The event's organizers and many of the Vietnamese American parents who bring their 20-something children to the community's annual Family Night party will insist that matchmaking is not their main intent.

But the fervent hope that their children will meet a prospective mate is the event's worst-kept secret.

Just outside the ballroom doors at the Hilton in Alexandria on Saturday night, two brides beamed from museum-size portraits displayed on easels. Business cards advertising flowers, gifts and accessories from Darlene's Bridal, of Alexandria, littered the round banquet tables. And the after-dinner entertainment featured a fashion parade of young women wearing red silk tunics, embroidered satin overcoats and pastel-colored dresses -- all suitable attire for a traditional Vietnamese wedding.

"I came to meet my friends," said Tho Nguyen, 58, sitting at a table with a friend and their sons and daughters.

"Come on, he's here for the same reason I'm here," said Canh Luu, his friend and fellow fighter pilot during the Vietnam War.

Luu leaned in conspiratorially and shared his greatest wish. "I want my children, my sons, my daughter, to have a chance to meet other Vietnamese," he said. "If they marry, I want them to marry Vietnamese. I love Vietnam. I left my country 25 years ago, but I want my children to go back to their roots."

"I don't want to speak English with my daughter-in-laws. I want to speak Vietnamese. It's ridiculous . . . but I am a 62-year-old man."

One of his sons, Tommy Luu, was well aware of his father's plans. He didn't mind, though. "This is better than Galaxy," he said, referring to a popular Falls Church nightclub.

Most of the older adults attending the banquet share similar family backgrounds and have established solid middle-class lives here. They were pilots, military officers, professors and other members of the educated elite in South Vietnam who escaped to the United States in 1975 when their beloved country fell to the communists. The Washington region became home to the largest concentration of Vietnamese immigrants on the East Coast, with more than 50,000.

Family Night draws more than 500 people, and the $40 tickets are sold out by mid-December. The event began in 1993, just when the first generation of Vietnamese born in the United States was finishing high school, heading to college or starting careers. In their parents' eyes, the children were ripe for marriage.

But Quyen Tran, the event's founder, said his main intention is for young people and their parents to enjoy an outing together when the children are home for the holidays. Most of the adults are friends, he says, so they want their children to be friends, too.

Tran said he knows of only 10 weddings that have resulted from Family Night. Besides, even his son and daughter, who have attended nearly every year, are still single.

If successful matchmaking occurs, "that would be nice, but that would not be the main purpose," said Tran, 62, a former professor in Vietnam who now works for the World Bank. "As you know, Vietnamese people over here, they don't want parents to impose on them. They don't want people to interfere in their choice of spouses."

Of course, the Vietnamese aren't the only group who have designed cultural events that just happen to round up crowds of young singles. Many country clubs and societies, especially in the South, host debutante balls to introduce young women -- wearing white, fit-for-a-wedding dresses. Jewish singles have the Matzo Ball on Christmas when all their non-Jewish friends are away celebrating the holiday.

The Taiwanese government sponsors an expenses-paid summer program in Taiwan for about 1,000 Chinese American 20-somethings, with the official purpose being cultural and language lessons. But many parents encourage their children to go not only to learn Mandarin, but also to get comfortable dating other Chinese. The program has spawned so many relationships that participants dubbed it "Love Boat."

At Washington's Vietnamese Family Night, parents are encouraged to sit on one side. Their children, who make up two-thirds of the crowd, are on the other side, assigned random seats alongside people they don't know.

Throughout the night, parents will sometimes check on their children and introduce them to family friends and their sons or daughters.

At most Vietnamese banquets, the food is the star of the show, with up to 10 elaborate courses. This party featured regular American hotel fare, baked salmon and green beans, giving people a reason to focus less on eating and more on mingling.

"Everything's done on purpose," said Linh Pham, 29, a veteran of several Family Nights. "There's a reason behind everything."

Pham, wearing a velvet high-collared Chinese-style evening dress, sat with a group of singles that her aunt had urged her to recruit for the event. She already has a Vietnamese American boyfriend whom she met through mutual acquaintances, so she spent the night nudging her friends.

"You're going fishing?" she asked, to the embarrassed groans of most of those at the table.

One of Pham's last boyfriends was a guy she met at Family Night 1997. The next year, the organizers urged them to dress up in wedding outfits for the fashion show. To her embarrassment, the emcee announced the couple as a Family Night success story.

Pham, a project manager for a telecommunications company, said she doesn't think a young person can go to Family Night and not see a potential boyfriend or girlfriend, unlike at a bar or club. "This is a more secure environment," she said. "You know everybody's relatives. You're going to meet someone. That's the purpose."

Still, at her table, Huy Nguyen sat quietly eating his dinner. He was here at his father's wishes, not his own.

"He's been trying to hook me up ever since college," said Nguyen, 25, a computer programming consultant. "It'll come in time, I tell my parents. I don't like to pressure myself."

Nearby, Uy Hoang also maintained an intense concentration on his food. But by 9:30 p.m., his mother and aunt had introduced him to two young women.

"They're not subtle," said Hoang's cousin, Michelle Le, 22, who wasn't under much pressure because she already has a boyfriend.

"You just kind of say hi, and it's kind of awkward," said Hoang, 23, who like most of the men was dressed up in a pressed shirt and silk tie.

Several tables away, Hoang's mother looked over at her son occasionally. She wasn't too thrilled with what she saw. "He's sitting next to his cousin," she lamented. "He's defeating the purpose."

Uy is the oldest of her five children and the one she hopes will marry first, said Minh-Vu Hoang. She said that so far, all of her son's girlfriends have been non-Vietnamese.

Hoang, 49, said she is very open-minded and has nothing against non-Vietnamese women. She's lived in Washington since 1969, when she came to study at American University. But oh, what she wouldn't give for a Vietnamese daughter-in-law, someone who would most likely understand their homeland's heritage and traditions such as celebrating Lunar New Year and family days and honoring your elders.

"If he married a non-Vietnamese, I don't assume that on the memorial days, they will pray for my soul in the next life," she said.

About 11 p.m., the center of the ballroom was cleared for dancing and the deejay was spinning Will Smith's "Gettin' Jiggy Wit It."

Uy Hoang had switched tables, moving to one closer to the dance floor. A young woman was beside him, and it was not his cousin Michelle.

His mother looked over, but she sighed, throwing up her hands: "He's sitting with his sister now."