill is back on the table.

"The big difference now is that we feel like we're pushing an open door in Washington, which certainly wasn't the case a year ago.

People want us there. Teddy Kennedy told us to keep coming back. This bill is his political legacy. John McCain told us that we personally changed the minds of four or five senators. We're on the verge of a major breakthrough and a lot of people can feel that."

It's virtually impossible to put a definite figure on the number of Irish based in the greater Queens area alone, due to the sheer volume of undocumented illegals in the mix;

everyone agrees that, no matter how many Irish remain in the greater NYC area, those numbers are in serious decline. The difference can immediately be felt on the streets of Queens - pay a visit these days to legendary watering holes like Toucan Tommy's in Woodside or Sidetracks in Sunnyside and you'll find an older, more settled crowd. And a diminishing one at that - a lot of bars have closed.

"I came here in 1990 when there were plane-loads of Irish coming every day, " John Bermingham, manager of the Tipperary Arms bar in Flushing, recently said in an Irish Echo interview. "It used to be busy every night. When I opened the bar first, there were 15 Irish families in the buildings across the street; now there's one. There are no new Irish coming over here. There's no new business." The Tipperary Arms finally closed its doors for good last month.

The pinch is felt at the very heart of the community - witness the very real crisis hitting the local GAA scene, for decades the backbone of all things Irish in New York. Back in the day, they used to bring talented players over and set them up with a sweet gaff and a decent job - just to nab them for the local squad. These days they can't get the numbers to make up the teams in the first place. "You notice the changes in all these little ways, " says Ailbhe Jordan. "I'd go to get my hair cut at this Irish-run place and each time I'd go back I'd get a different hairdresser - the others had all gone home."

However, not everybody wants to leave. "A lot of people could never give up the freedom they have here, " says Robbie Kirwan, who has been working illegally in bars across NYC for 15 years. "The money's great, the lifestyle's great and I've got more freedom than I could ever have back home." To listen to Kirwan's tales of giddy excess, the life of the average Irish barman in New York offers the average working stiff a free pass to bacchanalian excess; it's a bizarre, afterhours world that's claimed many a soul.

"The only real danger is the damage you can do to yourself. I've seen a lot of lads, good Irish lads, completely out of control, blowing thousands of dollars at a go without a second thought. It's easy. There's always more money. I was mad on the beer for years, but I knocked it on the head. I had to. I didn't want to end up completely in bits." Like we said - everyone has a story.

The big question: why still come to America? The real hubs of frenetic Irish activity in NYC these days are Manhattan department stores like Macy's and Century 21, packed-to-bursting with bargain-hungry Dubs on a mission. A new, younger generation of Celtic cubs are rocking the business and media worlds; for those able to nail a visa, a spell in the Centre Of The Universe (as New York still likes to think of itself) raises their game. These days, the New York branch of Enterprise Ireland holds regular monthly networking events for hundreds of nu-wave Irish movers and shakers. Future Masters Of The Universe one and all.

We've gone way beyond the whole 'Cool Irelandia' thing. Everyone's simply getting on with it. And, by and large, making a killing.

But then, as before, that's yet another story.

We'll keep you informed. As a successful young director from Cork (by way of Brooklyn, naturally) mused to me recently, "A lot of people don't realise that being able to talk total shite for hours on end is a highly employable job skill in this town - possibly THE most employable skill. It sets the Irish apart. We've got the skills. We put in the hours. And we know how to sell ourselves.

Why shouldn't we cash in on that?"

Chances are they're right. In the meantime, Queens is alive, kicking and still everso Irish. Just about. We still drop by occasionally for a quick fix. Sometimes, after all, a Star Bar is so much more than a Star Bar.